by Blaze Ward
She studied the man as closely as she could. The fire and fear in his eyes. The set of his shoulders. The shallowness of his breath.
“There’s more than that, Wachturm,” she finally growled, aware that the rest of the room hung poised, watching the tableau play out.
“Much more, Keller,” he agreed. “But I needed you away from everyone else to hear me. What I am telling you must never leave this vessel.”
Again, commitment unto death in his eyes. A man set to dedicate the remaining decades of his life to a job that would require even longer to complete.
“Then explain,” she said, taking her own half-step back and falling into a parade rest stance. There was time. Outside, the crew would still need several minutes to set up the red carpet and crew.
“You and I fought once before over a Sentience,” Wachturm said. “The reasons are unimportant now. We both did what we believed was right. She was not a threat, but a symbol. Buran is a threat. To everything. Fribourg. Aquitaine. Corynthe. If you side with him, all of the galaxy might fall.”
“And you think I might?” Jessica snarled up at the man, anger warring with disbelief in her voice.
“Out of ignorance? Yes,” he replied tersely. “The stakes are higher than merely possession of this section of the galaxy. About who is right or wrong. This is about the future of humanity as a star-faring species.”
He fell silent at that, eyes boring into hers.
“You want me to convince the Senate to honor the Peace?” she asked, angry at where he was putting her.
“No, Jessica Keller,” the Red Admiral replied sharply. “They would do that on their own. The treaty we offered was good enough. I want you to not convince them to break it.”
“You think I have that power, Emmerich Wachturm?” she snarled.
“Yes. Yes, I do, Fleet Centurion,” the man replied simply, shocking Jessica nearly out of her shoes with his blunt honesty. “You are perhaps the only person in the galaxy with that power right now. Much of my future rests on your shoulders. On your decision.”
Jessica was sure the shock of his words was scribed across her face like a crimson blush. None of her strategies had covered a conversation like this, with this man.
“And I don’t need your decision today,” the man said. “The whole purpose of our trip here was to remind you that we are an honorable people. That we have more in common than that which divides us. That peace between us can be made to work, even as I have to face the foulest demon the ancient past ever spawned.”
Jessica was speechless. A rarity, given her planning. Her preparations. Her reputation.
“I will take your silence as acquiescence for the moment, Madam Keller,” he continued with a nod, turning his assistant.
“Hendrik, if you would?” the Red Admiral continued.
Captain Baumgärtner smiled carefully at the two of them, as if the last few minutes had never happened. He turned and checked the outside screen, nodding to himself before opening the hatch and descending. His voice echoed over the small flight deck.
“All hands, attention,” Baumgärtner commanded. “His Excellency, Admiral of the Red Emmerich Wachturm, and Wildgraf Jessica Keller of Petron.”
Wachturm nodded at Jessica with a smile and turned to the hatch, descending the steps slowly as she gathered her thoughts into something vaguely coherent.
Jessica let her training run her on autopilot, leading her to the hatch and down the steps in the Red Admiral’s wake.
Outside, she found a small line of senior officers to one side, ascending in rank, with one at the end facing her. Wachturm surprised her by turning himself into line at the end, leaving her alone to face the Imperial Captain at the far end. A man she did not know.
“Fleet Centurion,” the man said with a smile as she approached. “Captain Rafferty Saar, commander of IFV Amsel. Welcome aboard.”
Saar was average height, but extremely broad across the chest. He reminded Jessica of Alber’ d’Maine physically, but without the lunatic fire in the eyes. The look on his face was closer to what she would have expected from Denis Jež, with blond hair a touch too long.
Jessica was still in shock from Wachturm’s words. She let her training take over to handle the diplomatic niceties as her mind raced.
After all those dreams, did she really have the power to topple the Fribourg Empire?
CHAPTER XXXII
IMPERIAL FOUNDING: 176/010/22. IMPERIAL PALACE, WERDER, ST. LEGIER
Emmerich looked up from his desk as a shadow darkened his door.
“Did it work?” Johannes, His Imperial Majesty Karl VII, Emperor of Fribourg asked as he stepped into Emmerich’s office, overcrowded still with books, and silently closed the door.
Joh occasionally took great pleasure in sneaking his entire retinue into the Academy building and appearing without any warning at the door to Emmerich’s old office.
Emmerich put down his pen and leaned back from his latest manuscript. This one was not another boring book on naval strategy. This would be a History, a piece only he could write.
Something for the ages.
“That woman gives nothing away, Joh,” Emmerich replied wearily. “She’s met Saar, toured the vessel as much as she could in a day, and heard my spiel.”
“But?”
Joh settled into the emptier chair by piling everything on the floor instead.
“What if her hatred is too great?” the Red Admiral asked. “What if she would rather take a few years rebuilding their strength, and then swoop in on us from the flank, trusting that they can crush us between them, and then deal with Buran on her own, afterwards?”
“It was always a calculated risk, Em,” the Emperor replied. “It will always be one. As you said, we can bring her here. We can show her what our side is like. If that fails, the only person we could bring that might overrule her in the long run is Nils Kasum.”
“No, it won’t be Kasum,” Em said forcefully. “Petia Naoumov will most likely be First Lord by then, after Kasum retires.”
“Will she deal?”
“I don’t know, Joh,” Emmerich said. “She’s good. Not in Kasum’s league, or Keller’s, but close. Canny, capable. Dangerous. And she’s got Arott Whughy on her staff now, except when he’s got Auberon out defending Corynthe from all comers while Keller’s here. The man was at Ballard, with the Battlecruiser Stralsund. He knows his stuff as well.”
Silence passed as the two men ruminated.
“Em,” the Emperor finally broke the impasse. “You are still the best strategist I have. Your judgement said to do this with Keller. I’ll trust that. I would rather die with honor, doing as much damage to Buran as we can, for Keller to clean up afterwards, than to do it any other way.”
“I know,” Emmerich said with an exasperated sigh. “I just wish there was some way we could show her everything, get her fully on our side. To trust us.”
“Everything?” the Emperor blinked hard. “Em, you’re insane. Trust Keller?”
“Joh, she’s the best opponent I’ve ever fought,” Emmerich replied harshly. “Period. Probably better than me, although she caught me at a bad stretch. I’m back now, healthier than I’ve been in a decade or more. You know that. Imagine what we could do if she was with us.”
“Em, we’re her worst nightmare,” Joh said.
“No, that was a week ago, Joh,” the Red Admiral fired back. “Buran is her worst nightmare come to life. What I don’t know is if she hates me, us, enough to watch us go down in flames first.”
The Emperor sat back, silent, his face a harsh mask.
Emmerich knew his own face looked nearly identical. Two men, almost mirrors.
Emmerich knew that history would record them as such, for what was the one man, without the other?
“There’s one avenue left that we haven’t explored, Em,” the Emperor said quietly. “One ambassador left that might get through to Keller, might convince her.”
“Who?”
“Casey,
” Joh replied simply.
“That’s not a topic I can broach with either of them, Joh,” Emmerich drew a figurative line in the sand.
“I know,” Joh replied. “I have talked to Kati, and even Steffi. Keller inspires Casey in dangerous ways, and I have come close to putting my foot down. But what if Casey is the key we need to break through to Keller?”
“Then we might be doomed, Joh,” Emmerich replied seriously. “And we might be saved. How much latitude do we allow her?”
“As much as you and Kati think she needs, Em,” Joh replied. “But it must be done in the strictest secrecy. This is not something that the Imperial public would understand, let alone appreciate.”
Em nodded. If Keller represented all that the people of the Fribourg Empire feared, Casey growing up and emulating her would be even worse.
CHAPTER XXXIII
IMPERIAL FOUNDING: 176/10/25. DITTMAR PALACE, WERDER, ST. LEGIER
It was a Saturday, and the Empire still kept the old calendar: five days of hard laboring for one’s self, a half-day of labor for the Imperium, and a holy day for rest and reflection. Banks were open for a time, and the Imperial Post, but most offices were closed as the population scattered to their volunteer pursuits: cleaning parks, fresh paint, assisting neighbors.
It was too cold to hold barbeques outdoors at this northern latitude, but too early for the innumerable rounds of winter holidays that came with the change of seasons. A time for family, for small gatherings, with the windows closed and curtains drawn against the chill.
A time to conspire.
Sigmund studied the man seated across the desk from him in his inner office, a visitor making a simple social call. Dinner would follow, when other guests, less interesting and less dangerous, arrived as a cover.
Geoffrey Grundman was a tall man, but corpulent in ways that almost made him round. A naval officer would never be that far out of shape if he wished to retain his office, but the rules were different for a General of the Imperial Security Bureau. Especially Section Eleven, the so-called Midnight Knock department.
Sigmund did not trust the fat man as far as he could have thrown him, but the conspiracy had originated in the one place where it was supposed to be thwarted.
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
Who will watch the watchers? Especially when they have determined that the Empire itself is risk, and that only a change at the top will put it on a path to survival.
Sigmund Dittmar considered for a moment that desperate men can talk themselves into almost anything.
“General,” Sigmund finally inquired in his most majestic tone. “Are there any issues with the plan?”
The big man squinted his pig eyes, as if smelling for back-sliding on Sigmund’s part. It was far past that point. If anything, Sigmund wasn’t even sure they could call it off at this point, with so many moving parts relying on radio silence and precise timing.
Revolution was coming. And it would be neck or crown. Almost momentarily.
“No, Admiral,” the man replied a moment later, apparently certain that everything proceeded as expected, even here. “My teams have already prepared to arrest key dissidents at the precise moment necessary to hobble the Fleet response. Section Seventeen will disable critical elements of Grand Fleet Headquarters and the station’s defense array.”
“And Karl?” Sigmund asked, barely able to keep the angry snarl out of his voice.
“The Imperial family will hold with tradition,” General Grundman oozed oily confidence. “Even though the woman is but a cousin, they will be gathered at the Imperial palace with only family invited, in preparation for Church services the next morning at the Imperial Cathedral. The Wachturm Palace will be the same. Everyone can be rounded up and disappear from history as necessary after the coup.”
Sigmund nodded. As planned. Simple, direct, efficient. A minimum of moving parts meant a minimum of places where friction could alter details.
“And Buran?” Sigmund asked heavily. “Do we trust them? After all, you will have disabled most of the planet’s defenses.”
“Only temporarily, my lord,” the General said. “Plus, there will still be loyal Fleet elements that you can call on, rally in our time of need, to drive them off. And all the important facilities and palaces will retain their orbital shields, so even if the strangers decide to bomb the planet, the damage will be cosmetic, and only serve to heighten anger and drive people to your side.”
Sigmund leaned back and let the chair’s back take his weight. He was a figurehead at this point. Armies of invisible worker ants toiled out of sight, moving things to fruition. He could neither control nor deny them.
But at the end of the day, this was the only way to save the Empire from falling into the decadence and decline that was destroying Aquitaine.
“See to it, then, that we can move quickly, if Buran decides to double-cross us in the end,” Sigmund Dittmar commanded. “Once I have the crown, we will move quickly to arrest Keller and the rest. Arlo we will send home, but the two women will be tried as common criminals.”
“Will they be executed, my liege?” the Security officer asked.
“That remains to be seen,” Sigmund said. “Perhaps, after enough time has passed. After all, without Keller, they will not be able to stop us from striking at will. Nothing will be able to stop us. If Buran can be ignored for a decade, we will own all of Aquitaine. Then, we will be in a position to turn on the Lord of Winter as well.”
Sigmund ground his teeth. Politics might stay his hand from executing Keller outright, but that smiling bitch Kermode would not be missed.
CHAPTER XXXIV
DAY: 306 OF THE COMMON ERA YEAR: 13,445 VESSEL - RS:32G8Y42 – “DANCER IN DARKNESS.” FRIBOURG IMPERIAL SPACE. STATUS: SHADOWED
The Temple of Command hummed with an excitement Vrin could not attribute merely to the crew. He sat on his command throne and faced the three Advocates as the timer clock wound itself down to nothingness.
“Crew Advocate, bring your team to maximum readiness,” Vrin commanded the tall man on his right. Ko Serek Evet Khan was a scholar. He would be a good Director of an Entity-vessel after this voyage. Vrin knew a moment of sadness that the elite team he had built would soon be broken, but this would go down in the history of the Holding as one of the greatest days.
The man nodded back to Vrin and pressed a button on his own console. Lights took on a reddish hue and a ringing bell sounded four times.
“Entity Advocate, bring Dancer In Darkness to his full potential,” Vrin continued, turning his attention to the harsh woman on his left. She would stay with the Entity as long as the scholars of Winterhome would allow her, probably longer than Ro Kenzo Atep Vrin commanded.
The fisherman’s wife nodded sharply and scaled a series of controls from partial to full. An Entity left at its peak for too long would begin to develop mental issues, frequently either God Complexes or Philosophical Distraction. Best to leave them at a much lower level of cognition most of the time, bringing the mind to his fullest potential only at the moment of need.
“War Advocate, prepare yourself for conflict,” Vrin concluded, facing the man in the middle.
Around Dancer In Darkness, special crew would come into their own now, soldiers trained to do one task, and do it better than any Technician or Scholar. Dancer In Darkness was no longer just a starship, not even just an Entity-vessel.
He was about to become a warship.
They would take a long, looping pass through an empty stretch of nearby space, dropping back into physical space only in the darkest interstellar reaches, and then only to test the weapons and navigation equipment for final tuning.
In one hundred and twenty hours, Dancer In Darkness would drop into space close to that one, nearly-insignificant yellow star, and remind both foolish Emperors that the Lord of Winter was a far more dangerous foe than they realized.
CHAPTER XXXV
DATE OF THE REPUBLIC NOVEMBER 3, 398 KELLER MANSION, WERDER, ST. L
EGIER
Jessica found Moirrey committing art on the long dining room table, far earlier in the morning than the evil engineering gnome was normally awake. At least there was no glitter.
Currently.
Jessica had even managed to sneak by both Marcelle and Willow this morning, or maybe they were finally beginning to trust the building’s security enough that they didn’t need to be in her hip pocket every waking moment.
Or the sun not being up had confused them.
Jessica had even managed to make her own coffee this morning.
“What are you up to, half-pint?” Jessica asked as she snuck up on Moirrey.
The tiny woman stopped her drawing long enough to pop her head up and gaze seriously in Jessica’s direction.
It was like looking at an owl.
“Seventeen to one, beam-line ratio?” Moirrey asked.
When she got this serious, this intent, her accent nearly disappeared. Today, she almost sounded like Oz, Command Engineering Centurion Vilis Ozolinsh, Moirrey’s boss, back on Auberon. Scion of one of the poshest families in the Republic.
Jessica moved around the table to look over the woman’s shoulder.
Moirrey was working with a graphite pencil on a roll of white paper a meter wide and several meters long. There was a remarkably accurate drawing of the Blackbird, taking shape under the woman’s hands. Jessica could see a variety of deck plans scattered around the table.
She wondered if Moirrey had slept since Saturday.
“I didn’t have access to the courier’s scanner logs, Moirrey,” Jessica replied. “But that feels about right. The lines look close, other than I would move the primary emitter arrays forward a frame or so, just from memory.”
“Wondered about that,” Moirrey replied. “This dinna feels right, but I knew I had achieved a rough semblance.”
“You planning to take all this home and design a new Battleship, half-pint?” Jessica teased.
“No, Fleet Centurion.”
Jessica was amazed at how serious the woman’s voice had suddenly turned.
