by Blaze Ward
“And Fourth Saxon has a very dim view of cattle thieves.” Jessica smiled warmly at the man.
Her smile was the promise of a long fall from a short rope.
He saw that, too. Whatever he had been expecting this morning, it had not been anything like this.
Jessica leaned back and smiled some more. It was probably still a little too much cat to his mouse, but that was the situation.
Moments of silence passed as Penztler got his bearings. Mostly.
“You plan to stay,” he concluded quietly.
It was not a question, exactly. Perhaps if he said it out loud, that might make it more understandable. He had that look about him, right now.
Certainly, it opened a new Chapter in diplomacy. If the Imperials had tried something like this, the whole planetary population might fade into the bush. The Imperials had discovered long ago that it was easier to simply command local space and coopt the locals. Several Republic worlds had been under their control that way for some time.
Prying an Imperial world loose, and doing it in this manner, was a new thing. A new threat to the Fribourg Empire. A crowbar Jessica intended to torque until something broke.
Hopefully, not her.
“I do,” Jessica agreed, letting the rest dangle.
“And the other units under arms?”
She found it interesting, the way he phrased that.
Before, it was liberation movements. But the world had been liberated from Imperial control. And he dared not use the real term.
Rebellion. That would put him on the same side with Haussmann.
Some of the groups already out there in the wilderness might make that choice. She would see how much pull this man had.
“As I said, you haven’t committed any crimes against the Republic, Penztler. Yet. That’s likely to change, the longer your groups remain in the field. I will be less receptive as time goes on.”
Jessica leaned forward again to drive her point home.
“At some point, the Fribourg Empire will figure out what we’ve done here, and try to stop us. If the world is on our side, we’re far more likely to fight it out, than to simply cut our losses and retreat back across the frontier.”
Or, you best understand that there are risks either way, Sri.
“I am not in a position to negotiate those stakes, Admiral. Governor. Margrave.”
It took him a moment to wrap his head around that title.
“May I return to my unit and make your case to my commander?”
“I look forward to it, Sri,” Jessica said.
“Will you require assistance to get back to your base?” Wakely spoke up again. “Your associate, Elizabeth Guhathakurta, has asked for and been granted political asylum. Elizabeth thought that you might need help in the bush.”
Jessica watched that bit of information get under the man’s skin like a tattoo needle, a little staccato pulse counterpointing his heartbeat.
“We will provide you with maps and food, Penztler,” Wakely continued. “Plus you’ll have your radio and other gear. We appreciate you not being ready to share the location of your base. We would like to deal with you on faith.”
On faith.
Wasn’t everything being done here on faith? On luck? On timing?
“I would like to talk to her, to Eli, before I go, if possible,” he said, still in a mild state of shock.
“Absolutely,” Wakely rose gracefully. “I’ll send her in shortly.”
Jessica rose as well.
Everything had been said that needed to. Penztler would go back to his people and make the case. She would deal with the consequences, one way or the other.
Wakely surprised her by gesturing for the marine in the corner to depart with them as well.
Outside, Wakely gestured to a woman who had been working at a nearby desk.
“Eli,” she said to the woman. “I’ll let you two have a few minutes of privacy, and then I’ll send you back with the Margrave.”
Interesting. So this was the defector. Jessica studied the woman more closely than she had last time she had been in this room.
Elizabeth Guhathakurta was taller than Jessica. Darker. Curvier both in chest and hips. She had medium–length hair nearly black and eyes the dark brown of aged, stained wood.
It was interesting to watch her move. She had the same low center of gravity that Jessica saw in the mirror. In Jessica’s case, close combat training with blades. Guhathakurta looked like she might have something similar, but it was more flowing, less compact. Given the planet, Jessica would have said exotic dancer for money, but there was also something wild and dangerous underneath.
Wakely must have had a very interesting conversation with the woman to already be willing to let her talk to Penztler without supervision.
In a moment, the two of them were alone in a side office.
Jessica had a host of questions she wanted to ask, but Wakely was unlikely to have any more answers than she did.
“Will it work?” Jessica settled on.
Dr. Wakely Okafor, PhD, Distinguished Fellow, Visiting Scholar, expert on Imperial governance, shrugged.
“Maybe?” she said. “Penztler is supposedly the second in command to a man named Fraser Cydelmynster, according to the files we have started to read. That man has a deep and abiding hatred of Imperial Security.”
“How bad?”
“They killed his wife publicly,” Wakely said. “Shot her in the street. He vanished before they could get to him. Most of the modern liberation movement came about in the last four years because of that man.”
“And we don’t know much?” Jessica asked.
“Almost nothing,” Wakely said. “He might surrender and ask for asylum. He might become a patriot. He might decide to go after Haussmann personally.”
“Keep me posted,” Jessica decided. “He has until we destroy Haussmann and his people to make up his own mind.”
After that, this Fraser Cydelmynster would be next on her list.
Chapter XXVIII
Date of the Republic May 9, 396 Yonin, Thuringwell
Jessica smiled as she looked out over the rooftop.
It hadn’t been all that long, dealing with Penztler. Enough for Enej and Marcelle to settle in and do paperwork, but not to get bored with it.
Now they had both followed her back up to the roof, gasping a bit at the climb. She considered suggesting that they spend more time stair–climbing and less time working on machines. Auberon had enough decks to get anyone in shape. Running stairs had long been part of Jessica’s morning routine.
Nothing on the roof had changed, except the location of some of the men and women protecting it with crew–served weapons. They had apparently moved to cover different flanks of the skyscraper in the ninety minutes she had been below.
From the stairwell, Jessica had a good view of the starport. She watched four small dots detach themselves from the ground, followed a few moments later by the bigger bulk of the DropShip Petron leaping gracefully skyward.
Enej was on the landing with her, with Marcelle a few steps below, a marine below that, the defector, and another marine. The space was a bit crowded, but everyone left her alone to think. She could just hear her Flag Centurion speaking into a sound–deadening microphone, arranging their taxi ride.
Elizabeth Guhathakurta was an interesting find. Ex–prostitute, ex–dancer, ex–bounty hunter, ex–everything. A woman far older than her twenty–four years standard. She had a feral edge to everything she said, and how she moved, that kept Jessica’s marines, both big men, nervous.
Marcelle could probably still teach the young woman a few tricks. There are things you don’t pick up in bar fights for at least a decade. Or three, in Marcelle’s case.
Right now, Guhathakurta was behaving like an Imperial Lady of the Court. One with a very mischievous twinkle in her eye, but few words. She had been unwilling to provide any tactical or strategic intelligence, beyond the Imperial Security attack that
had been thwarted, so she still retained some level of loyalty to her former comrades, which was a good sign.
But this was a woman with an eye towards the main chance, and a willingness to gamble.
Her interview had been even more interesting than Penztler’s. She wanted out. Away from Fribourg. Away from a male culture. But unwilling to commit to Aquitaine. Still, she would be taken aboard Auberon and given a job, if she wanted, or simply transported to Ladaux and kissed farewell on both cheeks.
The woman looked like she might be reading Jessica’s mind. She smiled warmly for the first time, perhaps seeing her escape from a life of male–domination in the massive DropShip slowly sliding over the edge of the roof like a morning eclipse.
“Margrave,” she called suddenly over the sound, causing the men in between them to twitch. “Can you really win?”
Jessica smiled back at her.
“What kind of man is Fraser Cydelmynster?” Jessica fired back.
They had had this conversation earlier, but nothing had come of it. Maybe the woman was finally relaxing.
“Gold–Four, the Captain, is a hard man, Margrave,” Elizabeth said, her eyes drifting off to the horizon and unfocusing. “They killed his wife. You know that. But he still talks to her. Listens to her advice. Most of the men don’t pay enough attention to realize that.”
Jessica gave the woman a shrewd smile. Elizabeth kept sounding decades older than she was.
Still, that might be an opening she could exploit. Jessica figured she had a one in three chance of having to fight the man. He was probably most likely to go after Haussmann personally. Thought he might be willing to come in from the cold.
Jessica had several industries and properties that she and Wakely needed to sell off to local investors willing to put up sweat equity to see succeed. Captain Cydelmynster sounded like the kind of man who could get himself elected Governor, if he wanted.
Now, she just needed to convince him that he wanted to.
Tomorrow.
Today, Petron was just touching the rooftop gravel, hovering sedately as before, ramp down like a mouth waiting to swallow them whole.
One of the marine Yeomen gestured for her to board. A light drizzle had begun to mist everything. Not enough to even wet her uniform, just dampen her hair. It got her aboard half a step faster and across the big bay of the DropShip to the officer’s cabin.
Jessica sat on one side, with the rest of the group mostly seated across from her, Guhathakurta smiling at the two big men seated on either side of her, professional paranoia evident.
“Rocha, we’re ready to lift,” Enej said out loud as everyone buckled in.
Again, tea would not have spilled as the ship tilted softly away and began to hum louder.
Gaucho probably would have dropped the ship on its ass and lit the afterburners, trusting that everyone was serious about being secure enough to treat it like a hot drop.
He did that.
The alarm was almost simultaneous with the explosion.
Tea would have gone everywhere as Petron shuddered and lurched sideways, vibrating madly as it spun on the flat axis. There was a sound like metal tearing that approached apocalyptic.
“Mayday. Fleet, this is DropShip Petron, declaring an emergency,” Rocha’s voice came out of the speakers. “I am under fire and have sustained a hit. Feels like a ground–to–air missile.”
“Acknowledged, Petron,” Jessica heard Denis’s calm voice on the comm. “What is your status?”
“Airworthy and evading. Stand by.”
A second hit jarred the ship, nearly turning her turtle as the starboard aft corner was suddenly driven into the air by another explosion.
The engines stopped for a moment. Petron stalled into freefall like a character in a children’s cartoon hovering over the edge of the cliff.
Jessica felt the big vessel right itself with a roar of defiance. Up front, Rocha slammed the engines to the stops and left them there. Everyone in the cabin was pressed into their restraints by the sudden acceleration. Up became up again, and then the aft of the DropShip became down as the ship stood on her ass and leapt for the sky.
“Fleet Centurion, what is your status?” Rocha said calmly.
Jessica looked around to be sure. The cabin where she rode was a mess, but it was also towards the bow of the DropShip, just behind the cockpit, inside the best armor. The hits had been well back.
Exactly where a DropShip was designed to take ground fire and still fly.
“We’re fine, Flight Centurion,” Jessica replied slowly, forcing the adrenaline out of her voice. “Can we make it to the starport intact?”
A calm commander infects her crew with calmness.
“Don’t care, Commander,” Rocha growled over the engines. “I’m going for sky.”
Jessica could hear the woman’s teeth grinding over the comm as the howling got louder.
“What is our status, then, Rocha?” Jessica asked.
“Two hits, Commander,” the pilot replied. “Lost one engine. The others are intact. Escort wing is dropping flares and jamming electronics so hard that the iron in your blood might react down on the street. They’ll probably start strafing if somebody fires another shot.”
“Understood.”
There wasn’t a lot Jessica could do at this point that wouldn’t inject more chaos into the system. Let the experts expert. The city would survive whatever incoming fire demanded the right of way.
“Please stay in your seats,” the pilot continued. “The drop bay may no longer be pressurized, but the rest of the ship is and I’m going for orbit and rendezvous with the mothership.”
Jessica nodded and turned to Enej, catching his attention as he spoke furiously into his microphone.
“I’m going to owe Iskra an apology,” Jessica said.
“Nope,” her Flag Centurion replied with a harsh smile. “That would be if you were dead. She’s going to settle for a whole bunch of I told you so’s.”
Jessica nodded.
War is chaos. Somebody down there had thought he could assassinate her.
Maybe, just maybe, that rat bastard would be stubborn enough that he could be taken alive.
Chapter XXIX
Date of the Republic May 10, 396 SC Auberon. Above Thuringwell
“So what do we know?” Jessica growled.
It was just her, Enej, and Marcelle in her office. She could have done this on the Flag Bridge, brought everyone up for a big staff meeting, but that wouldn’t have gained anything except to take time out of people’s busy days.
And let them watch her apologize to Iskra Vlahovic personally. As Enej said, nothing like a good I told you so.
Marcelle had done the same to Jessica a little more privately, while making her coffee before anyone arrived.
“LVIII Heavy didn’t stop to ask questions,” Enej said without looking down at his notes. “One of the tanks had a line of sight on the building that had launched the two ground–to–air missiles, so they hammered it with their cannon a few times. Ground troops got there four minutes later.”
An image was projected, showing the room from a variety of angles, including badly–scorched shipping boxes with unarmed missiles inside.
“And?”
“And he got away,” Enej continued. “The device was a camouflaged air–defense battery with two tubes and half a dozen more missiles secured close by. Apparently remotely–activated. Security footage on a nearby bank has identified a probable shooter and tracked his vehicle to the edge of town. Looks like he met some people there, presumably more sleeper agents, swapped land vehicles, and ran like hell.”
“Into the forest?” Jessica asked.
“Affirmative,” he said. “Fourth Saxon has a patrol headed that way to track them.”
Jessica considered the situation. That room had not been put together in the last two weeks. Imperial Security had apparently been planning for this sort of thing for years.
It was entirely out of char
acter for Imperial Security to be this prepared, this good, on a world this irrelevant. The only thing she could think of was Haussmann was so paranoid he had gotten himself exiled here to keep him away from the halls of power, and he had nothing better to do with his time than exercise his craziness.
On her.
That suggested that the men who had fled into the bush might be more heavily armed and prepared than her current plans anticipated.
This just kept getting worse.
Or better, if she wanted to look on the whole thing as a tactical exercise of the kind originally dreamed up by Nils Kasum to keep her on her toes.
Anything less stubborn than a DropShip like Petron would have been destroyed. Even one of the fighters would have been shattered at that range. There were probably more of those surprises out in the wilderness, just waiting for her to push troops out, supposedly covered by air support.
Jessica realized that Enej and Marcelle were quietly watching her, waiting.
At least they knew that her bouts of introspection were tactical, and not depression and self–doubt. Another reason they had stayed with her all these years.
“Get me Rebekah Kim on the comm,” Jessica said with a leap of intuition.
Enej let an eyebrow come up, but he grabbed his computer and started typing.
Within thirty seconds, the semi–snarling face of LVIII Heavy’s Commander appeared in a projection. Apparently, the woman was in the field. The camera pickup was from inside Freefall.
“Fleet Centurion?” Kim asked, managing to convey an amazing amount of disdain at the interruption of her day, just from the look on her face.
This was a woman of very few words.
“Kim, I want you to rearrange your forces a little to free up a team to push into the brush with a patrol from Fourth Saxon.”
“Why?”
On any other officer, that was probably pushing the boundaries of insubordination. With Kim, it was literally the question she wanted answered, so she could plan her next move.
