Petron

by Blaze Ward

  Rather than answer, she let her mind go tactical, and then strategic. Nils turned into her first professor of fleet tactics, seated across from her, and sipped his wine for a final exam.

  Who was there left to fight?

  With Buran the God destroyed and the Protectorate of Man beginning to succumb to entropy, other star nations on the far side of Buran’s space had been contacted, but all of them had been smaller than Fribourg, weaker as well, and had been in the process of being eaten like so many mice facing a hungry snake.

  Moirrey’s SuperGun had, in the hands of Gunter Tifft, shattered the station called the Golden Pearl. Pieces large enough to do permanent damage had eventually deorbited and wrought a terrible, ecological cataclysm on the planet below, Winterhome, the heart and soul of The Holding.

  Buran would not be a threat to anyone else for decades, if ever. NovLao and the other places beyond had never been a threat.

  That left risks closer to home.

  The most likely scenario she saw was an Imperial Civil War breaking out, if enough nobles finally decided to challenge the right of a woman to sit on the throne of the Kings of Fribourg. Casey would have to deal with that for her entire life, or at least until she had a first child that was a boy. A baby girl would just push things forward into the next century.

  But Jessica had little doubt of Casey’s capabilities there. And Casey had Emmerich zu Wachturm and men like Vo and Tom Provst in the next generation. They could cow any Duke with delusions of importance. And would, unless…

  Jessica had always been able to take a wide collection of disparate pieces and assemble them into a whole that was greater, by making intuitive leaps that others could only follow deductively afterwards. It had let her get ahead of enemy commanders, even Gods. She felt pieces lock together in a new configuration.

  It was an ugly one. She knew that the look in her eyes was ugly as well. Raging. Deadly.

  A Duke would only be a significant threat, could only turn into one, if Aquitaine was willing to help him unseat Casey from her throne. Offering support and resources. Perhaps hardening the border again. Or lighting it afire.

  Kali-ma awoke from a long slumber and growled angrily.

  Across from her, Nils Kasum’s ire appeared to match hers, drop for drop.

  “He wouldn’t dare,” she hissed.

  “He might,” Nils replied in a soft growl. “You have to have known the man as long as I have to truly see it, but that’s always been one of his signatures. Le Beau Geste. The Grand Gesture.”

  Yes, she supposed it was. Horvat had brought down his own government and spent half a decade leading the Loyal Opposition, rather than let conspirators in his own party win.

  All because that man would brook no competition at that scale.

  It made sense now. Why Nils had chosen not to participate in Horvat’s government, even by extension. The two men had been friends for fifty years, two scions of wealthy and powerful clans that were all interconnected. The Fifty Families that had helped Baudin found The Republic. And had retained their elite status down the centuries.

  Jessica wondered how history might regard Horvat, if he were caught turning on Fribourg in the very moment after helping them win the war for all futures. Fools fighting in a burning house, perhaps.

  If Nils Kasum wasn’t part of that sneak attack, he would lose none of the approbation when the anger of historians potentially engulfed his friend.

  “What does Nils Kasum want to do with the rest of his life, now that he has saved the Republic and set the stage to help win all future histories for humanity?” she turned the question back around.

  “He is a patriot, Jess,” Nils let his voice slide into a weird, third person. “But patriotism is not always about starting or fighting wars. Like you, he might be called back to service, in a war not of his choosing. But he has retired. Separated by years from the government that he might be forced to return to.”

  “So historians might see Cincinnatus?” she asked gravely, the anger coloring her words.

  “That would be you, in whichever role you chose to accept, Jess,” Nils said.

  “Whichever?” she asked.

  “Suppose he does it,” Nils continued. “Starts a messy, low-grade civil war in Fribourg, as a way to grind down the Empire’s strength at minimal cost to himself.”

  “Suppose.”

  “Ten years ago, being able to do that would have been all of our wildest dreams come true, First Centurion,” Nils dropped into First Lord mode. The man who had held the line long enough for his spiritual successor, Jessica Keller, to win everything. “Many men and women in service have never lost that dream as their polestar. Now?”

  “Now the galaxy has changed, First Lord,” she replied, letting her mind adjust tactical and strategic scenarios. “We might not prefer such an outcome.”

  “Just so,” Nils nodded. “What does Casey do?”

  “She pushes back,” Jessica decided. “Hard.”

  “And so, now you have a cold war on that border, with trade generally falling right back off to what it was in the old days before the Peace,” Nils countered. “Men who were getting rich from that trade are suddenly poor, and probably angry. Even as we probably allow smuggling to help. They develop an antipathy to the throne with a little help. I’m sure there will be border incursions and Events that further freeze relations.”

  “All very predictable, Nils,” Jessica replied.

  “At some point, Wachturm loses his temper, Jess,” Nils’s voice got quiet now. “Status Quo Ante gives Fribourg even odds, at worst, because a renewed war with Aquitaine brings some of the patriotic rebels to Casey’s side and their fleet is still bigger than ours, even split, because Buran is less of a threat on the far side. Maybe the civil war continues. Maybe it fizzles out. But Aquitaine will have likely maneuvered itself into being a victim of Imperial aggression. That means The Holding perhaps comes into play again, but as our allies this time, and not just other threats to Fribourg. Other neighbors also resist. The Senate probably tries to spall off chunks of the closer Imperial neighbors, by negotiation as well as force, pointing out that we won’t pull a Thuringwell on them if they go neutral.”

  “How did this involvement on your part come about, Nils?” Jessica shifted the conversation.

  “I had breakfast with the man at one of our clubs on Ladaux,” Nils answered her. “He would never admit it in so many words, but I’ve known him, as I said, for fifty years. His ego will not let him just hold the line for the thirty years that it takes for Fribourg to either implode on its own, or turn into a mirrored copy of us. He wouldn’t get the credit for defeating Fribourg that Judit will. He must top her, just as he must top everyone else.”

  “You could still get involved in an official capacity, Nils,” she bore in on him.

  “I could.”

  “Why won’t you?”

  “Suppose a war breaks out, Jess,” Nils focused all of his attention, his anger where she could see it. “Who would you want to put in charge of military operations, even if you had to recall her to active duty over her express wishes?”

  Bastard. She hadn’t gotten that far in her logic. But Nils had probably been considering this scenario for a long time, and he was the man who taught her tactics.

  “Worse now,” Nils continued in that implacability that had taken over his voice. “Who would Tad send as an Ambassador to convince her to return to the harness one last time?”

  “Judit would never work,” Jessica said. “Torsten and his friends came very close to outing her as a spy on St. Legier, right at the end before Moirrey returned. The woman is a spy, not an ally.”

  “I’m sure that would have precipitated a similar situation,” Nils countered. “Tad’s always planning ahead.”

  “So he might have called you out in open Senate session and charged you with convincing me to save him from the war he started with Casey?”

  “And he can’t do that if I’m just a retired civilian, Jess,
” Nils smiled at her. “He has other levers he might pull, but none of those would work half as well as if I was already part of his government, or sitting in the Senate. Additionally, doing them would risk alienating some of his own allies, if he’s seen as leaning too hard on me.”

  “So you’re doing all this to protect me?” she asked, bringing her voice back from the loud rage she wanted to bounce off the walls.

  “You, and the Republic, Jess,” he nodded. “Tad has been my friend, and I hope he will be again, once he gets over himself, if he ever does, but this is a bridge too far for me. And for others.”

  “Thank you, Nils,” Jessica leaned back and smiled.

  She raised her wine glass and he joined her in a toast.

  “To outsmarting bastards,” she said.

  Nils grinned and clinked the glass.

  They drank and Jessica let her mind go.

  No doubt Horvat had laid out elaborate plans and fallbacks as situations changed. He would be maneuvering pieces all over some mental chessboard, drawing and pushing things into the outcome he desired, regardless of what might be best for the galaxy.

  That was his mistake. Tadej Horvat had once charged Jessica Keller with saving humanity, and not just the Republic of Aquitaine.

  That gave her an unexpected maneuverability, from what she had previously experienced, because to do that she had been required to out-think a God.

  Tad was just an angry man.

  CHAPTER V

  IMPERIAL FOUNDING: 183/02/25. CITY OF CORYNTHE, PETRON

  VO FELT LIKE A STRANGER. Everyone knew who he was, but very few of them actually knew him as a person. Last time the Star Controller Auberon had been here, it had been under Arott Whughy and Vo had been headed to St. Legier, traveling for another wedding.

  He seriously hoped that this one would be a quiet, enjoyable affair. However, he was still himself. Ritter of the Imperial Household. General in the Imperial Land Forces. Senior Centurion in the Republic Navy. Nothing was ever easy or simple.

  He could, in spite of what anyone else thought, put his foot down occasionally and issue orders. So he had all of Cutlass Force traveling with him as an extended, personal bodyguard. Alan Katche was back on St. Legier, acting as Legate of the Legion while Vo was gone, so people would stay trained. But he had people here he could talk to, who weren’t trying to get something out of him.

  The morning sun was just coming over the horizon as Vo jogged. Since he couldn’t bring assault skiffs for his team, half of them, by even or odd depending on the day, were jogging with him. It was a pack. Thirty-five people could either run in formation, or as a mob, and he preferred the latter. None of these soldiers had anything to prove to Vo by trying to run to the beat of a Decurion calling the cadence. And the locals would appreciate the added silence.

  They had already gone ten kilometers this morning in a rough circle that touched the river and went along the bank for a bit before circling back into the heart of the city near the Jessica’s palace.

  She didn’t run with them, but others had asked to participate occasionally. Most of them only wanted to do ten kilometers themselves, so Cutlass Force ran two loops each morning. A smaller mob was just at the driveway to the main palace as they approached.

  Torsten was immediately obvious at any distance because his left leg was a semi-glossy titanium. You had to be close to see the flames Moirrey had etched into the bones when she built it. Torsten had thus far resisted her efforts to paint them something neon.

  Rather than break stride, Cutlass sort of opened a small gap for Torsten and his bodyguards to join them. That was one of the reasons Vo ran so early, so they didn’t disrupt ground traffic all that much by taking over an entire street, now with more than forty runners.

  “Morning, Vo,” Torsten made his way alongside.

  Vo nodded and stayed with his pace. Torsten wouldn’t be offended. Jessica’s fiancé probably knew him better than anyone within a thousand light-years, if not a million. Casey might understand him, but Torsten was much more of a friend. Especially these days.

  “A little pixie whispered in my ear that you have an appointment with Vibol today,” Torsten glanced up and grinned as feet pounded pavement.

  “I do,” Vo said. “It’s a package deal.”

  “Oh?”

  “Vibol wants to take a look at several uniforms on Victoria Ames and design something better for Imperial Land Forces,” Vo said. “He’s expecting more women to serve and probably assumes idiots will just adapt a man’s uniform.”

  “He’s probably right, Vo,” Torsten laughed.

  “Maybe,” Vo agreed.

  “What about you?”

  Vo kept his chagrin to himself. He understood why he was in this situation.

  “Honestly?” Vo finally said. “I’m not sure why me.”

  “Vo, I asked you to be one of my Wardens because the job calls for honorable men willing to stand up and be counted. There have been blood feuds lasting centuries on Skuodas, where a betrayal fell on such men.”

  “You causing trouble, Wald?” someone asked from right behind them with a laugh in his voice.

  From the tone, it was Iakov Street, another man who Wald trusted. Another man who had helped save the Empire twice.

  “Not yet,” Torsten laughed back, as did many of the others jogging with them.

  It took a lot to earn the respect of Cutlass Force, and especially Cutlass Ten.

  “Without you, Vo, I never meet Jessica.” Torsten’s voice took on a harder tone now. “Never find love and never live this life.”

  This was not a soft man speaking, in spite of him sounding like a professor most of the time. That sobered the mob around them more than probably anything anybody could have said.

  This was Jessica Keller they were talking about. A man had to be damned impressive to even catch her attention.

  “And Denis?” Vo asked.

  He had heard parts of the stories, and knew most of them, but Cutlass was largely ignorant. This would be a way for them to get it straight from the horse’s mouth.

  “Anywhere else, and Denis Jež would have been standing on her side of the aisle as her right hand, like he’s been for the last decade,” Torsten understood the situation and spoke a little louder. “Skuodas is still a little provincial by Imperial standards, in spite of this wedding taking place on Petron, so it becomes an absolute requirement for me to find a spot for that man. And I’m glad to have him. Same with David Rodriguez and my father.”

  Vo thought that Torsten was done, but he was apparently just finding the words he wanted to share with Cutlass, and by extension, the entire Empire.

  “There are other men that I would have asked to stand as my Wardens,” Torsten projected to those further out. “But most of them died that day on Werder. Others perished in the skies overhead. Vo, you will stand in for all of them, just as Denis does for all men and women of Aquitaine that Jessica might have asked. Hell, once upon a time I might have asked Karl VII, if I was really wanting to make this an affair of state.”

  More laughter. Heartfelt, because Torsten was one of them, even if he wasn’t. And Karl might have said yes.

  “But it starts with you, Vo. And the men of the 189th and the folks of Fourth Saxon, in a small suburb of Yonin called Aarhus, in front of a monument to Karl IV’s conquest of Thuringwell,” Torsten’s emotions were evident now. “Everything starts there, so I really had no choice.”

  “Understood,” Vo said.

  He had heard it all when Torsten had first approached him two years ago. Asked him to stand as a Warden, even as Casey, Desianna, Moirrey, and Marcelle would for Jessica. Affairs of state, sure, but also the right thing to do.

  Torsten understood what those words meant just as much as Vo did. The right thing, regardless of your personal wishes.

  So he would let Vibol make him over like a true Viking, and not just that retired Fleet Security Centurion in the audience who liked to play at it. But Navin the Black would be in f
ull, dress uniform. One last charge for the man, as he hit his forty-year mark and retired from active duty. Another of Jessica’s people made legend.

  Like a snot-nosed punk from Anameleck Prime that enlisted in the Navy rather than go to jail for two to five years for burglary, once upon an eternity ago. Just another of the people that Jessica Keller had touched, who had then turned to gold.

  CHAPTER VI

  DATE OF THE REPUBLIC MARCH 1, 405 CITY OF CORYNTHE, PETRON

  MOIRREY UNNERSTOODED that she knowed fabric better’n most folk, but she were playin’ in the big leagues today. Desianna, too, but that lovely woman were kinda eternal. Could still wear the same outfits she’d done had a decade ago, first firsts they mets. Marcelle ne’er changed.

  Not an option fer the Pint-sized engineer fr’m Ramsey. Who maybe weren’t so pint-sized. Turning into a quart-an’-a-half afore she were dones.

  “How far along are you?” Vibol asked as he ran the tape measure arounds the bump sticking outs her front.

  They was in Vibol’s main studio, a suite of rooms separate from Jess’s palace, across the square in a building she’d bought fer him. Her and Casey. Conquering th’galaxy with fashion.

  Agains.

  “Thirty weeks,” Moirrey said, uncomfortable standing still on a tall pedestal while Vibol tut-tutted around her. “Due ’bouts May 1.”

  She’da likeds to blame Digger, but were her own, damned fault. The fleet gives you a thing in your arm that does a spectacular job of saving you from gettin’ preggers, long as you gets a new one every five years.

  ’Cordin’ to the doctors were supposed to knowed these things, taking it out were still gonna take six months afore the stuff flushed outta yer systems and you hads to start taking other measures.

  Not that she were in the least bits obstreperousness itself about doing things her own way. Nor her body.