Petron

by Blaze Ward

  “One could make the case, Primus Pilus,” Jessica noted without any emotion in her voice. “There are still folks from Aquitaine on the ground, but I suspect that most of them will be civilians as caught up in the emergency as you.”

  “There was no mad rush to the doors,” Uly spoke up, letting some of his anger retract inward, rather than continue to focus on Dash. “However, I expect that to change by midday, once news gets out. Especially if the Republic squadron has really run for home.”

  “Get me a count of who’s left,” Desianna ordered one of the aides. “Every person on the planet who is not a local, regardless of nationality. You’ll have that list, and I want it updated on the fly.”

  Another aide rose and departed, messengers carrying the Crown’s wishes to the city as they awoke to the news. Things might get ugly today.

  “What about me?” Dash asked in a quiet voice, teeth obviously grinding as she spoke.

  “Take the Primus Pilus into protective custody,” Jessica said to Uly. “No communications with anyone for now, other than to confirm you have her and she’s well. Otherwise, fully isolated.”

  “Not even my barrister?” Dash asked with a half-grin.

  “If you’ve been set up, you’re next on someone’s list,” Jessica told her in an ugly voice. “If you set Vo up, then you’re subject to Crown justice. Assuming I don’t honor an extradition request from Casey.”

  The shudder that ran through Dash’s frame spoke eloquently enough that no other words were necessary. Dash Mitja was one of the toughest soldiers Jessica had ever met. On a scale with Hans, Iakov, or Edgar Horst, recently retired Color Decurion of the 189th. But Dash’s anger was palpable.

  That would count in her favor, when it came time for someone to pay this piper.

  CHAPTER X

  IMPERIAL FOUNDING: 183/03/15. CITY OF CORYNTHE, PETRON

  AT LEAST SHE knew that Vo would be safe, for now. Casey had made it to the hospital about the same time as an armed mob arrived from all directions, but they had let her and Em through. All the rest of her bodyguards and aides were being held at a second perimeter with Anna-Katherine. For just about anybody else, they were being shoved back even farther.

  Casey knew Iakov Street. A tiny part of her soul found utter solace that he was acting as if she had promoted him to Duke of Petron, or maybe Field Marshal, from the way he had taken charge of the hospital, the staff, and any poor civilians who had managed to break an arm this morning.

  “Your Majesty,” he nodded sharply as other troopers escorted her into a waiting area outside surgery. “Grand Admiral.”

  “Status?” she asked.

  The man was a soldier to his very core, and had been soldiering since before she was born. Plus, he had been with Vo through the very worst.

  “The General’s out of surgery and in recovery now, with Cutlass One close by and Two and Three on his flanks. Four through Eight have the building flanks covered. Nine is tight on Surgery Two and Ten is in the room, save for Ames, Danville and I. All your marines are deployed as a second and third ring outside us. Fleet is hot-dropping an assault shuttle from orbit now with a full medical facility aboard. That took them the longest to organize, or I could have already had it here. ETA twenty-five minutes. Someone needs to have a chat with the Navy folks about preparation.”

  All that from a Decanus. Not even the senior-most enlisted rank of a Decurion, to say nothing of the mere Optio, the lowest officer rank, like the one standing next to the man. As if Iakov Street was a mere anything. Or Victoria Ames. But he had refused all offers to be commissioned, even when the person asking was his Emperor.

  Casey didn’t ask how Street had convinced the Admirals overhead to move without orders from her or Em. It was Vo in the surgery. It was the 189th on the ground. And Street did not look like a man willing to ask twice.

  Instead, she simply took a deep breath and released it, aware that her shoulders were clear up around her ears right now. Em looked worse.

  The big, double-door behind Street opened and a man walked through, still wearing bloody surgical clothing and with a mask dangling around his neck.

  Street ignored her. Actually turned his back on his Emperor to move to the doctor, one hand absently falling onto the pistol on his thigh. Casey followed in his wake.

  “Status?” Street barked.

  The doctor blinked in surprise as he was suddenly the center of attention. He was probably used to that. All doctors have some level of god-complex that makes them enjoy attention, but that attention probably wasn’t this hostile, most of the time, even on Petron.

  The man drew his own breath and obviously ordered his thoughts as he blinked back the surprise.

  “The shooter should survive,” he said as an introduction. “The man is right handed and the shot took him vertically on the left side, passing close to the heart and penetrating the lung before finally coming to rest in a hip bone. He should be dead, but someone with medical training got to him fast enough, and got him here. And the bullet was copper-jacketed, so internal damage was somewhat mitigated to puncture, rather than secondary tearing.”

  “How soon until he’s awake?” Street barked at the surgeon.

  “I’ve put him into a medical coma for now,” the doctor fired back, pushing back just a little on the anger pushing him. “In three days, I intend to bring him out, as we’ll be past the systemic shock of me cutting him open in three places to dig around. Fortunately, he got shot on Petron, and not some place more civilized.”

  “How’s that?” Em loomed over the man, the biggest figure in the room by size and mass with Vo not present. Second in personality, behind Street.

  “Dueling is not uncommon, even today,” the doctor turned his attention to the Grand Admiral. “We’re used to dealing with internal wounds like that, where we need to reach in and stitch something up and then wash all the poisons out and let the body knit. Even if you lot are going to tear him apart later, my job is to get him whole right now.”

  “Well, you’ve got two choices then, bub,” Street said. “You can fully brief the medical team that will be landing on the roof shortly, so they can take care of your charge, or you can come with us.”

  “Where are you taking him?” the doctor demanded.

  “IFV Valiant,” Street snarled. “The Imperial battleship overhead. Her ship.”

  The last statement was made while he was pointing a thumb unerringly over his shoulder at Casey, without ever looking. But she supposed Street and Danville could place every person in here, if they needed to close their eyes and open fire. Danville hadn’t said a word, but tracked everything.

  Vo had told her stories about those two.

  Desperately-scary stories.

  “You cannot move the patient,” the doctor tried to growl, but it came out more like a poodle confronting a St. Bernard.

  “Wrong, but thank you for your useless, medical opinion, boyo,” Street snarled. He turned sharply to her now and nodded to the Grand Admiral.

  “Ready to take charge?” he asked in a much-calmer and polite voice.

  “Negative,” Casey fired right back at him. Centurion Wiegand had been trained to war in an Aquitaine manner. By none other than Jessica Keller herself. “You hold the flag for now. I’ll depart with you on the shuttle and the Grand Admiral will stay and organize things on the ground.”

  Street nodded and scanned the room before setting on Victoria Ames.

  She wasn’t as tall as Casey, but not that much shorter. Heavier build, from working at war constantly, rather than the lithe, dancer’s muscles Casey retained from training with a sword regularly, another of Jessica’s influences.

  “Sir?” Street asked her.

  It was obvious how much respect that Street had for the young woman, just in his body language. He probably had boots older than Ames, and was obviously in complete control of the situation, but that was the veteran in him taking charge of the situation.

  “Shuttle won’t hold all of us, Str
eet,” Ames replied after a beat. “I’ll need the rest of Ten here on the ground for follow-up, while you travel with zu Arlo. Take One and Two with you and the Emperor’s close staff. We’ll follow when necessary. I’ll be the last trooper off the ground, as usual.”

  “Roger that,” Street said. “Hans, get Vlady out here for flag signals.”

  Danville moved like a snake on hot sand, flowing rapidly out of sight in a way that made it hard to focus on the man.

  Last trooper off the ground. Casey supposed that was correct, as she watched things move around her. The 189th had twice landed on Buran’s worlds as part of hostile invasions. Both times, the second to last person to leave the ground had been Victoria Ames, followed only by Vo. It would be the same here.

  “How soon until the General is awake?” Casey asked, trying to sound like an emperor and not a desperate fiancé.

  “About an hour,” the doctor turned to her. He nearly jumped out of his skin when it finally registered who the young, blond woman in his waiting room was. “Your Majesty! We can take you to the recovery room now where you can wait.”

  Casey turned her attention to Street and Ames. They were the ones juggling power-knives right now. Both nodded and she let the doctor lead her deeper into the building, with three men close at all times. She didn’t know them, except on sight, but they wore their rage like unit patches, so uniforms were unnecessary.

  Vo was in a bed, asleep, when she passed through another ring of soldiers. Bandages covered the left side of his chest, and he had wires and tubes stuck in other parts.

  “Fortunately, the General was wearing a protective vest under his sweatshirt this morning,” the doctor was saying, as if that was unusual. Casey didn’t feel like telling him that all of Cutlass had been wearing them this morning. Or that the only reason Vo didn’t have a firearm on him at the time were the hundred or so men around him who did. Cutlass Force. Heart of the 189th. The beating heart of her Empire. “The vest absorbed most of the shot, and the shooter also missed his target, assuming he was aiming for the heart.”

  Or Vo saw it coming and nearly dodged a medium-range pulse shot. Such was the man’s legend, these days, that he might have tried.

  Might have succeeded.

  The doctor made a point of checking everything. A nurse was lingering in one corner, uncomfortable at the men with guns in here.

  Casey took the chair and turned it enough that she could watch Vo until he woke. Sitting helped. Listening to the machines hum and beep as if everything would be okay helped.

  She turned to one of the soldiers in the room. His name didn’t matter. Nor did his rank.

  “Anna-Katherine Kallenberger, my Lady-in-Waiting, was detained at one of the inner rings of security, before we got to the building. She’s probably with my own bodyguards right now. I don’t need them, if I have Cutlass Force protecting me, but it would be helpful if she could be admitted.”

  “We could bring your men in as well, Your Majesty,” the man replied with a bow.

  “That won’t be necessary immediately,” Casey fixed her eyes on the man. “I have the 189th. You stood.”

  She saw the impact of her words on the soldier. The way the shoulders came back and his scowling face wanted to smile with pride.

  “We stood,” he repeated almost reverently, nodding again and departing.

  We stood. Casey had caused those words to be added to the flag of the 189th Division, after the coup that nearly toppled her Father from the throne. It was one of the only official duties she had allowed before gratefully returning Karl VII to his throne.

  The 189th had been one of the few things that had stood between her and her cousin winning. Men, and now women, willing to stand up for what was right, regardless of the cost. Even her own bodyguards, sworn and dedicated as they were, wouldn’t take that task as much to heart as Iakov Street, Victoria Ames, and the rest.

  CHAPTER XI

  IN THE TWELFTH YEAR OF JESSICA KELLER, QUEEN OF THE PIRATES: MARCH THE FIFTEENTH AT PETRON

  JESSICA WATCHED the Imperial shuttle depart on a screen in real time, the hospital not being that many kilometers from her palace. The reports were all favorable. Vo was awake, if groggy. The shooter was alive and unconscious aboard that shuttle as well. The skies over Corynthe City were filled with Imperial StarFighters and GunShips, all other craft having been grounded at gunpoint.

  Technically, the two men who had tried to assassinate Vo were supposed to be arrested by her magistrates and placed in one of her jails. Jessica doubted that they would ever see the ground on any planet again, except perhaps to be marched to their own execution on St. Legier. At some point, she would probably file a formal complaint with Casey’s government, and settle for an equally formal apology at Force Majeure, but that was about it.

  Someone had tried to kill Vo. Whoever had put the assassin up to it wasn’t even going to be safe in Hell at this point. Jessica would see to that, over and above what Casey and Em did to those responsible.

  She looked up from the screen and apparently broke the spell holding everyone in thrall.

  Pretty much the same group was in the conference room. Lunch had passed, with a few leftover plates and mugs scattered around the room. More bodies coming and going. Orders and information flow, like blood in a body politic.

  Marcelle appeared from one of her errands and stepped close.

  “Tom Kigali and Denis Jež are outside, offering to help,” Marcelle whispered in her ear. “Thoughts?”

  “Bring them in,” Jessica decided. “There will need to be things done on the Aquitaine side with all the civilians running around scared.”

  “Very good.”

  A few moments later, Kigali and Denis waded into the mess. Both were known quantities by David and Uly, having spent a year here with Arott Whughy and Auberon when Jessica and Desianna went to St. Legier for another wedding.

  Idly, she wondered if all weddings were bad luck and she should have gone ahead and eloped. But that was just a passing fancy, although Casey’s wedding was next on the social calendar.

  The two men pulled up chairs on the far side of Jessica and sat, mostly hidden by the big conference table, itself covered over with papers, mugs, tablets, and life.

  “Uly,” Denis called in a low voice to get the man’s attention. He gestured to the group around them. “Private chat?”

  Uly looked at them for a long moment, and then Jessica. She nodded.

  “Aides outside right now,” he ordered in a sharp voice.

  Quickly, it came down to her and two of her Merry Men, as Nils always called them. Uly. David. Desianna. Torsten. Girisha. Even Marcelle was outside right now, probably in the chair closest to the door reading something.

  Wiley had scrambled to orbit and was aboard Kali-ma at this moment, with the Queen’s Own escorting the Imperial fleet. They were perhaps the only group Em would accept help from, but they had been there at the same time Vo had been on the ground. Saving the Empire from itself.

  Uly closed the door himself and locked it.

  “Denis?” he asked.

  Jessica knew that Uly and Denis had worked closely together, while Arott and David had been the other team.

  “So I got an interesting note from Alber’ last night,” Denis said in a low, careful voice. Something Jessica recognized from those times when he had an important point to make. Denis got quiet at those times. “He had been ordered back to orbit on short notice for what felt like a surprise inspection by someone important.”

  “Did he now?” Uly’s voice got a distinct sing-song effect when he was truly, lethally angry.

  Like now.

  Her Comptroller got glacial in those moments. Frigid and implacable, with a merry smile on his face and death in his eyes.

  “Kigali and I checked this morning, when the rumors broke,” Denis continued, his own voice grim and stark. “There were no active duty Aquitaine officers on the ground as of midnight, palace time. Only retired, old farts like us.”
<
br />   “That is a most interesting development, gentlemen,” Uly’s smile grew worse. “Thank you for bringing that to my attention.”

  Jessica started to say something, but someone rapped loudly on the outside of the door. In spite of orders, so there must be more news.

  Uly opened it enough to stick his head out and listen to something. When he turned back to look at Jessica, she could see the Apocalypse itself in those eyes.

  “Judit Chavarría requires a private audience immediately, Your Majesty.”

  He closed the door again and smiled. The mouse probably saw that same smile from the cat, right at the end.

  “Requires?” Jessica confirmed the word.

  “Requires,” Uly confirmed.

  She looked at the folks around her and nodded.

  “Show her in, Uly,” Jessica smiled back.

  “Should we leave?” Denis asked.

  “No,” Jessica decided. “I’d like to see her reaction, and at this point there is nothing you two aren’t cleared to know.”

  She settled herself in the chair and smiled.

  “A chair for the Governor?” Girisha asked, falling back into his role as advisor on Court Ritual.

  “Yes, I think so,” Jessica said. “Put her across the table from us. Denis and Kigali, you slide back to the corner a bit. Desianna, Uly, and Girisha will form the flanks for David and I.”

  Judit had not changed appreciably in a decade. The body was still a squat, fireplug of a woman. The hair was unnaturally black. The fingernails were utterly perfect.

  Jessica considered the ways she might order someone to ruin those fingernails first, in a brief fantasy of having the woman tortured for what information she might know about the current situation. Judit would not demand anything without a damned good reason. Especially right now.

  Jessica doubted it was something she would enjoy, knowing the woman’s past.