Petron

by Blaze Ward

  Physically, nothing about Exeter stood out. Shaved head rather than showing off his bald ring. Perhaps a soft chin, but that might be the light in here. Brown eyes with a quiet cunning in them, if you looked just right.

  Both Em and Tom had chosen him for this job. With ten thousand other men to pick from.

  “Announce us as a courier with orders,” Vo said. “Get you and me, plus my troops, to the command node station so we can talk to the local commander and governor, and figure out what happened and what Denis needs to do about it.”

  “Very good, zu Arlo,” Roland nodded. “Given that this is Salonnia, that’s about three hours before they’re ready for us to fly a shuttle over. I’d suggest dinner and a nap.”

  “Exactly my plan, Captain,” Vo let a small smile escape the shell around him.

  He departed the bridge and headed forward to where his various teams were stationed: Cutlass One, Nine, and Ten, plus forty-eight Imperial Marines seconded to his command for the time being. It let those men get a taste of having a woman commander, since Victoria Ames was the only other officer he had taken with him on this trip.

  IFV Dorchester’s team had the watch as Vo entered his team’s space. After Petron, they had been at great pains to make sure he knew that the senior officers of their vessel were morons and they were far more loyal to orders.

  Being under the watchful eye of the future Imperial Consort, in the uniform of a General and a Ritter, would cause any man to snap it up tight.

  Vo nodded to the Petty Officer First Class in charge of this team and drew him along. Past the hatch, Ames and Street were reading, Danville was playing some solo card game, and the rest of Cutlass Ten was in sight around the walls and space.

  “Roust Decurions and Petty Ones, Ames,” Vo said as she looked up.

  He had expected her to send someone, but instead she pulled out a small ShipComm and pushed a single button on it with a smile. From the hallway beyond, a dozen men exploded into action, racing into this meeting room like Vo had a stopwatch.

  Maybe Victoria did and wasn’t telling him. And maybe she just liked using Cutlass Force as a meter-stick for the marines to fail against. There wasn’t much love lost between the two sides. As long as it didn’t get out of hand.

  “Drop in approximately three hours,” Vo announced simply. “Signal will be an hour in flight, each way. Locals got hit by someone big and angry at least a week ago, so they’ll be twitchy. Since this needs to be a forward base for Denis, we’re cramming everyone aboard a shuttle. Personal weapons, but the rest of your gear will remain here for now.”

  “Shuttles are rated for twenty-five in an evac, zu Arlo,” Street spoke up. “Twenty-seven if we leave off the loadmaster and the co-pilot. We’re eighty.”

  “We won’t be in the air long,” Vo growled. “Strip out seats and non-essentials. Leave anti-tank weaponry behind. I want to simply overwhelm the locals and brute force my way into getting their attention. Owning their station will do that, at least until Denis arrives with a battle fleet.”

  He looked around the room with a critical eye.

  “I’m napping for the next hour, then we’ll need the wardroom to feed everyone so we don’t have to worry about eating over there for a while,” Vo said. “Ames, you, too. Dorchester, you have the watch under Street’s command, so you organize everything.”

  Vo didn’t end up napping, but he hadn’t expected to. Navin had ruined him for something so prosaic decades ago, so Vo climbed into his bunk and meditated in the dimness of the lights turned mostly down.

  Ames came for him fifty-seven minutes later. The woman who had originally taught Vo meditation techniques had also taught him to count time in his head.

  “You awake, sir?” she asked from the open hatch.

  Vo unfolded himself and stood up, sliding his feet into his favorite combat boots, the non-regulation ones that Casey had caused to be made for him by someone Vibol found acceptable.

  They joined a line into the wardroom, moving as quickly as the staff could feed a team more than a third of the size of the regular crew. Vo sat with Street, Ames, and the squad leader from Dorchester.

  “This is not Fribourg,” he announced simply, uncaring if others nearby overheard. The word would get out fast enough. “Salonnia are allies, but strangers. And I’m assuming an Aquitaine squadron came through here, unless Lincolnshire has upped their pissiness in the last six weeks. We’re going to land and take charge of the situation, until I know what we need to do next. Don’t start anything, but if they do, I expect your teams to finish it. I don’t want them thinking Imperial troops are soft. If they get really stupid, the fleet will be here in a month, at most. Questions?”

  There were none. Or rather, none anybody was willing to voice at the moment. Everyone was in that blank space where lack of information might cause you to make poor decisions, but not doing anything would be worse, so Vo felt that he had to keep moving.

  Eventually, they stuffed seventy-nine men and one woman into a shuttle meant for twenty on a busy day, with Captain Exeter flying in the empty copilot seat. The flight over was hot, but everyone here had bathed and the smell of adrenaline wasn’t as fierce as a DropShip hitting atmosphere. Plus, there were no horses with them.

  The pilot kept the radio playing in the rear space, so everyone listened as they flew into the station, passed the lockshield, and engaged magnets to hold the shuttle to the deck.

  Vo had a screen to watch as a single, low-ranking officer made his way across the space and rapped loudly on the hatch, indicating that it was safe to exit.

  Indianapolis had gotten into a snarling match with Dorchester about watch schedules, and eventually won, so Vo found himself surrounded by a team that was usually the color guards off of Casey’s Flag Cruiser. Everyone wanted this duty, so Vo felt better that his troops were wanting him to look good.

  He triggered the hatch and watched it unfold into a set of steps down, followed by the Indianapolis team marching precisely and taking up station on the left. Dorchester took the right, and Vo emerged to a Lieutenant who had gone white and rigid. Vo’s uniform probably didn’t help the man’s calmness, especially when his eyes fell onto the red longsword patch that regulations said he wore on every uniform, including Heavy Assault Armor.

  “General zu Arlo?” The man looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die quietly. “We were expecting a courier, sir?”

  “That’s right,” Vo walked up to the man and swapped salutes as Cutlass emerged, followed by an unending stream of marines. Captain Exeter was towards the end.

  At least nobody was pointing a weapon, as all of his troops fell into formation around them. Ames, as was custom now, was the last to emerge, walking to stand next to him with a nod.

  “All present and accounted for, General,” she said loud enough for anybody listening in, which now included three flight engineers coming over to service the shuttle, walking like someone over here might be holding a live grenade.

  Vo turned to the young man in the Salonnian navy uniform with a smile.

  “Lead the way,” Vo ordered the man, falling in about halfway back of the orderly mob marching through the hallways. Two squads would secure the landing bay behind him, but that was still enough men to leave a lot of surprised and confused faces in the corridors as they moved.

  At least the Commodore in charge of the station had been paying attention to the screens, or someone had notified him, as he was wearing a jacket and had even buttoned it mostly closed when Vo arrived. The man saluted, which was inappropriate, but Vo wasn’t going to correct him.

  If they wanted to be deferential, that would make his task easier.

  The command deck was crowded, with all of the Cutlass folks inside and his marines holding the corridor.

  “Welcome, General,” the man called out as the room fell to shocked silence. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you, sir.”

  That did not sound appetizing by any stretch of the word. But at least no
body was acting like they should be in charge instead of him.

  Vo wasn’t feeling all that charitable. He had been shot. Left behind with the fleet when his love had to run home to save her Empire. And now Aquitaine was violating treaty borders and making demonstration raids.

  None of this sounded like a coincidence.

  “Let’s talk in private, Commodore,” Vo called back.

  The man moved like a rat with a hungry bobcat on his ass. Vo ended up in a conference room with the Commodore, two captains, and two civilian aides Vo marked as spies. He brought Ames, Street, Exeter, Gunderson, and the Petty Officer First Class from Indianapolis’s team.

  “The news is confusing, General,” the Commodore finally explained after Vo brushed aside attempts at social conversation.

  “Boil it down to salient points,” Vo ordered the man. “I’ve got an entire Imperial battle fleet coming up behind me. Right now, they should be approaching Tadasuni to lay in supplies before coming here.”

  “Approximately three weeks before the wedding in Petron, there appears to have been a raid on a Lincolnshire system,” the man said grimly. “Evidence suggests that the attackers may have flown a Salonnian flag.”

  “One of the Syndicates got out of hand and thought they could get away with it?” Vo growled at the man. He watched the Commodore try to think up what he apparently hoped would be a convincing lie. Instead, Vo ignored the man and turned to the older of the two spies.

  They looked like two average guys off the street, dressed neither too well nor too bad. Corporate accountants, maybe, when men like that had no business being here. That just confirmed that they were spies of some sort, at least in Vo’s mind.

  “Yes or no?” he asked the older-looking one.

  “Yes, General zu Arlo,” the man answered in a remarkably quiet voice.

  Vo nodded.

  “Describe the force that hit you,” Vo said, ignoring the rest of the people.

  “RAN Cyrus and three light cruisers,” the spy said from memory. “Plus three of the new escort corvettes.”

  “Of course,” Vo nodded, turning back to the others. “Fleet Centurion Kosnett’s squadron. Probably parked forward from Ramsey. He flew there directly from Petron, gathered up his forces and came here. Has anybody else been hit?”

  “Not that we’re aware of, at present,” the other spy, the younger one said. “Why are you here, General?”

  Vo took the time to provide them an expurgated version of the truth, leaving out the critical details, like where Casey was, but including the assassination attempt and Lincolnshire closing all her borders to anybody not flying an Aquitaine flag.

  “Where does that leave us, General?” one of the captains spoke up now.

  “The Emperor needs to get home, while all the mice are playing around,” Vo said. “From Tadasuni they need to come here and lay in supplies as fast as they can. In three weeks, I’m hoping we’ll know what’s going on with Aquitaine, because the fleet needs to remain as a single force. Nothing can stop us from moving forward, but raids like this one might slow us down.”

  “We can work with you on purchasing supplies,” the man said.

  Vo turned to the two spies and let them see some of his anger at the whole situation.

  “Gunderson here will be in charge of negotiations,” he announced. “Some profit is acceptable, but if one of the Syndicates is misbehaving and causing all the troubles on the borders, now would be a very good time to sit them down and have a chat.”

  “Is that a threat, General?” the Commodore spoke up in a sharp tone.

  Vo wondered if the Syndicate responsible for the Lincolnshire raid also owned this man. It would explain why Kosnett hit here.

  “I have a battle fleet coming, Commodore,” Vo said. “And the Emperor. If Salonnia wants to violate treaties and start troubles, I might counsel her Majesty to review those agreements. She might decide to throw any pirates she does find to the wolves. Or perhaps make her own demonstration as a gesture of good will to Aquitaine, to help calm things down before they get out of hand. Am I clear?”

  The way the man gulped was assuring, as was the subtle nod the younger spy gave Vo.

  He didn’t know why everyone had chosen now to cause trouble, but he had a big enough hammer to stop it. If there were omelets for breakfast afterwards, that might just be a bonus on the necessary collateral damage.

  CHAPTER XXVII

  IMPERIAL FOUNDING: 183/05/15. IFV VALIANT, JUMPSPACE

  THE BRIDGE WAS DARK, deep in ship’s night. Casey was alone, watching various gauges and readouts and making sure Kigali’s ship was behaving. He had been true to his word, and only sat two watches in as many months, leaving her and Aki to handle everything.

  It had probably been as close to commanding a warship as she would ever get again, and Casey wanted as much of it as she could get.

  Behind her, the main hatch opened with a thunk of the door retracting into the wall. She glanced back to see Nils Kasum enter, moving quietly to stand next to the other seat, where Aki normally sat when they were both here.

  “Feel like company?” he asked in a voice as quiet as night watch aboard a ship in JumpSpace.

  “Please,” she gestured to the station.

  Nils sat and seemed to meditate on the control boards. She wondered how long it had been since he had flown a ship, either, both of them being too important these days for such simple tasks.

  Casey knew that it was one of the reasons Kigali had retired when he did. It was that or take a job teaching, which would have been his second choice. Commanding a corvette strike force would have been around eighth or tenth on the list for Tomas Kigali.

  “We’re in Fribourg space now,” Nils mused aloud. “Who would have ever imagined me fleeing to St. Legier, one step ahead of a posse?”

  Casey turned just enough to look at the man directly, rather than out of the corner of her eye. She had been too young to understand some of the stories Em had told Father, fifteen or twenty years ago, about the duels with this man. Had Nils Kasum truly been the best, daringest commander in the RAN, until Jessica came along?

  Probably. They had promoted First Fleet Lord Nils Kasum into First Lord of the Fleet as a reward, and to give the man the tools to try to stave off elimination at the hands of the famed Red Admiral, Emmerich Wachturm.

  “You could have remained on Petron, Uncle,” she replied, granting him the sort of relationship by proxy that she had with Em, but also with Denis and Kigali, among others.

  Nils turned to grin at her, nodding at the promotion, the inclusion into a more select, inner circle.

  “I knew it was coming, Centurion,” Nils replied, almost wistfully. “I couldn’t tell anybody the details, because I didn’t know them, but I’ve known Tad for fifty years. I did not expect this. So remaining on Petron would have required me to seek permanent asylum, because I’m sure Judit had orders for me, same as Jessica, Denis, and the others.”

  “They’ll find you on St. Legier, eventually,” Casey said. “Unless you want to disappear into the darkness forever.”

  “I do not,” Nils shook his head. “Emmerich has offered me a teaching slot at your Naval Academy for now. As a retiree, I have that latitude. Or did, when everything was still peaceful at Petron and we could have talked about it.”

  “Will you advise the Crown?” she asked, slipping out of the persona of a Centurion and into that of an Emperor, even with these people she knew and loved.

  “If I can,” Nils laughed, but she could hear a frustrated note behind it.

  This was an older man, past his prime, past even his day in the sun, largely living on the glory he had accumulated when he was not much older than she was now. Back when the galaxy was a different place. Before Bedrov and Pint-sized had revolutionized naval warfare.

  Casey rolled the dice in her head and leaned forward a shade, almost conspiratorially.

  “It had been my plan to turn the Empire into something as close to the Republic as I cou
ld manage in my lifetime, Nils,” she fixed his wavering eye with hers. “To make the hereditary nobility less important and bring a broader base of the commoners into both government and the fleet. Men like Tom Provst, whose father worked in a factory for most of his career.”

  “How could I help with that, Your Majesty?”

  His own voice had shifted with hers, a petitioner before her Court, rather than her ultimate commander when she wore green and black.

  “Teach the aristocracy that they still matter,” Casey replied. “You represent one of the noblest of the Fifty Families that are the backbone of the Republic, Nils. Jessica will draw the commoners in her wake, but the men and women of station will resent her. They will respect you. Doubly so as you were Em’s counterpart in so many tasks, his nemesis for so many years, even if neither of you wish to talk about such things today.”

  Nils chuckled quietly at that.

  “You were just about being born, the last time Command Centurion Kasum and Captain Wachturm tangled, at Ivek,” Nils said. “Karl VII made him an admiral after that, and I became one of the youngest Fleet Lords in a half-century. From there, it became mostly a war of proxies.”

  “And you saw Jessica and knew what she could become,” Casey stated.

  He looked at her for several seconds, slowly realizing how much Jess must have told her, by the way his eyes changed.

  “I did,” he agreed. “Better than me. Better than Emmerich. Possibly better than anyone living, dead, or yet to be born, Casey.”

  She nodded in turn.

  “If Aquitaine will not have peace in my time, then I must teach them the folly of war, Nils,” she said simply. “Men like Torsten Wald had shown my father how to do it, before Jessica happened. Fribourg might have swallowed Aquitaine in my lifetime.”

  “They might have done it in mine, save for Jessica, Your Majesty,” Nils replied. “Now I contemplate helping you do exactly that task, and it fills me with dread.”