by Blaze Ward
“Duty called me home,” Casey announced to the room, listening to the noise move like a tide on fast forward. “Grand events have been taking place outside this chamber that must be addressed now.”
Let them chew on that for a moment, a reminder that the galaxy kept turning, even as these obnoxious, old farts sat in here and rumbled discontentedly at the other House.
The chamber erupted in another blast of sound and fury as Emmerich, in his position as the Duke of Eklionstic, entered via a side door and made his way to a seat not that far from where Gerig was standing.
Casey nearly laughed as Gerig, the Duke of Bergelmir, blanched in surprise as this latest visitor. Especially as Em, like Casey, wore the cloak and sword of a Ritter over his tunic. That would be an unpleasant reminder to many of these men that Emmerich zu Wachturm was allowed to be armed in her presence, and they were not. Precious few were, at the end of the day, with so many lost at Werder. She still had not decided how she would use that opportunity to reshape the Empire, but that was not today’s task.
Gerig had not regained his equilibrium. He stood like a confused statue for a moment, mouth hanging open, so Em rose and bowed in her direction.
“The Chair recognizes the Duke of Eklionstic,” she called.
They had debated it, and in the end decided that having the Grand Admiral tell the tale would make the most impact on these men. Too many would presume that the threat to Vo zu Arlo, a commoner and a foreigner at that, would just make a mere woman too hysterical to be believable.
But they would listen to the Grand Admiral’s tale.
“My comrades, my peers, my foes, as one of my dear friends likes to remind me, the galaxy has changed,” Em began.
Gerig stumbled back to his seat and collapsed, utterly thwarted for the moment. Perhaps even cowed for a short time. Casey had no doubts that he would regroup and make a play for some level of dominance, if not revenge, but only after he had gotten a chance to understand what might bring Casey home six months or more early.
And in secret.
Even Magan Gerig wasn’t that big of a fool, to plow right ahead with earlier plans, when the game board was perhaps beginning to tilt away from him. At least she hoped not.
“At Petron, we witnessed unwelcome events,” Em continued, pitching his voice just a little louder than correct, and hard enough that even the men in the back would hear him clearly. “The Wedding of Jessica Keller to Admiral Wald, son of Landgraf Wald, was a spectacular success, and brought honor to all of us in the name of the Fribourg Empire.”
He paused as the men around him hooted, whistled, and thumped things in overall approval. Patriotism was still the one thing that bound them all together in this room, even if they had differing opinions on what that entailed. Casey watched from her post and began slicing the room below her into factions and clusters, as she noted reactions.
“However,” Em’s voice turned ominous here as he overrode the noise, forcing silence. “However, an attempt was made to assassinate General zu Arlo during the celebrations after the wedding. That attempt was unsuccessful, but uncovered some unwelcome tendencies that made it imperative that the Imperial Party return to St. Legier at the earliest moment possible.”
That brought them down. A few smiles, a few growls, many frowns. Yes, the usual alignments were suddenly threatening to break up the new bonhomie that the Peace-and-Trade treaty might have forged in their place.
“How was it possible that you could have gotten here in that time, if you didn’t leave until after the wedding?” a voice called out from a second tier. Peteph River, Duke of Vortau and nominally an ally of Gerig.
At least until today.
Casey loved the theatrical flourish Em used to swirl his cloak out of the way and gesture to her, up on the higher level. And, perhaps accidentally, clearing the cloak from the sword he wore on his left hip. A not-too-subtle reminder that zu Wachturm was one of the Warriors, and these men were mere Dukes.
“Her Majesty has many friends in the galaxy,” Em called back. “Not just men and women of the Empire, but others who believe in justice and law.”
Casey fought to keep her face stern when she wanted to laugh out loud. Perhaps Em was laying it on a bit thick, but some of these men could be credibly accused of being morons. They might need to have their noses rubbed in it a few times before a lesson sunk in.
Gerig and Warner had both grasped immediately that Emmerich zu Wachturm was in high dungeon today and willing to take it out on his own peers, a thing she could not do. They had gone silent and still, even as their neighbors stirred and a dozen conversations erupted around the room.
Casey let it go for longer than was perhaps necessary, but Em could have easily made his voice heard, had he wanted to.
“Now, I have heard other noises from little pixies,” Em let loose an angry roar this time. “If they are to be believed, by now Lincolnshire had declared war on Corynthe, and more importantly, our allied power and old friend Salonnia.”
Boom. That was the only way to describe it in her mind. The percussion section and the tubas competing to achieve the loudest sound possible in a four-beat measure.
Em appeared to be enjoying himself immensely as he walked back to his seat and plopped down, smiling fiercely at anyone and everyone around him. Casey was reminded of a lion beset by rabbits, an image Jessica had shared of that time at Ladaux, when Yan Bedrov had faced down the assembled Naval Lords and the Senate’s Naval Committee.
Finally, Gerig gathered up his pride and stood.
“The Chair recognizes the Duke of Bergelmir,” she called.
“Your Majesty, we recognize that these are indeed interesting developments, but I am unsure as to their implications and ramifications, let alone why they would draw you halfway across the galaxy.”
“To quote Lady Moirrey Kermode-Wolanski of Ramsey, good sir: the Redcoats are coming,” Casey replied, letting the amplification around her bounce her words off every wall.
“Redcoats, Your Majesty?” Bergelmir asked with an evasive air.
“Lincolnshire would not provoke a war with their neighbors without prodding, my Dukes,” Casey called to the room. “They would not attempt to assassinate an Imperial General without the backing of someone more powerful. In short, I find talk of a treaty of long-term neutrality and trade with Aquitaine to be, at best, premature, my Imperial Lords. We may yet be discussing how to go to war with our neighbor instead.”
The room erupted again. Casey wondered in a few corners if physical altercations might break out, as old enmities saw older enemies gesticulating madly at one another, but things settled before much-younger docents had to intervene.
Casey waited until the noise had stabilized some, and then slammed the gavel down hard enough that she wondered if she had just cracked the handle. Heads certainly turned her way. Voices died off a little.
She slammed it down a second time, just enough softer that it probably wouldn’t shear off in her hand.
The room quieted down, fell to an eerie silence.
Karl VIII, Emperor of Fribourg by Grace of God and King of St. Legier, studied the men below her with a face hinting at the pure rage in her heart right now. Anger at fools and traitors alike, unwilling to grow up and act like responsible patricians of the Empire.
“With no other new business to come before this body, I declare it recessed until the third day from now,” Casey called formally. “Gentlemen, I bid you good day.”
One more gavel rap, like Gabriel’s Trumpet, echoed over the chamber.
Casey turned and walked back through the archway into the corridor without looking back. Her two lead marines met up with six others and led her through to the loading docks, where a black personnel transport had been parked all morning, also guarded by marines.
She entered the vehicle first, and Em appeared a few moments later, moving briskly enough that other men might have to run to catch him. Once he was in, the doors closed and the vehicle lifted off.
> “Where to, Your Majesty?” the marine driver asked, glancing back.
“Mejico,” Casey said. “I feel like burritos for lunch.”
She had missed Tenochtitlan. Now that she was officially back, she could relax a little.
And get ready for the possibility of war.
CHAPTER XXXIX
IMPERIAL FOUNDING: 183/06/06. FLEET HEADQUARTERS, ABOVE ST. LEGIER
THEY HAD PULLED another pair of chairs into Tom Provst’s office when it became clear that Jessica and Torsten didn’t feel like sitting in a conference room. The place was crowded, but Tom had his whole side of the desk, while Jessica and Torsten were crammed in with Charlie. Ralf Frankenheimer, Admiral of the Blue and senior-most officer in the Fribourg Fleet right now, behind only the Grand Admiral himself, was seated around the corner and beside the desk, where he would have to move if Tom wanted to leave, but Tom was certain he would just throw everyone out of his office long before then.
The room had fallen to silence. Jessica had told her story with the clear rhythms of having done this enough times to have it down pat. Charlie was wide awake for once. Ralf was rubbing the bridge of his nose with his left hand.
“How long will it take for news from Ladaux to make it here?” Tom asked her.
“The latest news we have is from mid-April, Tom,” Jessica said. “Imminent would be the right term to describe it, but we don’t have the official message yet. Kind of outran everything else getting here. If it happened in late April, we should be hearing about it here in another week to ten days, depending.”
“Too long to wait,” he replied. “Someone needs to go rescue Jež right now.”
Tom turned to Charlie, wide-eyed and obviously ready to memorize things. Charlie was like that.
“I’ll need a group of fast transports, Charlie,” Tom said. “Something like the Fleet Replenishment Freighters Jessica had. Mendocino and Redding. Ralf, can you add a note to build something? I remember Bedrov suggesting he had a better design, but I don’t remember anything coming of it. The current ships just won’t do for what I need.”
“I’ll check,” the Admiral of the Blue in command of Fleet Headquarters noted.
Might be almost the last thing Ralf did before he retired, but he was already past the date he had originally wanted to, staying on so Em could get home and start reorganizing the fleet.
That might happen tomorrow.
“Also, I’ll need some long-range cruisers to escort them,” Tom continued. “Ships that don’t need to eat all the seed corn, just getting to where Jež is. That defeats the purpose. And most of my Longbows and Expeditionary Escorts are already there.”
“You’ll also need to move some squadrons semi-permanently, Tom,” Torsten said. “If this is a war footing, it won’t be Lincolnshire ships crossing the border. Those will come from Aquitaine.”
“Understood, Torsten,” Tom said. “But I need Jež here so I have some striking power.”
“Why?” Jessica asked simply.
“What?”
“Why do you need that fleet here, Tom?” she asked, cutting all the arguments in his head to ribbons as fast as he could assemble them. “If the war has just restarted, you need them forward, along the two frontiers where they can defend and strike. Denis has a cutting-edge force filled with trained ships. What they need are orders and logistics. Nothing else.”
Crap. He hated when this woman was right. And she was. That was what made her Jessica. Tom knew he would have gotten there in another ten minutes or an hour, once the shock wore off and he had time to stop reacting and start planning.
From the smiles on the faces of the three men, they knew it as well.
“Alternatives?” Tom asked, willing to let the best strategist he knew have her say.
“Take two reinforced squadrons forward right now,” she said. “Put one of them on the near border and free up some space. Shift the other clear around to the Cahllepp Frontier, on the assumption that someone eventually tries to recreate the Long Raid. If this really gets as bad as an assassination attempt on Vo suggests, you’ll want Jež able to shift forward and counter-attack. You will, however, want to remove him from command before ordering him to attack someone on the other side of one of those borders. He’d do it, but you would have to give the man citizenship afterwards, because he could never return to Aquitaine.”
“And you?” Tom asked. He had to have this out now, he supposed.
“If they have gone that far, Tom, then I’m probably never returning either,” she said. “I have Corynthe. If they invade Petron and overthrow David, I can always take Casey up on one of her offers, but I don’t think Tad or Judit understand how angry they’ve made me.”
“Mad enough to command one of my squadrons?” Tom asked.
“Maybe,” Jessica replied. “You’ll have to talk to Casey and Em first.”
“How angry are you truly, Keller?” Ralf suddenly asked, turning to face her with a hard look on his face. “My plan was to finally retire, now that Em’s home. Tom was going to take my position, or something similar, but that ties him down here, same as it does Emmerich. Are we cross enough that launching heavy raids on Republic worlds is a probability? Should Tom be on the border in command of a fleet alongside you?”
Tom watched the emotions play out on Jessica’s face. Not many people could probably read them, as closed as she normally was, but Tom had learned, sitting at her left hand for so long. A rage fit for the gods in one of Lady Moirrey’s ancient, Hellenic tales she liked to read and quote.
Quite possibly, Tom was hearing those first, ancient notes in the story of one of the greatest military campaigns in history.
Sing me a song, oh Muse. Sing for me of the Rage of Achilles.
Finally, she came to a stillness Tom had never seen from the woman. From any human. He could feel the goosebumps rise on his arms at the look in her eyes. The old-timers had mentioned it, Alber’ going so far as to brag on the topic, as a matter of fact.
Kali-ma.
Goddess of Destruction.
That was the thing looking out through Jessica Keller’s eyes right now. Tom felt the room turn frigid around him.
“I have just fought two wars, Ralf,” Jessica’s voice had dropped half an octave and taken on an edge that sent more shivers up Tom’s spine. “To stop the fighting. To make Fribourg respect a border and stop pushing, so that we could try to live in peace. To stop a mad God from conquering the entire, damned galaxy. Fribourg was content to live within her bounds. Casey and I have spoken at great length on the best way to save the Empire from fools. All Aquitaine had to do was sit quietly and let Fribourg come around. Peace and trade would have eventually broken down the walls. We could have had a quiet galaxy.”
“And?”
“And someone has decided that he finds that unacceptable,” she growled. “At some point, you should talk to Nils and get his take on things. He’s here because he refused to help Horvat do this thing. Gave up possibly everything as well, because his honor would not allow it. I don’t have all the details, but I’m sure they are out there, just waiting to be uncovered.”
“And what will you do about it, Admiral?” Ralf pressed, somehow immune to the woman’s emotions.
Or perhaps Ralf understood them all too well, having sat aboard this very satellite and watched Werder die while he sat helpless. Tom had been too far gone in grief for several days after that to think clearly, but Ralf had been there as well.
Kali-ma spoke now. It wasn’t Jessica Keller, anymore. Tom wasn’t sure Jessica even existed, anymore.
“If necessary?” the goddess asked.
Ralf just nodded. The room had gone utterly silent.
“I will bring down Aquitaine itself, Ralf,” she pronounced.
Tom shivered. Everyone shivered. Kali-ma glowered so fiercely that Tom was afraid her skin might start glowing at any moment.
“Then I will stay on duty, Keller,” Ralf told her simply. “You will need Tom Provst with you, if i
t becomes necessary to do this thing, just as you will need to free Denis Jež and the rest to return home without such a cost to their souls.”
Jessica nodded. Tom hoped it was Jessica nodding.
He had never been a deeply religious man growing up. He attended the kirk and tried to obey the injunctions to do right, but it had never been more than skin deep with him. After Werder, after the Crown Prince died aboard his ship, Tom had moved definitively towards a Dualism at odds with most Imperial citizens.
There was Good and there was Evil in this universe. Each of your actions could be attributed to one or the other. As Em’s avenging angel, Tom Provst had done evil deeds, but all of them within the context of accepting a personal cost on his soul, against allowing the greater evils to exist and thrive.
In a way, he supposed that Jessica had done something similar, facing down no less than Emmerich Wachturm when she chose to take the throne of Corynthe, rather than allow evil to triumph.
The creature seated across from him now might be the physical incarnation of destruction.
Tom was just glad she might be on his side.
CHAPTER XL
DATE OF THE REPUBLIC JUNE 18, 405 CA CYRUS, HEMERA
PHIL STUDIED the system layout on a secondary screen as his squadron made a patrol pass. Part of the usual familiarization drills Phil insisted on nowadays. He had spent too much time hiding in messy star systems, peeking at the important places from the shadows of outer gas giants, so he made it a point of training his Command Centurions to think about those places, and to visit them regularly, to prevent someone else from doing the same thing to them.
Once upon a time, Robbie Aeliaes had been exiled to Hemera by a pissed off First Fleet Lord, in the era before. Him being here had probably given Jessica Keller the edge she had needed to win at First Petron. Phil didn’t plan on doing that to any of his ships, but every sailor needed to be at least passingly familiar with every system they might be called to defend. Or attack.
