Petron

by Blaze Ward

  Plus, there was officially a war on. The news had been waiting for Phil when Cyrus arrived at Hemera. He had just spent the last hour wading through all the details of the packet while his Command Centurions shadow-boxed and trained their crews.

  Lincolnshire had, in turn, gotten war declared on them by Salonnia, although Corynthe hadn’t said anything. At least not yet. Phil’s team was too far away from that frontier for it to matter, unless the pirates came over the border like a mob of Picts, which he doubted. Lincolnshire seemed to be trying to poke everyone with a sharp stick, but not everyone had decided to react, which was good.

  However, Aquitaine had a treaty with the fools in Ramsey. It included language for exactly this situation.

  Phil reread the last section of the packet. Speaking in Premier Horvat’s name, Governor Judit Chavarría had invoked her powers to declare war on his behalf, until such time as the Senate itself made a formal declaration.

  Phil didn’t know those power players, but Jessica had spoken about them, as well as her own history. The Governor wouldn’t have done something like that without explicit instructions from the Premier of the Senate that he would find such an action acceptable.

  That frightened Phil more than anything.

  Reviewing the notes in his head, that were never written down and susceptible to discovery by anyone else, the only conclusion he could draw was that Aquitaine had maneuvered everyone else quietly, if not secretly. Had taken advantage of events, if they had not manufactured them in the first place.

  That Aquitaine had decided to start the General War again, for reasons nobody was currently willing to disclose.

  He took a deep breath and checked the local formation on that second screen again.

  The squadron was currently maneuvering near the largest of the local gas giants, Hemera-E, home to several dozen moons and captured asteroids where enemy ships and watchers could hide. This team was training to stop someone like Phil doing what he and his old team: Heather Lau and Siobhan Skokomish; had done to Buran.

  Quickly, he sent out a signal to gather up all his Command Centurions on the command line. Then he locked it down, allowing only Paskal to listen in.

  “I have been reading our latest orders, delivered by courier,” Phil announced, once all the lights had gone green. “As of now, the Republic of Aquitaine has declared war on Salonnia, at the behest of Lincolnshire and in accordance with all the requisite treaties.”

  Phil watched the faces change. Going from peace to war made everyone grow a little more serious. Buckle things up an extra notch. Contemplate their own mortality, and the potential need to kill others for no better reason than the color of their flag.

  “Nothing else changes,” Phil said. “We will continue this patrol, and I expect a second set of updated orders in the next few days, once the mail catches up with us here. However, I expect that Fribourg will be required to react to the situation in the same way, and that hostilities with the Empire may commence at any time. If so, we will most likely be sent out to raid Imperial worlds, ahead of the fleet carrying the Emperor home.”

  “To slow them down?” Command Centurion Križ asked.

  As Cyrus was the flag, she tended to speak for the others in situations like this, even when she could have just walked into his office to ask. But she understood that the others needed to hear it from him directly in situations like this.

  “Affirmative,” Phil said. “That fleet itself is too big for us to engage, but if we can damage various places, they may be forced to reinforce systems as they go, which reduces their strength and potentially sets them up for a future battle with the rest of First War Fleet. In that case, we’re also a heavy scouting element. But, as I said, no orders at present. We will continue this patrol round and then return to base for resupply and preparation. You have your orders.”

  Phil cut the line rather than asking if anyone had questions. He had no more answers than that, and didn’t feel like playing that charade today.

  Instead, he reread the packet. Cross-indexed the dates with other things in his mind and cursed under his breath.

  Why are we starting a war?

  He was about to pack everything up and go grab some food when a comm line chimed.

  “Phil, we need you on the bridge,” Paskal said with a quiet urgency to his voice.

  He opened a drawer and shoved everything in for now. He could sort it out later, but his Flag Centurion didn’t usually sound that concerned.

  Two steps to the hatch. It opened just as the ship went to red alert, the lights taking on that special hue and the sirens winding up.

  “Confirm that signal,” Križ was ordering someone as Phil slid into his main stations to Paskal and called a board live.

  Holy shit.

  He turned to his Flag Centurion, who nodded.

  Phil keyed his board and opened the secured comm laser he used to talk to his ships, rather than rely on radio waves.

  “Task Force, this is Kosnett, aboard Cyrus. I have the flag,” he said in a grave voice. “All hands to battle stations and prepare for maneuvering. Tactical Officers, prepare for combat operations, but do not provoke anybody until I order it.”

  Phil checked the boards and the scans. He was about fifteen light-minutes from Hemera-B, his base. They had been maintaining the usual amount of signal security, but anybody looking would have known he was here.

  Instead, they had dropped out at polar north from the planet itself, and more than four light-minutes away. Not a threat by any stretch of the imagination, beyond they themselves.

  Phil counted the signals again, just to be sure, but he really didn’t have any doubts in his head.

  The Imperial Fleet carrying the Emperor had just landed at Hemera. Worse, they looked like they wanted to talk, parked out in the distance and waiting for him to see them on his scanners.

  Phil laid in an intercept course that would drop his woefully-outmatched force directly between the invader and the planet.

  Here goes everything.

  CHAPTER XLI

  IMPERIAL FOUNDING: 183/06/18. IFV VALIANT, HEMERA SYSTEM

  VO STUDIED the screens meant for a Commanding Admiral to track his fleet in real time. He wasn’t a naval officer, so most of it didn’t make any sense to him, but it didn’t have to. He wasn’t in command here. His job was to speak for the Throne.

  Ritter of the Imperial Household.

  Denis would command things, if it came to that. And the Imperial force was sufficient to annihilate the defenders, including the squadron that should be dropping into a defensive position shortly.

  Heaven help them if they decided to make a Buran-style raking pass against this many Expeditionary-class vessels. There wouldn’t even be pieces big enough to bury, if the fools did that.

  “Contact,” someone called.

  Vo assumed the man in charge of sensors.

  “Seven new signals originating out of position six,” he continued. “Four cruisers and three corvettes from the flags.”

  Vo nodded. Position six made the most sense, if you wanted to talk.

  On the exact line of a beam between Valiant and the base at Hemera, but far enough away that nobody could fire anything. Even missiles would have long since burned out and be coasting ballistically across space, just another asteroid waiting to hit something eventually.

  Generally safe. Polite even.

  “Signal lag?” Denis called out.

  “Fifteen seconds, give or take,” the man answered.

  “Vo?” Denis turned to look at him.

  Vo nodded and reached out to key the big, green button they had set up for him on this screen.

  “Aquitaine squadron, this is General Vojciech zu Arlo, speaking for the Imperial Crown,” Vo said in a deep, angry voice. “Respond on this channel.”

  Denis had the flag. Vo just had the responsibility for the shell game.

  And his exquisite rage.

  Someone had paid someone else to shoot him. Two of those m
en were being held aboard this very vessel, in somewhat luxurious surroundings, when Vo would have just hung them until dead. But he understood Denis’s logic.

  Hell, he’d been there when Jessica offered Tanis Bedrosian his life in trade for information that helped her unravel that conspiracy at Petron. Denis had even been so rude as to remind Vo of that to his face.

  And Denis had not been wrong to do so. The two men were still alive. And would remain so.

  “IFV Valiant, this is Fleet Centurion Philip Kosnett, aboard RAN Cyrus,” the voice came out of the speakers overhead. “You do not have permission to transit this system.”

  Vo nodded to himself. Denis had suspected that Kosnett might be here when they arrived, given the other timelines the Imperial Flag Staff aboard Valiant had worked out. Experts at contingency planning.

  “We’re not transiting, Cyrus,” Vo replied, letting the thirty seconds each way stretch in order to frame his words. “I come bearing information.”

  He had worked out the various scenarios with Denis ahead of time. Now, like Jessica, he just had to walk down the decision tree.

  Somewhere around this room, a comm officer would begin transmitting a package of documents and video confessions from those two men. Amounts. Dates. Conspirators.

  “My squadron will remain here for a brief period of time, Cyrus, while you review the information I have provided,” Vo continued. “Open communications when you are ready.”

  He pushed the button again to cut the line, holding his temper in check so that he didn’t hammer on the screen with his finger. He doubted he could actually damage it, but today was not the day to find out.

  “Transmission complete, General,” someone said.

  Time passed.

  Vo didn’t bother learning names. He would only be here the once, if all went well, and then Denis could have his flag bridge back.

  “zu Arlo, this is Kosnett,” the man’s voice returned after a time. “These are serious accusations you are making.”

  “Yes, Kosnett,” Vo replied. “Serious enough that I probably would have been within my rights to order an assault on this system that cleared orbital space. I have not done so, because I would like you to listen to my words, and heed them well. You will communicate that information up your chain of command to the First Lord of the Fleet. One courier can handle that task. Your squadron will remain on your side of the border. I have no doubts as to why you have been moved here from Grantham, and if you attack an Imperial world or an Imperial ally, I will return here and annihilate Hemera.”

  “You do not give me orders, General,” Phil snapped harshly.

  “That wasn’t an order, Kosnett,” Vo replied. “That was a promise from a Ritter of the Imperial Household, currently commanding a large-enough naval force to do that job. Your Senate seems intent on starting a war with me and mine. I want you to think long and hard about the costs that I intend to inflict upon you, if you choose to proceed. Because you will have chosen to proceed at that point. That will make you also culpable to the crime.”

  Vo cut the line and nodded to Denis.

  “Task Force Jež, make your Jumps now,” Denis called over the line. “Destination: Waypoint Eleven.”

  Eleven. Straight backwards a little over one light hour. The middle of nowhere, and a place from which this squadron could not threaten Phil Kosnett or his precious station.

  That man needed time to digest things. It would not be a pleasant revelation when he got there.

  CHAPTER XLII

  IN THE TWELFTH YEAR OF JESSICA KELLER, QUEEN OF THE PIRATES: JUNE THE EIGHTH AT ST. LEGIER

  JESSICA NOTED that Torsten had gone quiet tonight in their personal suite at the old Imperial Palace. He had been reserved the last few days, since the conversation with Tom Provst. They had returned to the surface afterwards, listening to all the breathless commentary on the various news shows at the surprise arrival of Karl VIII and her masterful chairing of the House of Dukes in business session.

  The whole planet was abuzz, which made sense. A week ago, the populace had been focused on a hopeful new peace treaty with Aquitaine. Today, the discussion was the sudden possibility of war.

  Tom Provst had sent courier ships every which way, with messages to all the border stations and fleets to prepare for the potential hostilities. Hopefully, they would all arrive before someone crossed a line on the heels of a declaration of war. Creator only knew what was happening further out, in Salonnia or Lincolnshire.

  Hopefully, David was prepared to hold Corynthe’s borders against the first serious threat of incursion. He had friends and resources, with Pops, Yan, and Moirrey all there for the first time in years. Maybe it would be enough.

  Torsten had gotten up and gone into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of red wine, an opener, and two glasses. He poured with a smile on his face as she realized how much she was suddenly looking forward to some Malbec to help her relax. Shoulders suddenly communicated how tight they were.

  It was like he could read her mind, but she already knew that.

  “Past angry yet?” he asked as he handed her a glass and poured himself one.

  “No,” Jessica admitted. “I might never be.”

  “Understood,” her love said. “For the last three months, everything had been theoretical. Now we’re here, and it’s even worse than most of our expectations.”

  “I feel like Cincinnatus,” Jessica said. “I just wanted to be done. To go home and enjoy the rest of my life without making a living killing people.”

  “I know, Jess,” Torsten sipped. “And I’m sorry that some people aren’t willing to let the past go.”

  “Ego is a terrible thing,” she laughed. “I’m probably guilty of it as well, being the legendary Jessica Keller.”

  “Ah, but you know how to turn it off, my love.” Torsten’s smile brightened the room. “How to go back to letting other people make their own choices, once they stop threatening your well-being.”

  “Do you suppose that peace with Fribourg threatens Aquitaine?” she felt her face screw up in concentration.

  “It does, if your glass is half-empty,” Torsten’s eyes got a distant gleam in them, the econometricist suddenly coming to the fore. “All those worlds lost since the last major peace, now flying Imperial flags. And you’ve made it worse.”

  “Me?” Jessica blinked at him. “How?”

  “Thuringwell,” he smiled. “You’ve given Horvat and the others hope that they might somehow sneak in and take other Imperial worlds back. But they don’t understand how few places there are where something like that is possible.”

  “I identified five in my thesis,” she offered.

  “Indeed, and I found two others that were more fragile than you might have known at the time,” he nodded. “My analysis was part of what drove Karl VII to offer the peace. And then work to eliminate those risks.”

  “And all that might come apart now,” Jessica mused.

  “Perhaps,” Torsten shrugged. “And perhaps not. Bergelmir has been caught out of position with the peace party. If he suddenly moves across the aisle to embrace war, he risks being seen as nothing more than an opportunist, so he’s trapped for now. That weakens the group that would normally be baying for blood.”

  “But for how long?” Jessica asked. “At what point does a war with Aquitaine stop being defensive and we see the full weight of Casey’s fleets start to push back hard?”

  Torsten’s face turned serious. He drank some more. She did as well.

  Six months ago, the risk might have been that the peace party became ascendant in Imperial politics, and a war on the far edge of the galaxy might go unnoticed long enough that Fribourg didn’t intervene, even when Salonnia demanded it. Horvat and his allies had probably been planning for that exact outcome.

  Now?

  A knock at the outer door broke her concentration. They were in the old Imperial Palace, just a few doors down from where Casey and Anna-Katherine were probably asleep by now. Maybe
not. Casey might be awake writing music. She tended to do that in the darkest hours.

  Torsten rose. There were Imperial troops and bodyguards surrounding the building and patrolling it constantly, so nobody could just sneak up on them. At the same time, nobody had sent a message ahead.

  Jessica and Torsten might have retired for the evening.

  Torsten opened the door and stepped back.

  “Grand Admiral,” he said loud enough that Jessica looked up. Torsten stepped back and gestured the man into the room. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  “I knew you were awake still,” Em said. “Lights in the window sort of thing, and I’ve just come from another round of planning meetings with Casey and others. Have you a few minutes to talk business?”

  Torsten looked over at her and waited for a nod.

  “Certainly, sir,” he said. “Let me get you a glass and I’ll retire to the bedroom.”

  “No, it’s better if you stay, Torsten,” Em said. “It concerns you as well.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Em took a spot on the couch and waited while Torsten got a third glass and poured some wine for the man. She and Torsten had been in the two chairs at the ends of the sofa before, so now it became a triangle.

  “Provst will be taking a fleet forward,” Em said simply. “I’ve been talking with him, Ralf, and Casey about your possible participation. Kasum is already slotted to a vising professorship here, so he’s got some level of legal protection, at least until the Senate calls him home, and possibly even then, because I made sure the contract language obliged Nils to teach here for at least a full year, as well as make himself available to a historiographer.”

  Jessica chuckled at that, imagining an era a decade from now, where Nils and Emmerich were perhaps turned into cartoon characters in some long-running kid’s vid, always challenging one another but never winning or losing. Such a book would just fire the imagination of fiction writers to ask What if? and then run with it. She hoped everything survived long enough to be that peaceful.