The Red Admiral, page 13
Instead, she had been forged.
Jessica had memorized the command centurion’s file that night. She called up the stats now in her head, studying the stars in the window as if looking for inspiration.
Taller than Jessica by a hand span. Considerably paler, of Anglo-European descendant with dark red hair and a stern smile, as if pausing long enough for the camera to do its job was interrupting more serious work she could be doing. Notes about not suffering fools gladly, mixed with a tart tongue that had gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion, balanced by the many people willing to go to bat for her when she did.
Driven.
Yes, that was the description. That was what Yan had seen in the file. Probably not as crazy at risk-taking as Jessica knew herself to be, but this newly-promoted Command Centurion had been marked for possible greatness and guided along the way. Not one of Nils Kasum’s disciples, but she easily could have been.
The woman might end up being one of Jessica’s, which was part of why she found this meeting so unsettling. Jessica’s team had been composed of men and women with her for a long time, colleagues and comrades. Now, she was old enough, senior enough, that she would be training a new generation of students.
Her disciples.
And, in at least one case, a pirate, to hear Yan talk.
A knock at the door.
Jessica turned, but remained by the porthole.
“Come,” she called.
The door opened to reveal Enej, looking serious, and the woman behind him.
“CP-406, Fleet Centurion,” he said simply, standing to one side as he gestured the Command Centurion to enter before he closed the door.
“Sit,” Jessica commanded in a light tone, already taking this other woman’s measure.
Marcelle would be close by, ready to make coffee if needed, but this would be formal. At least at first.
How often do you order a subordinate to “Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war…” to quote Moirrey’s favorite playwright?
Jessica suddenly understood how nervous Nils must have been that day, asking her to set the Cahllepp Frontier on fire.
Command Centurion Jennifer Glenn. The oddest of her commanders, if only compared to the other corvette commanders. On paper, a good match with Alber’ or Tomas for warrior ethos.
Jessica returned to her seat and just studied Glenn for a few moments, aware that the command centurion was returning her gaze just as intently. Like she had done to Nils in those early days.
So do we come full circle.
“We haven’t met before, at least not that I’m aware of, Command Centurion,” Jessica began. “But you come highly recommended by people privy to what I’m about to unleash. I’ve had this meeting with all of the other commanders individually, to make sure they understand my goal and their place in it. What I’m about to tell you does not go beyond these walls…”
* * *
Jessica leaned back and watched Command Centurion Glenn absorb all the ramifications. The possibilities. The risks.
The rewards.
“Questions?” Jessica asked simply.
“We’ll be at the very tip of the spear?” Glenn replied. “CP-406, that is, and not just us and Ballard?”
“Correct,” Jessica agreed. “Ballard will be out looking for all the things a Survey Cruiser does. You’ll usually be her escort.”
“And we’ll be the ones to interpose and distract, if we stir up a hornet’s nest,” Glenn completed the thought.
Jessica could see unasked questions on the woman’s face.
“Ask now,” Jessica said. “I’d rather we work all this out today. Yours is likely to be the most open-ended task, compared to everyone else.”
“Yes, it is, sir,” the Command Centurion replied with a stern face. “Why me? What was it in my file that drew the eye, rather than one of the destroyer commanders you have worked with for years?”
Jessica already knew that Jennifer Glenn was the right person for this task. The calm assurance under those words just reinforced those conclusions. She wasn’t plagued by doubt, but rather by concern that she might be missing something the Fleet Centurion expected her, needed her, to be doing.
And doing it right, the first time.
“Yan Bedrov thinks you would have made a great pirate, had you grown up in Petron, Glenn,” Jessica said. “High praise from him. An understanding of which battles to fight, and which to avoid. Or rather, how to sneak up on the bastard and then get out of the way of your ego and come get me when you need to annihilate someone, rather than trying to do it yourself.”
One sharp, curt nod. Nothing more. That sword had gotten home. One of these days, Glenn just might be sitting on this side of the desk having this conversation.
Silence stretched between them. There would be more questions, later, but those would be operational. Tactical in service of the strategic and the logistical.
Winning.
Jessica had her team. Her commanders.
Her Sword. And Moirrey’s Spear.
Now she had to take them into Imperial space. And beyond.
Chapter XX
Date of the Republic January 7, 400 Penmerth, Ladaux
It galled Judit to no end, watching Saturday’s election results come in from all points of the Republic. It had been five long, ugly days. Fortunately, she had a closed door and a private office. And the government was only a caretaker today, tasked with keeping the lights on, but not making any significant decisions until the election was certified.
Most ridings had not been in any doubt, the result of local influences, popular senators, and voter inertia. Still, her margin of control had been thin to begin with.
If current trends held, she would lose her majority.
Not as badly as some had predicted, but still. Enough.
Late-breaking votes usually went for stability. Many had. And news leaking out had confirmed that the war with Fribourg was effectively over, and that Jessica Keller was going off to rescue the Imperials from something worse at the head of a newly-constructed fleet.
That had helped.
But not enough.
Her party would still be the largest in the Senate, barring odd, post-election maneuvering, or the rise of an unforeseen personality cult. Tad’s party had regained some of the seats they had lost in the Tennerick Affair, but not enough.
And she still thought of it as HIS party, even though he had stepped down from operational control following the previous elections, five years ago. Stepped down, and taken possibly the second-most-important job in the government: Chairman of the Senate Select Committee for the Fleet of The Republic of Aquitaine. Civilian control of the Navy itself.
An aide knocked quietly at the door, and then opened it a moment later.
“Your lunch date has arrived,” he said simply, waiting for her nod before opening it the rest of the way and ushering Tadej Horvat into her office.
Judit suppressed the scowl that lurked. She had known Tad for nearly two decades. Respected him. Liked him.
Trusted him.
She closed the binder on her desk and checked the antique clock over his left shoulder as he sat down in the comfortable chair she kept for visitors.
Silence.
She studied his face closely, saw the years finally etching themselves, in spite of everything Tad had done to pretend to be young forever.
“What do your spies say?” Judit asked.
“Forty-six percent, forty-one, seven, three, one, and a handful of leftover oddballs,” Tad replied evenly, as if unsurprised at where the conversation had begun, or where it was headed. “Rigid enough that you will not be able to form a stable government, with the various ideologues involved. I would be even worse off, trying to replace you.”
“Hung or minority?” Judit asked.
Either option sucked to put it bluntly, but the alternative was six months of maneuvering to try to form a new government, before inevitably failing, then having to call a second election and hope for better results.
Tad drew a heavy breath. He was a big man, tall and impressive with a leonine mane of thick, white hair that made him look august rather than merely old.
“Years ago, I made Nils Kasum, and more importantly, Jessica Keller, a promise,” he said, impersonating a desert holy man with his tone.
Judit listened closely. There had only been rumors about that private conversation, up until now, so she was aware of how small a circle of people must have had access to this information, to keep it secret this long.
“And today, we are about to send Jessica off to war again,” Tad continued. “The old government supported it enthusiastically enough to fund a crash construction project with emergency funding.”
Judit nodded as he paused, unwilling to interrupt his flow before he got to the juicy bits.
“It would send entirely the wrong message now, to pull the rug out from under her feet by not voting to send her off, something neither a Hung Parliament nor a Minority government has any duty to take up.”
Judit raised her right hand, palm up, as if to ask “What, then?”
“I have spoken with my people, privately,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “We are prepared to support your government from all votes of no confidence for at least eighteen months, and negotiate certain things ahead of time, so that you will not fail to govern. Aquitaine will remain strong.”
“A War Government, then?” Judit asked. “A Grand Coalition for the period of the emergency. Not much changing, but your full, patriotic support?”
“Just so, madam,” Tad replied, seriousness itself.
“What did you promise Keller?” she asked, awestruck that one of the greatest political animals of the era was willing to lie down with the lambs peacefully, if just for a short nap.
“She told me that with the government’s support, my support, she could win the Great War, Judit,” he replied. “Sat right here in this chair, while I sat in that one, and told me she could do it. And then she went and did the damned thing.”
Judit nodded, privately shocked beyond all words. There had been a similar conversation later, over Thuringwell. And a similar promise kept.
“And now Buran, Senator?” Judit asked.
“Are you willing to bet against that woman, Premier?”
No. No, she was not. Only fools would do that. Jessica Keller, and Lady Casey with her, might be fighting Buran, but they would likely completely overturn Fribourg in the process.
She held out a hand. Tad shook it.
Promise kept.
Judit took her own deep breath and pushed back her chair to rise.
“A celebratory lunch, Tad?” she asked.
“Indeed,” he agreed. “Hopefully not a last meal for the condemned.”
Chapter XXI
Date of the Republic January 23, 400 RAN Bellerophon, Kismayo System
It would be an ending, though only three of the people in front of him knew it.
Nils stared out at the faces in front of him from the small riser and podium and memorized as many details as he could, aware that he might never see some or perhaps any of them again. Certainly not as their commanding officer… although he was aware-enough of his influence on their lives to know he would always be that, at least in their hearts, even after Petia took charge.
In all endings, beginnings. In all beginnings, endings.
A score or so of Command Centurions in green and black. Two Fleet Centurions. One First Centurion. All three of them in the white uniforms. Three Ritters of the Imperial Household, dressed in the red cloak that was their badge of office.
The future of Aquitaine, or at least the Navy he had served for more than forty years. Guarantors of the Republic.
Protectors.
He would be able to sleep at night, knowing they were guarding the walls.
Nils let the moment stretch.
Jessica knew why, as did Petia and Arott. The others might think him taken of a maudlin turn, and there was some of that. But that was not why he waited.
“I had hoped to promise you a generation of peace,” he finally began in a quiet, somber voice.
This was not the last time he would wear this uniform, nor this particular longcoat, but it would be the last with these people, this team. He and Petia would go home shortly, and there would be one last ceremony, one last mission, to attend.
“After what you did at Thuringwell, the Empire was shaken to its core,” he pointed at Jessica, and then let his gesture encompass much of the rest of the audience, also veterans of what had become the last battle, although none had known it at the time.
“And I asked each of you, privately, if you were done,” Nils continued. “Perhaps ready to enjoy the peace that you had carved out. Nobody took me up on the offer, but that will surprise none of you. I could not list all the people who chose to remain at rank and station in order to stay with their friends. Even the Senate itself recognized that, and altered the rules of promotion and seniority, to keep First Expeditionary intact and then make it up to you later, when you were done.”
Nils took a breath, faltering internally, but unwilling to lay that burden on these people, his other children.
“Yours will not be a generation at peace,” he said. “But we will not necessarily find that a terrible and grave sacrifice. Each of us found a home in the Navy as a way of protecting the weak and innocent from the monsters of this galaxy. You have simply gone beyond Aquitaine and made it your place to protect Fribourg as well. To protect Humanity itself. There will be kind words for you from the man we all still know as the Red Admiral, Emmerich Wachturm. I have no doubt you will meet Karl VII as well. And all of you have now met and worked with Princess Kasimira, Lady Casey, Centurion zu Wiegand.”
All eyes turned to the tall blond standing between Jessica and Pet. He watched her simply nod to the murmured congratulations. Hers was technically a reserve commission for foreign officers, but she had passed every test in the top ten percent. Casey had earned her spot on Jessica’s staff.
Given a full course at the Academy, Nils had no doubts that the woman would have graduated in the top dozen. And she still had the third highest score on Bedrov’s never-to-be-sufficiently-damned Buran Interceptor Course, having taken the lessons of First St. Legier and put them to deadly-efficient use.
“Understand this,” Nils finally let the raw emotion of the moment color his voice. “It has been my singular privilege to be your commander. To watch each and every one of you rise above all challenges and to do so with honor and dignity. So if I cannot go out there into the darkness with you now, rest assured that I will never let the light in that window be extinguished. You will always be able to find a way home. Now, Fleet Centurion Keller, if you would.”
Nils let the tears show in his eyes. He owed these men and women that much. They replied with cheers and applause perhaps inappropriate to a ceremony that was supposed to be a solemn affair. But Jessica’s Merry Men: Kigali, Aeliaes, d’Maine, and many others; had rewritten the book more than once.
Nils Kasum had no doubt they would do so again.
According to that book, he was supposed to stand to one side as Jessica made her remarks, but Nils stepped down into the crowd and let their warmth, both physical and emotional, embrace him. They would learn the terrible news in a year or so, long after he had retired and taken his well-deserved rest. It would be good.
He studied the apparition that had taken hold of everyone’s attention.
Jessica had a reputation as a hard and serious commander. Aggressive. Ruthless. A force of nature utterly unstoppable.
Nils was surprised at the wide grin that filled her face as she took his spot above the mob.
“I have often heard the turn of phrase about good commanders being the kinds of men and women that others would gladly follow into hell itself,” she said in a bright, cheery voice completely different from what Nils had been expecting. No doom, nor gloom. Perhaps discussing the fresh crop of blueberries just picked. “And that may be necessary yet. But I have studied the galactic architecture on the far side of Fribourg. That space where the stars peter out into a darkness light-centuries across, before you enter into Buran. A gulf of stygian darkness intent on swallowing all of our souls. My friends, they cannot have them.”
Nils made a note to inquire later. This sounded like something Moirrey Kermode had dug up from one of her ancient playwrights in rhythm and timber. The fellow who had written that thing about St. Crispin’s Day that he had heard her quote on more than one occasion.
Certainly, the whole audience was up on their toes now. Nils had known it was coming, and still felt the pull.
“We are not going to charge into hell and storm the place, ’though they may think it,” she continued. “Instead, we are going to take the gate itself and bar it from our side, so that none of them may escape us. I know that in normal times, a fleet like this would warrant a grand ceremony. Acceptance Into The Fleet of all these vessels at once should have required three weeks of ceremonies alone. But I asked the First Lord to forebear, even forego, such a thing.”
She paused now, long enough to fix everyone in the room with her stern gaze, from Robbie Aeliaes, probably her oldest friend, to Glenn, her newest Command Centurion. There was fire in that promise. She would be on that front line with them, facing whatever monsters another of The Immortals might bring.
“Comrades, we are on the clock,” she said simply. “Buran is coming for us all. They do not know who we are, where we are, or even that we are coming, and I plan to keep it that way. We will leave as soon as everyone is fully loaded and the last engineer has departed. The fleet will rendezvous deep in Imperial in space, with the Grand Admiral alone, so that not even the Empire knows we are coming, and so nobody’s spies can warn Buran. And then we are going hunting, my friends. Or rather, since all the Buran vessels are apparently classed after Homeworld sharks, we will be going fishing. And Moirrey has forged for me a harpoon of legend.”
