St. Legier

by Blaze Ward

  “Twenty-seven,” Provst continued his slow, lyrical rhapsody. “I know of at least five people above you on that list that survived, Hahl. Hell, I’ve spoken to two of them this week.”

  Provst fell silent. He stood enough to push the chair back by lifting over the heavy shag of the carpet, and then moved silently to one side of the table before he turned and lurked over the Duke.

  “So under what fucking circumstance do you think you should become our new Emperor?” Provst bellowed, a dragon roused.

  Hahl started to rise, until Provst’s hand fell onto the sidearm. Gunter found his own pistol, but did not draw it. Hahl fell back into his seat with eyes like a deer on a dark highway. Gunter relaxed. He hoped Provst did, as well.

  “Shit-head twenty-seven, that’s what you are,” Provst roared. “You do not even rate a who anymore. Just a what. I have read the reports forwarded by Imperial Security, Twenty-seven. They paint a damning-enough portrait without you showing up in the St. Legier system to try to rally the fleet. To overturn the law I swore to uphold.”

  Provst fell silent and began to pace. Except pacing was supposed to be a softer thing, Gunter guessed. It didn’t involve stomping back and forth, like Provst was doing. Even the expensive carpet could barely muffle it.

  “I presume you thought you’d get here before Karl VIII could return and that would help your cause with the fleet?” Provst probed.

  Gunter was reminded of a raven, ripping choice bits out of a fresh corpse.

  Or a still-dying man.

  Hahl remained frozen, hands like claws on the arms of his expensive chair, white with shock.

  “Answer me, Twenty-seven,” Provst yelled. “Was that your idea?”

  Provst fell silent, a ugly, avenging demon towering over the Duke.

  Finally, the Duke broke.

  He nodded. Miniscule, but movement. Voluntary, even, and not just a bobbleheaded doll set to bouncing.

  Gunter had a hard time hearing the words, but he could read the man’s lips from here well enough.

  “She cannot reign,” Hahl whispered in a voice that somehow managed to be both dead and panicked. “The noble class will never allow a woman. It will be civil war if she tries. Don’t you see that?”

  “No,” Provst countered bluntly. “I don’t. I see a woman who took on Sigmund Dittmar and all of Imperial Security by herself. Who became Karl VIII that day rather than allow shit-head number eight to promote himself.”

  “No woman has ever sat on the throne,” Hahl began to find his voice now. Belligerent, even if he never moved. “Karl VII forced the Dukes to insert her by a bare majority, not by acclaim. The nobles, the ruling class of this Empire, they will rise up and sweep her away. Do you know what that harlot has been doing for the last two years? Serving our enemy!”

  The sound of Provst’s open palm cracking against Hahl’s face echoed like a gunshot. He hadn’t put any real force behind the blow, or the Duke would have tumbled bodily from his chair. His hand still flew to his face in shock as his jaw dropped open.

  Gunter removed his hand from the gun, where it had suddenly dropped.

  “I take exception to that word,” Admiral Provst growled in a killing-edge-sharp voice. “Harlot. That suggests you don’t hold a Ritter of the Imperial Household in high esteem, Your Excellency.”

  He turned and Gunter felt the weight of the man’s stare, like a physical object.

  Wrath made flesh.

  “Remind me to inspect the papers of that young woman we found in here when we arrived, Tifft,” Tom Provst purred. “She didn’t look old enough to be the Duchess, and I believe the Duke’s oldest child is barely of school age.”

  He turned back to the Duke, taking that mad energy with him.

  “Mayhap your companion is a harlot, Twenty-seven?” Provst asked.

  He backhanded the man lightly enough to add considerable weight to the insult itself.

  “I would offer seconds, but there’s no way in hell the Emperor would ever allow me to have you to myself on a dueling ground.”

  “So you’ll serve a woman?” Hahl sneered. “An incompetent?”

  Gunter expected another slap. Hahl tensed. Provst just laughed.

  “Do you find Jessica Keller to be an incompetent harlot, Twenty-seven?” he asked. “Perhaps she’ll offer you satisfaction, when she returns. Blade or pistol, she’s an expert with both. Did you know she’s now in charge of the entire war effort against Buran? A woman. Imagine that. I suspect she’ll do better than any of the men who have been there, since the Grand Admiral will be stuck here for years, dealing with shit-heads like you. I’m just sorry you arrived as late as you did.”

  Gunter nearly chuckled at the look of comic surprise on the Duke’s face. Inappropriate, but so very hard to contain.

  “Yes,” Provst continued after a beat. “Karl VIII rescinded the Emergency Conditions that the Grand Admiral declared before he left, speaking in her name. Had you gotten here while those were still in effect, I could have just had you shot out of hand given the evidence gathered by Imperial Security. Well, no, that’s not true. I would never have subjected my men to that sort of indignity.”

  Gunter discovered then that Tom Provst had perfect comic timing, something that Gunter had rarely managed. The next words were better than an ice-cold shiv.

  “I would have just put you down myself,” Provst concluded. “But now I am required to turn you over to the civilian authorities for trial by a Court of your Peers. Perhaps I’ll get lucky and she’ll let me serve on the firing squad that executes you, assuming she doesn’t have you hung instead. I understand that zu Arlo is going through wood at a prodigious pace down on the surface, building enough gibbets for all the people he has had to execute.”

  Dead silence. Even the air systems were too hushed, frozen with utter fear, to speak.

  “Nothing to say?” Provst asked, but there was no response. “Pity. Commander Tifft, your prisoner.”

  Gunter stepped up and took charge of the Duke. Interestingly, as white as the Duke had fallen, Tom Provst’s color had returned almost to normal.

  Maybe the man just needed fools and rebels as prey. Gunter Tifft suspected that well would never run dry. He had seen enough intelligence summaries to know the truth. There might yet be a civil war at some point.

  Gunter was happy he was on Tom Provst’s side.

  Chapter XLI

  Date of the Republic Feb 7, 402 Penmerth, Ladaux

  Premier.

  By the Creator, it felt good to be back in the saddle.

  Senator Tadej Horvat ran his hands lovingly across the flat wood surface of the counter top. The empty Senate chamber was an ancient place, made almost holy by the work of the men and women who had spent more than four centuries upholding Aquitaine and making it a shining beacon to the rest of the galaxy. Even when they hadn’t.

  Still, it had been years since he stood on this side of that dividing bench. As a member of the Loyal Opposition, it was among the highest personal insults a Senator could offer to stand at the Premier’s chair and caress the place where papers would rest. Not that he hadn’t dreamed of doing exactly that, but Judit Chavarría was an old and dear friend.

  Her time in office as Premier had not irreparably damaged the Republic. Had, in fact, done much to strengthen it, but then, she was no wild-eyed radical. She and Tad still went to the opera with their spouses after dinner for regular double-dates.

  And he had almost pulled off the upset two years ago that would have returned him to power. Could have hung the minority government sideways on a yardarm had he wanted. But for Jessica Keller.

  He had promised Nils that he would protect Jessica from fools at home, and had, but the last eight years she had become Judit’s creature as well. Perhaps they would end up sharing her. Certainly, both of them would rate good mentions in the histories of Jessica’s life.

  Tad found that acceptable.

  After all, he had prevailed in the most recent elections. Not by much, but
the numbers had come in and enough of the tide had shifted in his favor that he had regained his power and title with enough spare votes to even allow the occasional vote of conscience from fools and Quixotes.

  Movement at the top of the bowl across from him caught Tad’s eye. He was no longer alone, sneaking in here so late in the evening.

  “I had wondered if I was the only Premier who did that,” Judit said cheerfully as she began to descend the steps to her new side of the desk.

  The wood here was two meters wide. Traditionally, separating legislators holding swords, so that they could not reach someone on the other side without casting dignity to the wind and climbing atop the meter-tall platform.

  Tad fixed her with a wry grin as she approached. His hands continued to stroke the polished surface, perhaps almost pornographically.

  “I suspect the list of men and women who haven’t done so is much shorter, Judit,” he replied quietly.

  The acoustics of the room were such that a normal speaking voice could carry to the back walls, if the crowd wasn’t too restive.

  She grinned up at him as she took her place across the way, perfectly manicured nails resting lightly on the side of the Loyal Opposition. She was still a stocky fireplug of a woman, aging gracefully and finally allowing the gray hairs to infiltrate the black on her head. They had been friends for over twenty years.

  “All set to undo everything I’ve spent nearly a decade accomplishing, Tad?” she teased.

  “There is remarkably little I disagreed with, you rogue,” he offered. “And for the last two years, the War Government meant that everything was negotiated ahead of time to my satisfaction before it ever became law. And you? Still intent on retiring?”

  “Had I not been in your shoes, I wouldn’t have stood two elections ago, you old fart,” Judit laughed. “Now I’m free. You have no idea how liberating that is.”

  “Indeed, madam,” Tad agreed. “I have spent my entire adult life in service, first to the Navy, and then the Senate in many forms. It is all I know.”

  “You do raise cattle in what little spare time you have,” she remembered with a twinkle in her eye.

  “And they barely know my name these days, with all my work for you as Chairman of the fleet committee. But I inquire for a different reason. The future we just fought an election over has changed.”

  Judit sighed and shrugged.

  “My analysts tell me that the outcome itself would have barely budged, had that Imperial frigate arrived here with the news a week earlier,” she said. “It is frightening that destroying a planet would raise so little fuss.”

  “Strange things happening to distant foreigners, Judit,” he said. “That is always eclipsed by issues of taxes and morality closer to home. But if you truly intend to retire from the Senate, I might ask a favor of you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Tomorrow, this ancient body will conclave again, and begin discussing our response to the disaster at St. Legier,” Tad said. “As you know, many of us are former fleet officers, and to a man and woman, all have had some fantasy of bombing that planet into submission during their career. Now, instead of celebrating, we mourn, and ask what we can do to help.”

  “You think I should retract my resignation, Tad?” Judit probed. “Remain here as your foil to keep you honest?”

  “Worse,” he countered. “I would ask that you accept Palatine authority and travel to St. Legier. To serve as my official representative to whomever they enthrone. If it is indeed Princess Kasimira, she will need all the help she can get. If it is anyone else, we may need to rethink our new alliance with Fribourg, and perhaps withdraw back to our side of the border.”

  “In my hands?” she asked tautly. “On my head?”

  “Judit, there are very few people on this planet I trust more than you,” Tad offered. “Nils Kasum would be one, but he would not be nearly as acceptable to them as a true civilian, even a woman. And you have just had a long run as a successful woman in charge of a government, to provide Lady Casey the ultimate counterpoint to the fools who would suggest she’s incapable of out-maneuvering them. Because she will, of that I have no doubts.”

  “Palatine is a legally-binding thing, Tad,” Judit pressed on.

  “I’m aware of that,” he replied. “Wakely Okafor did a spectacular job on Thuringwell. Another successful woman. You would be too far away for me to second-guess your decisions, so you will need space and power to operate. And backing, if you are going to help them create a new future.”

  She remained silent for several heartbeats, studying him. How many times in the last two governments had their roles, their positions been reversed, with him on that side and her attempting to fathom the dark waters accurately?

  “Do you wish to see Fribourg succeed?” she finally asked. “Or disintegrate into civil war?”

  And that was why she was one of the few people in the galaxy prepared to step into this role. One of the few he would trust. Most would take it at face value: to provide assistance and coordination to the former enemy in their time of need.

  Rare were the ones who would consider how easily they could plant worms into that apple. While retaining white hands.

  “I have taken Lady Casey’s measure,” Tad pronounced carefully. “As Emperor of Fribourg, she would be at least as capable a foe as her father or uncle ever were, married to a better understanding of us as a people, from having served in our navy. But Jessica Keller has also left a mighty imprint on the young woman. I believe she will guide her people to a different place than the men would have, given the reins.”

  “So successful, but weakened?” Judit parsed.

  “As long as Buran is out there, we require Fribourg as a buffer, Judit,” Tad said. “If we could magically maneuver all the players onto a board where Keller broke Buran, from whence we could initiate a subsequent civil war in Fribourg that broke them down into a dozen, petty fiefdoms, I would consider that the greatest possible outcome for the future of the Republic.”

  “And then?” Judit’s eyes turned black and serious. “Would you accept the fragmented principalities that had once been the Holy Roman Empire, or would you seek to claim them?”

  “Gauis Yulius Kaesar bled out his life on the floor of the Roman Senate, Judit,” Tad replied. “Done in by Senators. We will pass the anniversary of that date in a little over five weeks, by my reckoning. If you are perhaps too tall to ride in the chariot with me and whisper dire prophecies, that will still be one of your jobs. And my job, for whatever fool replaces me here.”

  “Remember, thou art human,” Judit murmured.

  “Just so,” Tad acknowledged. “And we are about to initiate the greatest game of Empires ever undertaken.”

  Chapter XLII

  Imperial Founding: 180/02/11. Mejico, St. Legier

  Moirrey tooked an extra breath and wiggled, trying ta get the shoulder shields’n torso half-plate ta sets right. Padding just weren’t workin’. Maybes time to pull alls that back out and go backs to an inflatable bladder with lots of pockets. Puts it on, hits the inflate button, counts ta three.

  Helmet were on tight ’nuff. Had done the inflatin’ thing there, on counts’a needs fer hair and pony tails tucked. Wild hair flowing in the wind might look good in pictures, total pain in the arse in the field, even ’fore bugs.

  Still, looked totally freakin’ awesome, this morning.

  Cut down armored field suit like Impi marines wore. Adjusted for boobs. Lacquered over with a messy, green-brown pattern fer hiding in the weeds. Pointy head almost tall on tops as Casey. With bright pink feathers off’n the back ’n glittery unicorns painted on both sides.

  Cause, ya know, glittery unicorns. Duh.

  Backpack bits hobnailed tagethers from three zip bikes and leftover stuff from the dude at the motor pool with nine stripes on his arm and a big laugh. Three meters of wings sticking out. With variable lifters, thrusters, and vectors, one on each kidney, one on each wingtip. Metal wings wired to react to windflow an
d speed and act like three dozen, chromatically-awesome elevens.

  Hover like a monster hummingbird, when she finally gots it ta work’n’.

  Pulse pistol on the left side in a holster. Telescoping, katana sword two meters long in both hands like bad-ass nodachi.

  She just needed forty-six more crazies an’ a music departments ta completes the stage.

  Today’s stage were the landing field where 189th vectored ships serving Mejico. Strasbourg had its own, bigger field ’cross Lake Zurich. Place were cleared big’nuff fer hers to show off.

  She missed havin’ Saana handy, but the six dudes Vo’d rustled up were competent enough. And not one of them were more than twenty, makin’ her feels like an old lady, by comparison.

  Thirty-six prolly were too old ta pulls crap like this. Until the lift motors came on line and suddenly she were flying.

  “Jo, what’s the forecast?” Moirrey called over the short-range comm. The suit and hat were full of haphazard electronics, but most of it were held togethers with solder at this point. Once it worked, she’d turn the boyz loose on building her a proper set.

  Assuming she didn’t street pizza today.

  “Stable, crazy lady,” the one named Jo replied. “Temperature will come up a little over the next three hours. Pressure forecast is flat for that long. Your flight profile today should be good.”

  Crazy Lady. That’s what they all called her. As good a callsign as anything, she supposed. This were crazy.

  Jo o’er there were never gonna wanna do this, but he had the best instincts fer flight motors acting up. Frequently, he could do the diagnosis just from hearing her land. Had, a few times.

  Other five dudes just wanted suits of their own. Probably go transfer to whatever unit were crazy ’nuff ta use winged demons as scouts, if today worked.

  After all, were Jess’s approval started this. And Moirrey’s patents, trademarks, and copyrights everywhere.

  Filthy, stinkin’ rich.

  “Incoming,” Sharad called over the line, pointing to an ugly, gray box cruising across the field towards them.