by Blaze Ward
“Really?”
None of the late–night campy thriller videos he watched covered that point. The AI’s were always able to escape the good guys by downloading themselves into a pocket comm or something so they could get away for the next movie.
“The information I store, my memories, if you will, is backed up extensively and redundantly. However, the programming that makes up my cognition matrix, my personality if you will, is too complex to be updated to any single point of storage, with the equipment at hand, in anything less than eight days. Unless you can keep this so–called Red Admiral at bay for that long, I am effectively trapped aboard this station, as I said, with a saboteur who is probably intent on finishing the job.”
Kigali felt his face turn sour. He really couldn’t wait for Jessica to get here. Until then, the best he could do was bust his ass figuring out how to get her everything she needed.
Wait, he was the guy in charge now. Even that idiot governor had to listen to him, and Ariojhutti could send engineers over to help.
Kigali smiled at Suvi.
“Leave that to me.”
Chapter XXIII
Date of the Republic June 7, 394 Ladaux
Tadej considered the woman standing in the doorway, a look of obvious concern on her face. She was one of his newer aides, a well–connected youngster, fresh out of university, still settling in on his staff.
“Yes, Stacia?” he said warmly.
She looked like she expected to lose fingers for what she was about to say. It must be good. Of course, he was currently on the comm with the President of the Republic, but they were making lunch plans, not discussing trade negotiations.
“A fleet centurion is here to see you, Premier,” she began carefully, her ebony–brown skin not showing much blush, but it was there in the set of her shoulders and the size of her pupils. “He does not have an appointment, will not say why he is here, and used a codeword indicating it was a priority at the highest level of the Republic.”
“Calina,” Tadej said into the comm. “I’ll call you back in a bit, if that would okay. Something has just come up.”
He listened, nodded, and placed the device in its cradle.
“A centurion, you say?” he asked her.
“Yes, sir. Centurion Kamil Miloslav.”
Oh, my. Kasum’s personal aide? The cat’s been away for one whole day and the mice are already storming the Bastille?
“Send him in, Stacia,” Tadej decided. “Then clear the next two hours from my calendar and have everyone stand by. In fact, have the commissary send boxed lunches in for everyone and put it on the Navy’s account.”
“Yes, sir,” she sighed, obviously relieved to have guessed right. Or at least to have escaped the Premier’s wrath.
Kamil entered carrying a large briefcase that was obviously heavy. He rested it by the side of the desk and came to attention.
“Thank you for seeing me so quickly, Premier,” he said.
Tadej eyes the man’s nervousness.
“Sit,” he commanded peremptorily. “Boil it down as much as you can. I’ll assume the paperwork will back it up.”
Tadej softened his scowl with a smile. There were certainly any number of alternatives Kamil could have exercised before coming here. That did not bode well.
Kamil sat, flipped open the briefcase anyway, and pulled out a small folder that he sat on the table.
“With First Lord Kasum indisposed, Second Lord can handle most administrative tasks, as she has in the past,” he began. “The First Lord long ago tasked me to pay attention to certain activities and personages, and to do some outside the normal channels.”
“I see,” Tadej responded, having drawn that conclusion already. “Who is misbehaving, in his absence?”
Tadej was rewarded with a small smile on an otherwise tight face.
“The usual suspects,” he said. “If one could draw that conclusion. Tennerick, Tomčič, and possibly Loncar, if I translate the intelligence reports and the political winds correctly. There is a great deal of ambiguity to the reports, but something just doesn’t feel right.”
Tadej felt his eyebrows go up in spite of his seriousness.
“Go on,” he prompted Kamil.
“Sir, the Senate Select Committee for the Fleet of The Republic of Aquitaine is having a hearing on the State of Current Affairs this afternoon. First Fleet Lord Loncar was added as a surprise witness at the very last minute, after First Lord’s announced departure. At the same time, there have been whispers reported by fleet intelligence implying a belief in some social circles that the First Lord is culpable for the impending attack on Ballard, and that Centurion Keller is personally responsible. They have not been polite or friendly rumors, from what I have been told.”
“And, of course,” Tadej finished the thought, “Nils took Athena out to try to salvage the situation, and they’re going to gang up on him while he cannot defend himself.”
“That is the assessment I drew first thing this morning.”
Kamil tapped the folder and slid across the table.
“There are more details here, sir,” Kamil concluded, “but I’m a fleet officer and not a political expert. First Lord’s instructions were to go to the top, if I had any doubt. I have doubts.”
Tadej flipped open the folder instead of replying and quickly scanned the executive summary.
Oh ho. Really? I wonder just how much money Loncar and his friends must have lost. Of course, this will play well with the Noble Lords, and certainly piss off the Fighting Lords. And this is not a spur of the moment thing, either. This shows a lot of planning and forethought. I smell Brand’s hand in this.
He flipped into the meat of the document and quickly consumed chunks while Kamil waited patiently. Finally, he reached the end and settled back into his chair.
“You have very good instincts, Kamil,” he said. “When you decide you are done with being in uniform, make sure I get your resume first, okay?”
Kamil flushed.
“Aye, sir,” he said. “But I think you might have to argue with Senator Kasum.”
“I outrank Nils’ brother,” Tadej said with a smile. “Now, leave your materials here and consider your work done and your activities proper and well–handled. I’ll let my people get messy with it. You will be protected from any fallout.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Tadej re–read the document after Kasum’s right hand departed.
The cat is away and the rats wasted little time. No, this was worse than that. This was a full–bore insurrection, aimed not just at Nils, but at the entire government. This was knives in the darkness maneuvering.
He picked up his comm again and quickly dialed a number.
“Madame President,” he said as levelly as she answered. “Do you have anything interesting planned for lunch?”
Chapter XXIV
Imperial Founding: 172/06/15. 5787 Piscium System
5787 Piscium had been chosen as a rendezvous because it was close to the target system, but, also, more importantly, because there were no habitable worlds here and very little reason for a colony of any kind, even a scientific one.
Nobody to intrude.
It was a hot, young star, circled by a pair of gas giants close enough in that no useful, rocky worlds had formed. Or rather, none that had survived the planet–forming phase. At a distance of around five AU, the cleared space ended and the system was a mess of scattered rocks, shattered remnants of worlds that might have been.
IFV Amsel slid into realspace with all the grand dignity of one of the great whales from the lost Homeworld. Perhaps one of the modern descendants that had been brought to a variety of colonies during the first great exploring phase of humanity.
Calm, quiet, majestic.
The flag bridge on the battleship was anything but. They were deep in the guts of the Republic of Aquitaine now. Far deeper than any raid had even considered in more than a century.
Anything could happen.
Emmerich was at his usual station, standing beside the giant projector with his flag captain and command staff attending him. Around the outer wall of the flag bridge were the men who made the squadron operate.
“Contact,” a man’s voice sang out calmly across the otherwise–quiet flag bridge. “I have three targets in range.”
“All systems stand by to engage hostiles,” Emmerich called in his stentorian voice.
It was mostly redundant, given the crew. These men were among the best the Fribourg Empire had, trained to a very high degree of excellence. Still, he was in command. It befit him to remind them occasionally.
“Sensors,” another voice called back, this one a baritone. “Identification confirmed on IFV Petrograd and the frigates Baasch and Kappel. No other vessels within range.”
“Very well,” Emmerich continued. “Captain Baumgärtner, please establish rendezvous coordinates for the squadron and make sure the other vessels are made aware when they arrive.”
“Yes, Admiral,” his right–hand man replied.
Emmerich could go do paperwork now. Possibly take a nap. Amsel had arrived within an hour of the original calculations, very accurate piloting across this great of a jump. It was perfectly expectable that half of the squadron might arrive first, and in a random order.
The whole point of this final step was to bring everyone together, close enough to the final target that they could emerge at Ballard as a single unit, far enough out to observe the defenders, before making the final assault run.
It would never do to give them enough time to react.
Jessica Keller just might escape him.
Chapter XXV
Date of the Republic June 11, 394 Jumpspace en route to Ballard
“Okay, youngster,” Jouster said, his voice blending that perfect mix of exasperation, superiority, and professor together, “graduation day. You’ve gotten a year of flight school and officer’s training crammed into seventy–something days. Time to show me what you’ve learned.”
Newly–minted Flight Cornet Cho Ayaka Nakamura, callsign Furious, half–scowled back at him. She hated being called youngster, especially when she wasn’t, and had made that clear. Hell, she was almost his age. He just used it to get under her skin.
Jouster smiled at Furious from across the training bay as he got ready to drop down into his flight simulator for some serious play.
She was nice to look at, cute face, short dark hair, but it was painfully obvious to everybody but her and the flag centurion that those two were going to end up making babies, one of these days. They had that icky glow new couples got when the chemistry was perfect. You wanted to hate them, especially when they started finishing each other’s sentences or putting food in each other’s mouths, but they were just too cute.
It would be like hating puppies.
But, during the crap with the pirates and that damned Promenade, the girl had proven herself to be one of the best pilots Corynthe had. Keller, the dragon lady, had decided to recruit her when they headed back to civilization, opening a long–term pipeline to bleed off some of the talent that might otherwise go into piracy and instead make them respectable citizens of the galaxy.
Furious stuck her tongue out at him as she dropped into her own simulator.
Okay, mostly respectable.
Jouster brought his system awake and locked his helmet into place. Everything came live at once. Lights. Air. Sound. The training consoles were as realistic as you could get without strapping yourself into a fighter and launching into space.
“Hey, Jouster,” Furious called over the comm, “if I’m the youngster here, why did you put me in the best fighter?”
As wing commander, it has been his recommendation, but Iskra Vlahovic, the flight deck commander had made the final call. Still, it had been a good idea. The woman could flat out fly.
“Because six weeks ago,” Jouster replied, “I had a previously–stolen M–6 Gungnir with no pilot, and a pilot with no fighter. Figure you were going to have to learn something anyway, and Dragon Lady’s connections were finally going to get the rest of us upgraded from the M–5’s.”
Jouster ran a quick pre–flight. It was almost autopilot, but never automatic. This was the equipment that was going to keep him alive.
Do it right. Every day. Especially today.
Speaking of…
“Hànchén, Bitter Kitten. You two awake?”
“Absolutely, Commander,” Hànchén called. Flight Cornet Murali Ma. Tall, skinny kid. Smart as a whip, nerdy as hell. You were as likely to find him with his nose in a history book as down here in the flight simulators practicing. Damned good pilot. Still a few sharp edges and loose screws. Jouster could fix that.
“About time you got here, Jouster,” Bitter Kitten purred at him. Flight Centurion Darya Lagunov. Skinny brunette, average height, really gorgeous when she wanted to be. Flew relatively normal until things went sideways, then she turned into a gun–toting, maniac artist. Until Furious had come along, Bitter Kitten had probably been the only pilot on Auberon good enough to give him a run for his money.
Now, it would be a three–way. Not that either of them would be down for that sort of thing, but, you know, a man’s got to pay attention to those sorts of details.
Graduation Day.
Bitter Kitten had been put in charge of the second flight wing. This was her chance to show off what she could do as a wing leader. She was junior to both of his own wingmates, Uller and Vienna, in terms of both experience and age, but Jouster knew better than to break up his perfectly–balanced team, just for seniority’s sake.
Plus, the three kids on second wing were all perfectly good flyers. Better than good. Virtuosos. Crazy lunatics with thrusters and guns, but that just made the whole flight wing better.
“Just making sure Furious could find the battlefield, Bitter Kitten,” Jouster called back. He could almost hear Nakamura’s teeth grind over the comm. He smiled.
Graduation Day.
Him flying with Hànchén as his wingmate, against Bitter Kitten and Furious. Boys against girls. No elaborate scenarios of attack, patrol, or defense. Nope, just an open arena and four lunatic pilots.
Time to rock.
Ξ
Cho Ayaka Nakamura had been one of exactly two girls qualified to pilot fighter craft in all of Corynthe and allowed to fly with the boys. And that only because her dad was a former bad–ass pilot and 1–ring captain himself, who helped her build her first stripped–down strike fighter when she was twelve and all of her girlfriends were busy discovering boys.
Even then, she’d had to be at least twice as good as any boy flying to be invited to audition for a slot. And willing to kick their asses in the locker room when they decided to get fresh.
She smiled at the thought. Both thoughts.
And then Aquitaine had come along.
Command Centurion Jessica Keller. The woman Jouster called The Dragon Lady.
As her hands and lizardbrain walked through the pre–flight checklist, Cho couldn’t help but remember that first dinner, at Callumnia, after she had come in second place in the JV race. Behind Bitter Kitten. Another woman pilot. Now her team lead.
Being there, surrounded by female marines. All of them that Auberon had, but still. Women in charge of things. On their own terms. Nothing like Corynthe.
And, for one glorious day, she had been Corynthe’s flight commander. Air boss of the Queen’s Own.
Even if she’d had to leave all that behind when she left with Auberon, it was still a better place than she’d been.
And there were a bunch of other girls out there that were good enough. David Rodriguez and his captains might be slow to adapt, but the girls would listen when Furious came back and told them how awesome it could be, flying in the real world.
Okay, halfway done. Communications lock–in.
Furious toggled one of the switches on the control yoke until a green “7” appeared in the top right corner of her face screen.
“Bitter Kitten, this is Furious,” she said. “Confirming a secure comm channel.”
“Roger, Furious,” Darya replied.
Knowing Bitter Kitten, she was already done with her checklist and had been waiting. But then, she’d had years of doing this the Aquitaine way. Cho’d had weeks. It was still something to think about, instead of something that the body just did autonomously, like breathing.
But she’d get there. That jackass Jouster wasn’t about to make her look bad. Even in a training sim run in a battle arena.
“Checklist complete,” Furious said.
Ready for starflight.
“Furious,” Bitter Kitten said in her quiet voice, “I want to do something mean and sneaky today.”
Furious smiled. Duh. It was Bitter Kitten.
“Go ahead.”
“So when we get close,” Bitter Kitten said, “it will be obvious which one of us is which. The M–6 is different enough from the M–5 visually, to say nothing of the scanners. When we go into our first turn, I’m going to fade wide and flair. You’ll take the lead flying at that point and I’ll turn into your wing. We both know Jouster’s going to be chasing you anyway. This should throw his timing off.”
And it was also a good way to let her do something nobody else could keep up with. The M–6 had an edge in both speed and maneuverability over the M–5. Bitter Kitten might have to fall off the pace at the same time the boys did. But it also put Furious in a position to push the margins in ways she couldn’t if she was flying on Darya’s wing.
Furious smiled.
“Sounds good, Kitten,” she said.
Time to outfly everybody in the sky.
“Flight control, this is gold team,” she heard Bitter Kitten call. “Checklists complete. Ready for the arena.”
Senior Centurion Iskra Vlahovic had once been a flight centurion, a pilot, until she had limped home from a battle almost as shattered as her fighter. Cho had still been in pigtails when it had happened, but that woman still knew her stuff.