Flight of the Blackbird (The Jessica Keller Chronicles Book 5)

by Blaze Ward

  “They won’t?” Dolen asked, slightly breathless.

  It was fun, listening to someone who was still that wet behind the ears.

  “I would be greatly surprised, Willow,” Jessica said firmly.

  “Any regrets?” Marcelle ventured, trying to knock her boss off of thinking about duty tonight.

  The bodyguard took her cue and lapsed into silence.

  “The occasional twinge,” Jessica replied. “What about you? Any regrets?”

  Marcelle stopped and thought about that. It wasn’t a question she had considered.

  “I have my nieces and nephews, same as you,” Marcelle concluded. “Plus yours by adoption. But, yeah, I wouldn’t have changed anything. It’s been too much fun.”

  “Agreed.”

  Marcelle left it at that. She had enjoyed occasional flings, but had never been involved with anyone, man or woman, who had impacted her own life like Daneel Ishikura had affected Jessica.

  Warlock. Pirate captain. A man who had made Jessica a widow without ever making her a wife first, at least in the legal sense. Absolutely one in the emotional sense.

  They drove in silence for several minutes, until a chirp from Jessica’s comm interrupted.

  “Wonderful,” Jessica opined from the back seat a few moments later, with all the sarcasm she could apparently muster at this moment.

  “Marcelle,” Jessica began after a moment. “I know it’s late, but we need to forgo the apartment and catch a flight up to Fleet Headquarters tonight.”

  “Anything I need to worry about?” Marcelle replied.

  “A surprise meeting with the First Lord, first thing tomorrow morning, in full dress uniform,” Jessica said. “I would rather sleep on a shuttle tonight, so I’m sharp tomorrow for whatever it is they have planned. Full dress uniform suggests politics.”

  “Maybe a new assignment?”

  Marcelle had hope.

  The Republic of Aquitaine had just signed a Twenty-Five-Year Peace with the Fribourg Empire. Nobody suggested that the war was over, but both sides needed time to recover, Fribourg possibly more than Aquitaine.

  Perhaps Jessica would be out at the tip of the spear again, instead of doing paperwork and training her squadron.

  Waiting. And possibly rusting.

  “Hopefully,” Jessica said. “What’s the worst they could do?”

  CHAPTER I

  DATE OF THE REPUBLIC APRIL 14, 398 COMMAND HEADQUARTERS, LADAUX

  In the past, trouble had always found Jessica facing the entrance to Fleet Headquarters Room 2304, the personal office of the First Lord of the Fleet, Nils Kasum. The place she always thought of as the Dragon’s Den.

  She took a deep breath and contemplated a completely different door in front of her now.

  She wasn’t sure if it was a better sign, or a worse one, that she had been asked to meet Nils in one of the major conference rooms instead. That suggested something bigger, more public.

  More people than could comfortably fit into his compact office.

  Jessica felt Marcelle take a moment to brush her collar and back for any wrinkles or dust bunnies adventurous enough to have joined them in the last five minutes. Not that this uniform showed them.

  She wore her more-formal Fleet Lord dress uniform this morning. The usual black slacks, tight over her calves and thighs to get into an emergency suit quickly. The green and black tunic with eight visible bronze buttons, rather than the invisible joins on her regular uniform. White epaulettes on her shoulders and white cuffs on her wrists, and a white undertunic instead of the chaos green one.

  It wasn’t her regular Fleet Centurion uniform, the one she preferred and was always pictured in, but today was more serious business. This required her to follow the modern regulations more closely.

  She looked down at her left shoulder. Mostly. Auberon’s red and gray thistle badge was still there.

  It wasn’t her unit patch any more. Denis Jež commanded Auberon now, in name as well as practice, but both he and the First Lord had asked her to retain that as her own, personal flag, when she was promoted to Fleet Lord.

  It was her home, as much as Penmerth on the planet below.

  Jessica let go of her breath and pressed the button to slide the hatch open sideways.

  Her heart skipped a beat anyway as she entered the room, Marcelle one step behind her and quickly sliding to the right against the wall with several other aides and centurions.

  There was a single spot open at this end of the table, so she stepped there and looked around.

  Nils Kasum would normally sit at the head of any table in a Navy meeting, as was his right by being the civilian commander of the fleet. Today, he sat to one side, obviously making space for someone else to sit in the place of honor. But Nils still wore what was obviously his best uniform, including the formal, black longcoat for special circumstances.

  One might expect the Premier of Aquitaine’s Senate, Judit Margrét Chavarría, head of the government, to take that top spot, but she sat across from Nils in a dark powersuit with a sparkling smile.

  Jessica checked anyway. Judit’s nails were utterly perfect.

  Obviously, serious business was intended today.

  Closer down the table, next to Nils, Senator Tadej Horvat. Until the affair at Ballard, the man had spent more than a decade as the Premier, only ceding to Judit when the good of the Republic demanded it. In the four years since, he had served as the Chairman of the Senate’s Select Committee for the Fleet of The Republic of Aquitaine. Nils’s boss, as well as one of his oldest friends, going back to boarding school in their early teens.

  Across from Tadej, First Centurion Petia Veronika Naoumov. Technically, First Fleet Lord, but the woman had taken Jessica’s lead after Thuringwell, and changed her own uniform and title. As commander of Home Fleet, her only boss was Nils, and she might take his job when he finally decided to retire to his estates in another few years.

  Jessica flashed back to a meeting with Judit and Petia, and others, that had launched the assault on Thuringwell, two years before. This room represented an even greater collection of raw power than that dinner had. Doubly so when she considered the man whom these four people, each powers in their own right, had granted the chair at the other end of the table.

  Jessica had never met Imperial Captain Hendrik Baumgärtner in person, but she had studied the man extensively and memorized his face. Emmerich Wachturm’s Flag Captain. His Chief of Staff. The man who did for the Red Admiral what Enej Zivkovic did for her, and had served Wachturm for more years than Marcelle had been with her.

  He was an average-looking man. Normal in height, perhaps two centimeters shorter than the Red Admiral. Lean and clean-shaven, with short, bristly, gray hair and a deeply lined face.

  Baumgärtner had an erect carriage, shoulders back, head up as he stood when Jessica entered the room.

  Perhaps her greatest surprise, over and above a man like this even being here, was that he had been allowed to keep his dress saber on his left hip, hung from his right shoulder on a simple, black, patent leather baldric. That, more than all the medals and awards on his chest, spoke of great gravity in the situation, that he might be armed and left alone within striking distance of the Republic of Aquitaine’s beating heart, ten armed marines and centurions around the walls notwithstanding.

  Baumgärtner’s heels came together with a snap and he bowed at the waist, holding it for two full seconds before coming back to attention. All her Academy classes in deportment came back to Jessica in a flash.

  Possibly only the Emperor rated a more pronounced show of public respect from this man that she had fought four times, coming close to killing him at least once.

  “Fleet Centurion,” Baumgärtner said gravely as he surfaced again. He remained standing at semi-attention.

  Jessica had never actually heard the man speak.

  He had a deep, baritone voice, but it had rough edges. This was not a politician, with smooth, silky tones, but an officer capable
of rattling his needs off a far bulkhead, aboard a burning bridge, in the midst of chaos.

  A voice not to be brooked.

  The mark of a good commander.

  “Flag Captain,” she responded.

  Jessica returned the bow. Not as deeply, nor as long, but possibly as heart-felt.

  She had walked into this room expecting politics.

  Nothing could have prepared her for this.

  From a sabretache on that baldric, hanging at his back, Baumgärtner pulled a small bundle that appeared to be wrapped in old-fashioned, oilskin cloth. At least from the sharp, pungent smell that suddenly wafted into the room.

  Jessica marked two of the marines on the far wall, exactly behind Baumgärtner, and the fact that neither of them had so much as twitched when the man had reached for his bag.

  Even more interesting.

  The Flag Captain unfolded his small bundle to reveal a scroll tube and three heavy, linen envelopes, all in a cream color just shy of fading to mustard.

  Baumgärtner remained standing, even as the other four stayed seated, so Jessica did as well. It was obvious, and amusing, that the Imperial considered the others to be nothing more than witnesses at this point, from his body language.

  Jessica stifled a laugh at the thought. This man was just as serious, just as committed to any task as his boss was. Or her.

  Kindred spirits spoke across the table to one another.

  Baumgärtner picked up the scroll tube first and held it like a newborn in two, careful hands. He cleared his throat before speaking.

  He held out the tube in her direction.

  “It is my duty, and my great honor,” he said. “To present to you, Fleet Centurion Jessica Keller, Queen of Corynthe, these Imperial Letters Patent, recognizing you as Wildgraf Jessica of Petron by Imperial decree.”

  The table was small, but she still could not take it directly from his hands. Instead, Nils carefully received it, passing it to Tadej, who placed it into her numb hands.

  Letters Patent? Her? Wildgraf Jessica? What?

  Her four superiors around the table responded with polite clapping, joined a moment later by the folks along the walls, including the marines who were normally supposed to embody paranoid, armed hostility.

  Stunned silence seemed to be the best option, no other course of action suggesting itself in Jessica’s suddenly blank mind. All of her clever plans, subtlety, political nuance: everything just flew out the hatch like an owl spying a mouse. Or a rabbit spotting a hawk.

  Baumgärtner smiled at her from his end of the table, transforming his dourness from something reminding her of Alber’ d’Maine to the sort of look Tomas Kigali might have worn.

  That made it easier for her heart to consider beating normally again.

  Perhaps.

  “In addition,” the Flag Captain continued in a lighter voice. “The Duke and Duchess of Eklionstic, Emmerich and Freya Wachturm, invite you to join them for the wedding of their youngest child, the Lady Henrietta Anne Wachturm, to Lt. Commander Bernard Hourani of the Imperial Navy, as a guest of Karl VII, Emperor of Fribourg by Grace of God. Said ceremonies to be held at the Imperial Cathedral in Werder, on St. Legier, on the fourteenth day of November, in the one-hundred seventy-sixth year of the Imperial Founding.”

  Captain Baumgärtner clicked his heels again, and bowed, only his head this time, as he passed one of the envelopes to Nils for delivery.

  Jessica placed the tube on the table top as she took the letter in her hand. The paper was almost linen. The Imperial seal was unbroken in maroon wax.

  She ran her thumb carefully underneath, separating the wax without destroying it, and pulled out the invitation for a quick read. The paper stock had the dense solidity of hull metal in her hands.

  Jessica smiled and looked at the First Centurion on her right.

  “I believe I will need to request leave, sir,” Jessica told Petia.

  The First Centurion smiled up at her mischievously.

  “Sit, Jessica,” Petia beamed up at her. “You have no idea.”

  CHAPTER II

  DATE OF THE REPUBLIC APRIL 14, 398 COMMAND HEADQUARTERS, LADAUX

  Nils led the convoy line as they traversed the wide, well-lit hallways of Fleet Headquarters to their destination. Petia’s legs were longer than his, but he was intent on setting the pace today.

  Today’s destination was what he liked to think of as his personal bolthole, deep in the bowels of the Officer’s Club at Fleet Headquarters.

  The Marquette Room.

  Fleet Headquarters kept clock with Penmerth below, as much as a space station serving an active fleet could. That meant that he had managed to reserve the entire room to himself for an early lunch, following several hours of careful, verbal fencing with Imperial Captain Baumgärtner.

  Brass tacks, but the kinds of things that had to be spelled out at a level of detail that would have made the fleet’s lawyers preen.

  Gods, he was exhausted. It had been worse than either of his daughters getting married. But neither of those had the possibility of armed conflict as a result.

  Through that last hatch, and the room had not changed one bit. In at least a decade.

  Folks here had been warned, so the table in back had been rearranged to seat five comfortably.

  Seth stood patiently behind the bar, prepared for any eventuality, while Nils’s favorite steward, Sigrún, got them all seated and took drink orders. She reminded him of his wife, Rosemonde, who had also been a similar petite redhead before her short hair turned silver. And they shared the same impish smile.

  As host, he stuffed Petia and Tadej into the booth first, facing each other, and then sat next to the First Centurion and across from the Premier, putting Jessica on the end, facing everyone. She looked the most shocked, but he had been expecting that, so Nils had previously ordered two bottles of a good, red wine to get everyone relaxed. Only Captain Baumgärtner had not joined them, but he had delivered his messages and done his duty admirably.

  There would be a formal, state dinner later in the week.

  Nils could tell that Jessica needed the wine from the way she sat. Perfectly still, not even her hands moving. Only her eyes. He could barely see the green, as she was all pupil right now.

  Fortunately, the wine appeared almost immediately, with Sigrún putting the first glass directly into Jessica’s hands.

  Jessica took a long sip, and that seemed to grind something off the iron walls she had erected around herself during the meeting.

  Nils toasted her with a glass, waiting for the rest to raise theirs as well.

  “Now imagine, Jessica,” he said helpfully. “If you were the one getting married, it might have gone on like that for several weeks until everyone nailed down every last detail that some heir or ex-spouse might challenge in court at a later date.”

  He was rewarded by a look that told him just how hard Jessica was working not to roll her eyes at him and his opinions on the topic. Nils grinned at her.

  “You did fine, Jessica,” Judit chimed in. “And you will do honor to both yourself and the Republic.”

  Jessica’s look at the Premier was less frantic, less sarcastic. Barely.

  “I would ask why me,” Jessica finally began slowly. “But I understand that. Why this grand of a production?”

  Tadej leaned forward with a knowing smile at that point, interrupting everyone else by tapping his finger on the table top.

  “Diplomacy, young lady,” he said evilly. “As we once discussed in this very room. You see the Emperor’s hand in this, as you should. And the Red Admiral, who, as you have previously said, once thought you reminded him of his youngest daughter, the very lady getting married. You might, again, by the way. Remind him.”

  He leaned back and gestured with his wine glass, smiling like a cat with the finest cream.

  “What you do not see yet is how all this will play with the Imperial public.”

  Her response was a simple, raised eyebrow.

 
“If the Peace is real, if it honest,” he continued, “then Jessica Keller will not be coming for them in their sleep. Karl has brought you to bay by declaring the war over, and they can rebuild their strength for a generation, until you are too old, too senior, to be a personal threat. After that, who knows?”

  Nils watched Jessica lean forward to rest both elbows on the table and let some of her rigid weight settle as her spine unlocked.

  “Which is why he made me a Wildgraf,” Jessica concluded. “A noble from beyond the pale. So I can come to this event as Queen of the Pirates and represent Corynthe, instead of coming as a Fleet Centurion.”

  “Correct,” Tadej smiled. “You now fit into the Imperial hierarchy of things, and they can treat you as such. Plus, you will note, he was rather inflexible that while Auberon was not allowed into Imperial space, Kali-ma would be welcome as your chariot.”

  Jessica turned to the military side of the table now, catching him and Petia with those sharp eyes. They had turned green again.

  “I cannot remove Kali-ma from Corynthe’s Fleet for the months it would take to do this,” she said forcefully. “The fine merchants in Salonnia would try their luck, as well as some of my own worlds that just barely recognize the central government now. David’s hold on power would be at serious risk.”

  Petia put a hand on his wrist before Nils could speak.

  “I have a plan,” she began with that evil grin of hers. “And I have spoken briefly with First Lord. Considering the importance of this mission, it would behoove Aquitaine to come to the aid of our treaty partner and insure her throne in her extended absence.”

  Jessica’s eyes got shrewd.

  “What have you done?” she asked the First Centurion sideways.

  “First Expeditionary Fleet should undertake an extended cruise to Corynthe,” Petia smirked gleefully. “If I wasn’t responsible for Home Fleet, I might go myself. Navigation training. Recruitment. Showing the flag. You know, fun stuff.”

  “And frightening some of those worlds until they pee down their leg?” Jessica asked sarcastically.

  “If they weren’t up to no good, Jessica,” Nils leaned forward a bit, “they wouldn’t be nervous now, would they? Plus, it gives me a really good excuse to include an archaeological expedition to Bunala with them.”