by Blaze Ward
On Jessica’s other side, Moirrey was wearing a hand-made, wildly-decorated dress in cornflower blue linen that made her whole being light up, and not just her smile. She had embroidered it in stars, planets, and other astronomical and astrological symbols to the point she looked like a mad scientist cum alchemist. But at the end of the day, that was probably the most accurate description of the evil engineering gnome that Jessica had ever heard.
Behind her, as the airlock rattled, Jessica could feel Vo Arlo, like a warm mountain. She could tell he felt like a fool in his Colonel’s uniform, but he looked positively distinguished today. She turned around to smile reassuringly up at him, this man whose every instinct was to act as bodyguard to the women in front of him, forcing himself instead to utter stillness at the rear.
Marcelle and Willow had that duty today. Bodyguards. And they wore identical outfits in muted brown that wouldn’t draw the eye as the others moved.
Wiley reached out and triggered the inner airlock door as the pressure equalized. Yan had the bridge, but she would be returning there as soon as her charges were dispatched. There would be a round of formal events later, but today was the Arrival in State of Jessica, Queen of Corynthe, as the itinerary read.
Captain Baumgärtner was waiting when the hatch cleared, with two Imperial Marines in pretty, dress uniforms just visible inside the shuttle.
“Your Majesty,” he said with a deep, formal bow and a warm smile. “On behalf of the Duke and Duchess of Eklionstic and his Imperial Majesty, welcome to St. Legier. If it would please you to join me, a reception awaits you and your party on the planet below us.”
Jessica bowed in turn. This was where all her planning over the last several months had to rely on luck and timing.
It had been six months since she last saw Emmerich Wachturm’s personal aide. There had been no time to stop and gather intelligence about the situation she was walking into, friendly or hostile. There was only whatever she had been able to absorb about Imperial customs and mores from her long studies on the flight out.
And a list of books on her reading slab.
For a moment, she flashed back to Daneel in his cabin aboard Auberon, reading a physical copy of The Modern History of the Republic, by Voisson, the night she had decided it was finally acceptable to kiss him. After he had carefully studied everything he could learn about an alien culture that he wanted to become part of.
And he had. And she had loved him for it.
She had a little over a month until the wedding. A month to put all that study and understanding to use. To do something Daneel had done.
Jessica could do no less now.
It were weird being a civilian, ’n’stuff. She’d no been outs of uniform this long since she joined up, fourteen years’n’change ago. Even being on a shuttle, gracefully descending into the atmosphere, didn’t help.
Gaucho’d a been blasting straight down like he was racing fallin’ rocks.
Moirrey wondered if this were what life would be like when First Lord finally took her away from Lady Keller and made Moirrey finally act like a grown-up.
She hoped not.
Being in a dress all the time were nice, but ever’ once in a while, her hand would grip towards a non-existent welding laser in the left thigh pouch to fix som’tin she saw, or for the glitter gun on the right side.
Still, she could do this fer her sister. Look all polished and proper like a right Ladaux lady, since she were a guest of honor, too.
She weren’t sure why, since she’d spent the last half decade blowing Impies and their friends up, but she also weren’t an expert on these folks, neither. Maybe being meaner th’n them counted fer som’thin’.
Moirrey shrugged and enjoyed the feeling of silk on her skin. The dress were heavy enough that she didn’t need a brassiere under it, and she barely had enough chest to matter, but this were a proper affair, with important folks, like the Red Admiral, or even an Emperer. With months ta plan, and Desianna’s help, she had done herself up a chemise in white silk ta goes underneath and make her feel all girlie and stuff.
Digger’d be trying to pick his jaw up off’n the floor right noaw, were he here to see. Desianna’d taken a bunch of pics, just to rub it in when she got back to see him.
Her hair were still short, ’n’still black, but there were starting to infiltrate with grays here and there. Desianna’d explained hows ta fix that, too, when the time come. Fer today, she wore an enameled daisy pin in her hair, and tied a pink scarf sideways around her neck to go with all the darks and blues and purples in the dress.
Nowhere nears as bright as Vo, but she were the third on the list of peoples being honored. And they was going outs of the way with her sister and the big lug.
She’d figure out why they wanted her here soon enoughs.
Jessica and the Imperial Captain sat across the central aisle and chatted. Mostly her asking occasional questions, and him explaining in lots of details. Which were what her sister’d need.
Vo were back a row, stewing, but he’d done that a lot on the flight out. Weren’t depression, or nothin’ like that. Mostly shock.
Still trying to figure out how he turned into a hero.
She coulda read him the award citations ’gain. They made fer impressive feats, especially since she’s helped to writes some of them. But he were just kinda on autopilot.
It were too bad Rebekah Kim weren’t able to come and see all this. She’n’Vo’d been on again more than they were off again, but being light-centuries away from each other fer months on end weren’t likely to be fun, and Vo dinna have anyone like Moirrey had Desianna to sit all night gossiping and giggling.
Gravity finally nibbled at her toes as the shuttle flattened out fer landing. Everyone put away drinks, and books, and stuff, and looked at the displays showing the city as they flew over.
Werder weren’t like Penmerth on Ladaux. Penmerth were a small city, as they went. Reminded her of home. Most of the heavy industry were off-world, and the Navy were up in orbit.
Werder were much bigger. A whole, dazzling metropolis hundreds of kilometers across, buildings broken up by parks and lakes and stuff in all directions.
And fairy tale castles with towers and pennons, just like they was supposed to.
Moirrey supposed that if’n you were an Empire with lots of wealth, you might have ta have castles fit fer elven queens of Lothlórien.
Moirrey giggled to herself, wondering if anybody but Suvi would even remember where that were.
And then they was a-ground. Soft. Almost unnoticeable. Gaucho’d a probably been insulted by how easygoing a flight this had been. Especially gliding into a terminal building to keeps everyone out of any possible rain, even if it were sunny this afternoon.
Nobody moved, so she sat still, too.
After a few minutes, Captain Baumgärtner stood up, handed Lady Keller up like she were a real lady, and not a badass Fleet Centurion, and turned to the rest of them with a pleasant smile.
Moirrey fought down the giggles. Impi men were never gonna un’erstand her and her sister. She figured Jessica were planning on taking unfair advantage of that.
She certainly were.
“Ladies. Colonel,” he said, making eye contact with each of them. “There will be a brief reception here, but no speeches. And then ground transportation will take us to the Palace for Colonel Arlo’s investiture, followed by a State Dinner. Lady Kermode’s investiture will occur the day after tomorrow, on Thursday. And Wildgraf Keller will be the guest of honor at a private banquet at the manor of the Duke and Duchess of Eklionstic on Saturday.”
Moirrey’s heart skipped a beat. And then started poundin’ somethin’ FIERCE.
Investiture.
Up until now, a game she’d played, bein’ a princess in a fairy tale. She’d always wanted to be a princess when she were a kitten. Being an Imperial Knight, a Ritter, were just daft.
She could see it fer Vo. He done good stuff on Thuringwell with the Imperial Army and
all. They would be happy to reward him.
But nowhere in the books on Imperial customs were there nothin’ on makin’a nermal ferriner a personal representative of the Household, let alone a woman.
And in two days, she would officially be Moirrey zu Kermode. Lady Moirrey of Ramsey.
Daft.
She found Vo in the mess o’folks debarking and grabbed his hand.
He looked like he needed it.
CHAPTER XX
DATE OF THE REPUBLIC SEPTEMBER 30, 398 IMPERIAL PALACE, WERDER, ST. LEGIER
Vo took a deep breath and tried to get his pulse under control. Navin the Black had taught him all sorts of meditative tricks and bio-feedback over the years, but that was for a man about to enter bloody combat, or having just come back from it.
Nowhere had the man covered anything like this.
The Imperial Palace.
St. Legier.
A long, upstairs hallway, gray tile floors covered over with long green and blue carpets. Pictures on the walls every once in a while. Art and knick-knacks on pedestals and side tables. Closed wooden doors.
Somewhere, a reception hall filled with people. Imperial people. Waiting for him.
He was about to step into that scrum, be honored by them. Smile at them.
Combat drops had been easier.
It had helped that Moirrey had sat next to him in the limousine on the ride over. Not saying anything. Just leaning against him like a fall leaf.
The piece of paper tucked into the left inner pocket of his jacket weighed a long ton right now. A special Act of the Senate, back on Ladaux, setting him on detached duty at the pleasure of the Emperor of Fribourg, able to accept this honor, and making him a Goodwill Ambassador between nations.
Moirrey had one, too, but he was about to be made an Officer and a Gentleman, as well as a Knight.
You need to stop being a hero, young man.
Captain Baumgärtner walked beside him now on his left as they approached the open double doors with the two men in Army uniforms flanking it.
Every other door they had passed had been guarded by Household troops. Those uniforms were showier.
These two men were line infantry.
Vo looked closely at the shoulder of the nearer man. 189th Division.
He didn’t recognize either man, but he had only met a few of them on Thuringwell during the craziness. The rest of the division, reduced now to only a First Regiment of training specialists, had been stationed elsewhere.
Vo was about to be made the Honorary Colonel of the non-existent Third Regiment of the 189th Division. It made a useful fiction.
Both men came to rigid attention as he approached. Corporals with two service stripes on the forearm, indicating at least six years’ service.
Vo nodded and smiled.
Captain Baumgärtner stopped him a half a dozen strides from the door, listening to someone talk into a tiny bud in his ear.
“I’ll escort you to the door and announce you,” he began, looking up with deadly serious intent. “Then walk you down the center of the room. The Emperor will be on a raised platform with the Earth Sword. You will kneel on the first step. He will touch you on both shoulders with the blade, and then order you to arise. You will take two steps back when you stand and then be formally Invested. I’ll be right there to assist you. It will turn into a diplomatic reception at that point.”
He paused to look Vo up and down one last time.
“Are you ready, Colonel?”
Vo turned to glance back at the half-dozen women accompanying him. All of them smiled up, reassuring and warm.
He could do this. He nodded to the man, unwilling to trust his voice right now.
Baumgärtner smiled. He reached out and caught Vo’s forearm in his from underneath, lightly gripping Vo’s wrist and tugging him into motion.
They paused at the door.
Vo could see inside the room now. It was a grand space, nearly the size of the Primary Engineering Bay aboard the old Strike Carrier Auberon. Filled with hundreds of people, men mostly in the dark, navy blue of the Imperial Fleet, but a few in the sorts of exotic color combinations he was wearing now. The women reflected every color of the spectrum in their dresses and every hue of humanity in their bright faces.
An aisle was already opened down the center, lined on both sides by men in that line infantry uniform of the 189th. Some faces he recognized.
These men had been on Thuringwell when Aquitaine invaded. Had stood their duty right up to the moment when it should have cost them their lives, but for the actions of one Aquitaine Centurion.
Twenty-two men, eleven on each side, standing at parade rest, hands crossed behind their backs and feet shoulder width apart. At the far end, on the left, closest to the man standing on the dais, Master Sergeant Edgar Horst, Color Sergeant for the 189th Division.
Today, he was actually holding the colors, a red, yellow, and blue flag that matched Vo’s uniform, hanging down from a polished steel crossbar atop a three-meter pole.
“Your Imperial Majesty, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Court, I present you Colonel Vo Arlo,” Captain Baumgärtner called into the space.
Hush turned to utter stillness.
“Company,” Master Sergeant Horst barked. “Atten-tion.”
The twenty-two men snapped to as one, arms down, shoulders back, chins up, feet together.
Vo took a deep breath and willed his heart to start beating again.
Captain Baumgärtner’s grip pulled him along. Vo didn’t have the knack for falling into step that army troops got from marching together, and he was so much taller, but he was willing to be led by this man. Hopefully, he wouldn’t embarrass the captain today.
The man on the dais was impressive. Vo had spent enough time around the Red Admiral, back in the day, to see the family resemblance between the two cousins. Slightly above average height. Mildly-stocky build. Hair turning gray.
The Emperor wore a cloak over what looked like Court robes, the outer cloth done in a dark maroon and highlighted in white, with the Imperial Crest: a Golden Eagle Elevated and Displayed, over his heart. He rested a sword, point down on a small pillow, by his right foot.
Vo was wearing his cavalry saber, and had been warned innumerable times never to actually even rest his hand on the hilt, let alone draw it, lest someone with a firearm get twitchy. Still, his blade probably weighed a third of the heavy longsword Karl VII held.
Vo doubted the Emperor has nearly as much training in Kendo or close combat, but he could see that the man was comfortable as he stood.
Eighteen long strides into the room. Kneel on that first step. Feel the heavy, red carpet padding protect knees from bruising.
Deep breath. Calm face.
Look up at the man you have been fighting for the last decade, smiling down at you knowingly.
Karl VII had the darkest blue eyes Vo had ever seen on a person.
“Colonel Arlo,” the Emperor began. “Welcome. And thank you, on behalf of myself, my government, and especially the 189th division.”
Vo watched the man easily lift the heavy blade in one hand and turn the blade flat, just touching him on the left shoulder, the right, and the left again.
There had to be a lot of muscles under those robes.
Kittens had batted him harder.
“I proclaim you Vojciech zu Arlo, Ritter of the Imperial Household,” Karl said in a warm, loud voice. “Arise, Lord Vo, and be presented to the Court.”
Vo let the autopilot, lizard-brain part of him rock backwards and up. Standing on a second step up, Emperor Karl VII looked him in the eyes.
The man winked at him.
“Color Sergeant,” the Emperor continued proudly. “To your duty.”
Vo held perfectly still as Horst passed the flag pole to the man on his right, turned, and picked up a bundle of cloth from a nearby table. It was the same maroon as the Emperor wore. A dozen or so other men in the room also wore that color.
Nobody else.
<
br /> Horst approached in a slow, measured cadence reminiscent of those strides in front of the memorial on Thuringwell. He passed behind Vo, out of sight, and paused.
Vo heard the rustle of silk as the bundle was unrolled, flared once, and then a cloak appeared around his shoulders.
Vo reached up and caught the ties with his hands, holding them in place until Horst marched around front and tied them tightly.
The Master Sergeant turned to the Emperor, bowed low, and returned to his spot, taking back the colors.
Karl VII nodded at Vo and Captain Baumgärtner. Captain Baumgärtner turned him in place to face the rest of the room.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Court,” he called. “Vo zu Arlo, Imperial Ritter.”
The applause was polite.
“Company,” Master Sergeant Horst barked. “Dis-missed.”
Suddenly, Vo found himself mobbed by the men of the 189th, pounding his back and shaking his hand. They hadn’t become friends on Thuringwell, but they had become comrades.
Now, if he could just make it through the rest of the month.
CHAPTER XXI
IMPERIAL FOUNDING: 176/09/30. IMPERIAL PALACE, WERDER, ST. LEGIER
Sigmund kept his face comfortably neutral as he worked his way around the Reception Room. Bland, even. What had just happened to the soldier from Aquitaine was acceptable, within the confines of Imperial custom. The Army wasn’t that important.
When he was Emperor, he might even do a similar thing, in light of the extraordinary situation that had dictated it.
After all, the two nations were still technically at peace. He would need some time, afterwards, to consolidate his power, his reign, after the bloody circumstances that would precede his ascension to the crown.
No, best to lull Aquitaine to sleep when his time came. That would make the inevitable betrayal all the more stunning, all the more successful.
Sigmund held a half-empty glass of wine in one hand and surveyed the crowd. Today, he wore his best uniform: crisp, white linen standing out amidst the dark blue or maroon around him like a supernova. As it should.