by Blaze Ward
“It will all be burned shortly,” Moirrey continued. “Anything else would leave us open to charges of espionage. However, the Bureau of Ships will need this for the next generation design I will be submitting on our return.”
Jessica pulled out a chair and settled, amazed at the transformation she was watching. This was not the goofy engineer with a glitter fetish that frequently infected Auberon’s engineering bays with her silliness.
Centurion Kermode, Moirrey zu Kermode, sounded more like an Advanced Research Weapons Technician, the job she was born for.
“Purpose?” Jessica probed, aware that the conversation had just gotten far more serious than a Monday morning coffee originally warranted.
“Fribourg is now engaged in a new Arms Race, Jessica,” Moirrey replied.
Jessica knew it was serious when Moirrey used her given name. She only did that when they were alone, and it was Very Serious Business.
“Previously, their only arms race was with Aquitaine, and we generally held an edge there, being more willing to explore new technologies while they were happy to rely on the brute-force capabilities of their ship-building infrastructure.”
“Who are you, and what have you done with Moirrey, you amazingly-nerdy imposter? I don’t see any unicorns on this page.”
Jessica grinned. Moirrey broke her own seriousness long enough to grin back and giggle, and then waved at the meters of designs on the paper in front of them.
“The Paladin-class is a bloody revolution, boss,” Moirrey chirped, dropping back into serious too soon. “Fast, mean, tough. We’re gonna need something even better in response. Gonna talk to a few folks on Kali-ma ’bouts some crazy ideas I gots. And yes, I will keep it all very, very secret, at least until we get back to friendly space.”
“Why a revolution?” Jessica asked.
She had told Moirrey everything she could remember, and answered every question. Sure, the Blackbird was a new design, but what made her so dangerous?
Moirrey leaned in to point at key installations on the drawing.
“Fewer missile racks and more beams,” Moirrey replied. “And the beams are all wrong. Type-3 and Type-2. Almost no Primaries nor Type-1.”
“So what are the implications, young lady?” Jessica could hear Nils Kasum’s voice come out of her mouth. Not the worst comparison, considering.
“I am an engineer, and not a line officer, Fleet Centurion,” Moirrey grinned back. “That strikes me, however, as a weapons load-out for engaging battleships and corvettes, rather than cruisers and carriers. Hopefully, that tells you something about who they’re engaging. Are you sure they weren’t hiding nothin’?”
Jessica let her back-brain process, memories floating up from the thirty hours they had been aboard Wachturm’s new chariot.
“I’m sure,” Jessica said after a stretch of silence. “Captain Saar happily showed off everything I wanted to see, and a few places I never would have asked for. And I agree. The engines are also oversized for the design, but that’s to better power all those beams while maneuvering at high speed. Nothing about the shield arrays struck me as odd.”
“But they’re ready for the wedding?” Moirrey probed. “All the Acceptance Trials complete that far ahead of schedule?”
“Yes, Moirrey, they are,” Jessica agreed. “Excepting only that they had just enough Primary rounds aboard to fire everything four times in testing, and the same to test the few missile systems, they’ll be here and ready for the wedding, and then start loading up for their next destination a few weeks later.”
“Good,” Moirrey said. “I’ll have th’folks on Kali-ma run all the passive scans they can on her, ’n’take that home, too.”
Jessica nodded and rose.
“I’ll let you get back to your unicorns, then,” she said, walking more somberly back to her quarters as she let the implications sink in. Behind her, Moirrey went back to furiously sketching.
Fribourg really was up to something. Wachturm was up to something. The Paladin-class was a whole new way to build warships, unlike anything Aquitaine was currently building.
What did that say about the Peace?
CHAPTER XXXVI
DATE OF THE REPUBLIC NOVEMBER 5, 398 KELLER MANSION, WERDER, ST. LEGIER
A knock at the door to her sitting room caused Jessica to look up from her book with a scowl.
She had taken enough day trips, toured enough factories and schools, eaten meals representing every planet in the Empire by now.
She just wanted a day to herself. Had even scheduled such a thing.
Desianna entered a moment later and closed the door behind her silently.
Jessica didn’t feel the look on her face softening.
“You have an unannounced visitor,” the woman said with a careful smile, barely above a whisper.
Between Desianna and Marcelle, there was no such thing.
Those two women worked intimately close to handle everything in the background, usually coordinating with Hendrik Baumgärtner to make Jessica’s schedule magically full in such a way that she had just enough time to make it to every appointment and appearance and no time to actually think.
This was her Wednesday. Nobody was allowed to bother her. Jessica felt like pointing that out.
But Desianna knew that. Knew that most people should be turned away, slotted into a meeting sometime after the wedding. Jessica could always delay her departure a few days, if needed.
Unless something came up that needed to be dealt with right now.
Jessica bit back the first words that came to mind. And the second.
“Will I regret asking who?” she finally settled on.
Desianna’s smile got predatory.
“I would have lost money, betting on this one, Jess,” she replied.
Considering that it was Desianna’s job to stay on top of all the threads, and the threats, that was an impressive admission. Jessica felt an eyebrow creep up her forehead.
“Fine,” she said, releasing her breath. “Out with it.”
“Her Imperial Majesty Kasimira Ekaterina, Empress of Fribourg,” Desianna said grandly, with only a hint of sarcasm. “In disguise.”
“Disguise?”
“Mufti,” Desianna clarified. “Unmarked ground vehicle. No bodyguards. Civilian attire. She literally walked up to the front door and knocked.”
Jessica looked down at the dark slacks and blue tunic she was wearing today. Not a Centurion’s Day Uniform, but damned close. Old, broken in, and comfortable.
It was her day off.
Jessica put down her book on the early history of the Fribourg Empire after marking the page.
Reading paper was strange. Paper bookmarks were archaic.
Fribourg was a paper culture.
She supposed that she should make an effort to get cleaned up and fully presentable in a diplomatic sense.
But if the Empress wanted to just show up, on a day Jessica had no meetings planned, she should have been prepared for what she found.
Or perhaps she was, and showing up in disguise was her chance to escape the bubble of publicity as well.
Only one way to find out.
“Show her in, please,” Jessica sighed, ever so slightly.
Desianna grinned.
“Marcelle is already boiling water for you,” she smirked as she opened the door and slipped out.
Jessica stretched as she rose, popping her back and rotating her shoulders ninety degrees each direction. There hadn’t been enough sessions with the fighting robot lately, but Jessica didn’t want to risk pulling anything and walking gimpy at the wedding. Not something that would probably be seen by several billion people. The only wedding that would be bigger was when the Crown Prince got married, one of these days.
Would they invite her back for that one, as well?
Desianna opened the door with a dangerous gleam in her eyes and a wicked smile.
“Jessica, your guest is arrived,” she said with only a hint of formality a
s she stepped to one side and gestured to the woman trailing her. “Kati, please, be welcome.”
Kati?
Jessica could think of a number of things that Desianna might call the Empress. Kati was not anywhere on that list. They had obviously planned this to be a rather informal discussion.
So be it.
The Empress was tall, even in flats. Taller than Desianna. Not as tall as Marcelle. Still a head above Jessica.
Kati exuded grace and warmth as she came into the room and shook Jessica’s hand.
“Jessica,” she said politely.
“Kati.”
Jessica hadn’t had that much time to speak to the woman at the dinner Wachturm had thrown. Nor had Desianna.
Where had this sudden comradery come from?
Marcelle followed them into the room last, carrying a portable table with all the accoutrements of coffee, laid out as if on an ancient altar.
Jessica saw Kati to the other chair and sat as they watched Marcelle work in silence, Desianna standing watch by the open door.
A two-century-old burr grinder for the beans to be reduced to potent flakes. Poured into a clear cylinder atop a ceramic mug. Steaming water poured over that and stirred to produce a skim of bubbles. Pressed through and then cut with more water. Fresh cream and locally-sourced honey to take the edge off the bitterness.
Imperial culture was odd, in that Jessica was expected to take the first mug as host, with guests being served in order of importance next.
Kati sat on the edge of her chair, poised for something, or perhaps waiting for a photographer to capture her relaxed perfection and ready smile.
She looked like a fashion model.
Kati accepted her mug and sipped appreciably as Marcelle packed up and the other two women departed, leaving Jessica alone with this sudden visitor as the door closed.
Jessica thought again about Tadej Horvat, and his lessons on the tools and techniques, and limitations, of diplomacy. She smiled at the woman.
“I find it hard to shave that fine of an edge,” Jessica said carefully. “Important enough to bring you to my door, and quietly, but not so critical that official notice must be taken. How can I help you, Kati?”
The woman grinned over the edge of her mug and then swallowed.
“It is not actually official business that brings me, Jessica,” she replied. “But rather, a request. And not, as you observe, an official one. A personal favor.”
Yes, she and Desianna would have both lost money, making those bets.
“I am your guest here, at least through Emmerich and Freya Wachturm,” Jessica said carefully, wondering what kind of personal favor this woman, this Empress, might need. “What do you need?”
“This might rise a bit above and beyond,” the Empress grinned lightly. “To use one of Joh’s favorite sayings.”
“Joh?” Jessica let confusion creep into her voice.
“I’m sorry,” Kati said, waving her hand by way of apology. “My husband. His Sovereign Imperial Majesty Karl VII, Karl Johannes Arend Wiegand. Joh.”
Right. Joh. Just another guy.
Uh huh.
“Ah,” Jessica nodded.
“I have a rather headstrong daughter,” Kati continued. “Who would love nothing more in the galaxy so much as a tour of your flagship, and a chance to meet your pilots, including the two girls who are apparently her own age and flying combat Starfighters for a living. She is not in a position to ask, culturally or politically. She asked me.”
“Rocket Frog and Neon Pink,” Jessica said around a sip of coffee. “Saša and Asra Binici. Identical twins and granddaughters of my Comptroller of the Court, Uly Larionov. Their uncle Galen is the commander of the cargo vessel that accompanied me, Marco Polo.”
“Interesting,” Kati leaned back slightly, settling into the chair.
“An exceptional family,” Jessica agreed. “Corynthe is best classified as a meritocracy of ability.”
“Well, don’t let her run off and become a pirate, please?”
Kati was only half kidding, from the look in her eyes.
“Do you approve of this trip, Kati?” Jessica asked carefully. “I would be happy to act as her host and chaperone. Emmerich Wachturm recently did something similar for me aboard Amsel, so it would be the least I could do to return the favor. What would make Casey happy?”
“What would make Casey happy would be to wake up suddenly and find that she was a princess in Aquitaine, rather than Fribourg,” Kati teased lightly. “She is a Renaissance Thinker in a deeply conservative society, and will soon begin to find doors closing on her as her adult responsibilities crowd her. I want her to be as happy as she can, while we figure out how to keep her scandals to a minimum.”
“Scandals?” Jessica inquired. Nothing she had heard had suggested anything but the broadest love for the child among the Imperial population.
“Moirrey zu Kermode’s Investiture was highly irregular,” Kati replied with a wicked smile. “It should have been an exceedingly stuffy, formal affair. A crowd of perhaps a dozen old men and a few matrons of society. Nothing like the party it turned into.”
“I see,” Jessica kept her tone neutral.
“You mentioned Amsel?” Kati pivoted suddenly. “Here? How is that even possible? I didn’t think the new one would be ready until the spring.”
“Apparently, Captain Saar and the Red Admiral have been burning the candle at both ends to have her ready for Heike’s wedding,” Jessica said. “The Blackbird will actually be in system, secretly, in a day or three, according to their schedule, giving them time to get everything spiffied up for a commissioning ceremony for the blushing bride.”
“Secretly?” Kati asked archly. “And yet, Em took you.”
“Diplomacy, Kati,” Jessica replied. “I’m not entirely sure what he’s up to, but I can certainly behave and show proper appreciation while I’m here.”
“Heike will be thrilled. But I suppose some of that blame should also be laid at your feet, Jessica,” Kati’s voice turned teasing. “If not for Thuringwell, these young ladies would have settled for finding a good man and having a happy family. You’ve corrupted an entire generation of Imperial women.”
“I have?” Jessica asked, surprised.
And thrilled.
This was what victory tasted like.
Kati looked friendly, but this woman was still something of an enigma. It might yet all be a trap of some sort.
“You’ve shown them that it’s possible to want more, to have more,” Kati agreed. “That they don’t have to settle for what little bits the male chauvinists of the Empire are willing to allow them. You’ve started a discreet, slow-burning Revolution, Jessica Keller.”
Which was exactly what she had intended, dropping out of the darkness to pounce on Thuringwell like a sparrowhawk. Men backed by the divine right of kings were dangerous. Forcing them to rule by consent of the governed was a dominantly powerful way to cage them.
“And Casey?” Jessica asked, wondering where this woman, this Imperial Highness, fit into the mixture.
“I have a daughter who won’t be happy waiting her whole life for what is your native birthright,” Kati said, turning the charm up. “But she’s also seventeen, and convinced that thirty is ancient. You remember what it was like.”
Jessica laughed. She had turned forty in the flight out. Kati had another decade on her. But teenagers are always convinced that nobody understands them or how they could make the world better.
“Yes. Yes, I do,” Jessica agreed. “How can we assuage her?”
“I realize that it’s short notice,” Kati said. “But the two families are scheduled to stay home for the entire day Saturday. If we could, would it be possible to sneak Casey out before sunrise and have you take her up to Kali-ma for the day, and then bring her back late Saturday night?”
Marcelle and Willow would be quite busy, keeping a beautiful, headstrong, Imperial princess safe around the coarse and salty pilots and crew, but Wi
ley ran a strict ship and would crack the whip hard if she had to.
Jessica’s only fear was that the young woman would decide she had to run off and have a pirate princess adventure.
Jessica couldn’t think of a worse social or diplomatic outcome.
Still, diplomacy. And Casey herself represented another front in Jessica’s lifetime war to bring down Fribourg.
Not the Empire itself, but the mindset of the men who ran it, who owned it. The Divine Right of Kings. Rule by birth.
That she would happily obliterate.
Casey could probably help. If nothing else, she would make a potent symbol to the Chartists, those men and women demanding that society change, that Fribourg accept the so-called Charter of Humanity that Jessica had heard whispers about.
“It would be my pleasure, Kati,” Jessica agreed.
Jessica was happy to plant another worm in the Imperial apple.
KASIMIRA
CHAPTER XXXVII
IMPERIAL FOUNDING: 176/11/08. IMPERIAL STARPORT, WERDER, ST. LEGIER
Casey wasn’t sure if vibrating with excitement would help, or ruin Keller’s opinion of her.
She settled for a case of fidgets. At least Lady Yulia would stay home for the day, happily ensconced in her latest shows rather than off seeing the galaxy and complaining non-stop. Not even Sgt. Inmon was allowed to accompany them today.
Instead, Casey found herself seated in a private lounge with Keller and her two assistants. Or rather, a (female!) bodyguard named Willow and another woman who looked like a bodyguard, but didn’t quite fit the mold. She wasn’t exactly sure what a dog-robber actually did, and Marcelle Travere looked too fierce for Casey to come right out and ask.
Still, she was going to have an adventure. She was only sad that the other two women, Keller’s Prime Minister and the wonderfully silly engineer, Moirrey, wouldn’t be able to join them. That more than made up for the fact that the sun wouldn’t even come up for two hours.
“Is anything wrong, Princess?” Keller asked, looking up from her book.
“Please, call me Casey, Wildgraf Keller,” Casey replied. “And no, nothing’s wrong. Just nervous and excited.”