by Blaze Ward
That got a wry smile.
“Casey,” the woman said. “Please, call me Jessica.”
A man entered the room and interrupted the conversation before it could go much further. He was young, not more than a few years older than Casey, and walking on eggshells as he approached.
“Wildgraf. Princess. Your shuttle is ready,” he said, eyeing a spot on a distant horizon rather than make eye contact.
Keller was already on her feet, along with the others, before Casey could move.
“Thank you,” she said to the man, who immediately turned and retreated from the room.
Willow moved first, stalking quickly like a big, fierce cat for such a small woman. Jessica was right behind the bodyguard, and Casey found herself next, with the willowy tall woman Marcelle bringing up the rear.
The flight bay held a type of shuttle Casey had never seen before.
Imperial models tended to be big, ugly boxes. Even Republic designs tended to be cubes.
This craft reminded her of a swan in flight for winter, long and lean with a cockpit up front, and a long, thin neck that flared out into a rounded body at the rear. Stubby wings out each side ended in small gun turrets, to go with a monstrous searchlight of a turret atop the beast’s skull.
The paint job took her a moment to recognize, and then she couldn’t contain her giggles.
Jessica glanced back with an eyebrow raised in Casey’s direction.
“It’s a skunk,” Casey managed between giggles.
Jessica smiled back at her.
“A Western Spotted Skunk, specifically,” Jessica said. “Zorrillo. The Royal Combat Yacht. Welcome aboard.”
A hatch let them into a small space. Casey found herself hunched over to avoid bashing her head on things overhead as she followed Jessica to a set of four jumpseats in the swan’s neck.
A few moments later, Marcelle had her buckled in and had thrown herself into the last chair.
Casey watched Jessica press an intercom button.
“Flight deck,” Jessica said forcefully. “Ready for launch.”
“Roger that, Admiral,” a man’s voice replied crisply.
Around her, Casey felt the craft suddenly power up with high-pitched whining as various systems came live.
“Normally, we would ride up in the small cabin aft,” Jessica explained. “But time is short today, so I’ve told them to push. We’re better off strapped in for an hour. Gaucho has infected them all with his insanity.”
Casey nodded, unsure exactly what the other woman was saying, or who Gaucho might be, until Zorrillo began moving.
Every shuttle Casey had ever ridden in was a staid affair. Calm. Smooth. Comforting.
This was a racecar. On a curvy track. In the rain.
Casey felt the surge of the engines as they cleared the bay doors. A moment later, the pilot turned slightly onto one wing, such that Casey was suddenly almost lying on her back, and then the afterburners kicked in and the rear of the vessel was suddenly almost straight down.
If she hadn’t been strapped in tight, she might have plummeted into the door to the rear section. Her stomach wanted to, and would have happily taken her breakfast with it.
Casey sucked a breath deep to keep her oatmeal down.
Well, she had wanted an adventure.
Kali-ma looked unlike any ship Casey had ever seen.
Again, the swan motif, with the front end dominated by four arrowhead blades like a compass, and then the long neck, filled with a mish-mash of smaller craft, before flaring out to the big, lumpy rear of the craft.
Rather than docking at an airlock, as Casey had expected, they were actually landing in the middle of the swan’s neck, riding small thrusters carefully into place until they touched with a thump.
“All hands, prepare for gravity transition,” the pilot’s stern voice intoned from the speakers.
Casey was about to ask what that meant when her bottom suddenly found down.
Ah, turning on gravplates. Why weren’t they on earlier?
Marcelle Travere was unbuckled and across the aisle, helping Casey get free and stand.
Again, she had to stay ducked, as the ceiling was made for someone Jessica’s size, rather than her own.
Casey watched Willow kneel and press a control in the floor, just rear of the cockpit. A hatch opened and Willow’s upper half disappeared for several seconds before she popped back out and stood up.
“We’re in A-slot,” Willow said cryptically. “Climbing into gravity.”
“Sounds good,” Jessica replied. “You first, then me, then Casey.”
Rather than reply, Willow dropped back down and climbed into the hole, disappearing down into Kali-ma.
Jessica turned to her now, a serious look on her face.
“We’ll be going nearly face-first down the ladder, Casey,” she said seriously. “Just inside, you’ll encounter a reversal, and about fifty centimeters later you’ll be climbing up. For a few seconds, both your head and your feet will be in gravity, pointed opposite directions. Just keep going and we’ll be there if you run into problems. Marcelle will be following. Everything will be fine.”
Casey nodded silently as Jessica disappeared next.
Adventures.
Then it was her turn.
The tunnel wasn’t claustrophobic, but seemed to go on forever, climbing face-first down into the bowels of the earth. Casey could just make out Jessica’s feet as she reached the other end and climbed out of the tunnel, leaving her alone for a moment as she went up.
The discontinuity was sooner than she expected. Casey was in it and slightly disoriented before her brain caught up.
Down stopped being down, right around her belly button, and her inner ear insisted that she was suddenly climbing up.
Casey clenched the sides of the ladder firmly for a second before moving.
“Everything okay?” Marcelle asked from below her. Above her. Behind her.
“Fine,” Casey gritted her teeth and willed her feet and hands into motion.
Adventures.
Once through, Casey’s head popped up out of Kali-ma’s deck. Willow was there, along with Jessica and a dark-skinned woman Casey knew only by reputation. Kali-ma’s Captain. Command Centurion.
Shiori Ness.
Wiley.
Standing, Casey was surprised at Wiley’s size. The woman was taller and broader than she was, almost Uncle Em’s size, or father’s. She was built rather like a man, blocky and solid, but with a huge bosom.
Casey found her plain, but the woman was smiling ten million watts right now.
“Wiley,” Jessica introduced them. “May I introduce our guest, who wishes to be know, at least for today, as Casey?”
“Casey,” the woman said in a warm alto voice. “Welcome aboard.”
Not Princess. Just Casey.
At least for today, she could have an adventure. All too soon, life as she knew it was going to be over.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
DATE OF THE REPUBLIC NOVEMBER 8, 398 WERDER, ST. LEGIER
A pounding on the door brought Vo up from the darkness of his dreams. Nothing good, but no nightmares either.
It took a moment to place where he was.
Rather than return to the mansion where they were staying every night, Vo had taken to crashing frequently with Edgar and the men at the motel closer to the docks where the Army was putting them up for the month they were here. All too soon, they would all be returning to Thuringwell, or to Carufel, where the rest of the division, now just the 1st Regiment, acted as training cadre for cold weather and mountainous conditions as other divisions cycle through for the experience.
The owner had been quite happy to give Vo a private room. That’s where he was.
Wooden door, locked and chained, but nothing that would keep out a determined person.
Vo had been careful last night. It was too easy to drink too heavily with these men, but the wedding was getting close and he wanted to stay out of trouble.
Trouble seemed to be pounding on his door this morning.
“Coming,” Vo called, loud enough to be heard from the hallway.
The knocking stopped.
Vo climbed silently from the bed and slid into his pants and tunic. Sock and boots were quick as well. Navin the Black loved surprise inspections and training missions. Everything was close at hand.
He stepped close to the door and braced one big foot about a boot-length back, and set his shoulders. If someone was going to kick in the door, they’d be in for a bouncing surprise.
He reached out and slipped the chain, and then unlocked the door and pulled it open a crack.
“Colonel Arlo, there’s trouble,” a young girl’s voice called quietly.
Vo leaned around the door to confirm that the owner’s twelve-year-old daughter was alone, and then opened the door wider.
“Annette?” he said. “What kind?”
She was pale this morning. Wan and drawn in ways no child should ever be.
“Tanks in the street, sir,” she replied. “Poppa told me to wake you and your men, in case you needed to hide.”
“Hide?”
Vo wasn’t sure he was awake.
“She’s right, Colonel,” a man’s voice intruded. “Serious shit going down outside.”
Corporal Danville appeared a second later, already dressed for combat in his field utilities, rather than the colorful parade rig.
Danville had always struck Vo as one of the most dangerously-slick killers he had ever met. A born assassin. Fortunately, completely loyal.
“Annette,” Vo said to the girl. “Go tell your father we’ll be safe.”
“Yes, sir,” the girl chirped and disappeared.
“Colonel, in here,” Edgar Horst called gruffly. “Morning news. Quickly.”
Vo got there a step behind Danville.
Horst was pulling on his boots as a man on the vidscreen spoke in serious tones.
“And now, we return to the top of the news,” the announcer said sternly.
Vo realized that the man was wearing a military uniform, rather than the usual dress jacket he had grown used to from newspeople on this planet.
And then he recognized the color.
Imperial Security.
“The government of the traitor, Karl VII, has been overthrown and the Emperor and his suite arrested. Admiral of the White Sigmund Dittmar, His Imperial Highness and a loyal prince of the blood, has been chosen to assume the throne in his place. The Imperial Navy has acted to overthrow the treasonous government before their evil conspiracy could unfold. They have taken control of all of Werder, while saboteurs and dissidents are rounded up for the good of the state. Imperial Security has declared a curfew on all civilian traffic and all citizens are required to remain at home for the next twenty-four hours under penalty of law. Stay tuned to this channel. More information will be made available at a later time.”
The words faded into martial, patriotic music at this point. Obviously, the news stations had been taken over and were just going to continue playing the same music and warnings against going outside.
Vo felt like the world had just turned inside out. This was supposed to be a wedding and a party. How the hell had it turned into a revolution?
And whose side was he on? Well, the Fleet Centurion’s, but first he had to find her. Then he could ask.
“Colonel?” Horst asked as he turned off the repeating announcement. “Orders?”
Vo started to say something about him only being an Honorary Colonel, and not the real thing. And how this wasn’t even his war.
His pocket comm chirped before he could do more than open his mouth.
And it was the signal that whoever was at the other end was using the scrambled frequency. That meant trouble.
“Arlo,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket.
Around him, the room was filling up with his men, like someone had pulled a bathtub plug in the hallway and drained them all into Horst’s room.
“Vo, I gots issues,” Moirrey said in a harsh whisper.
“Go ahead,” he said, sensing the men around him getting ready to growl.
Moirrey was probably more popular with the 189th than he was.
“Vo, they comes to th’door five minutes ago and arrested everyone,” Moirrey said in an angry tone. “Well, Desianna. Jessica’s no’ here, an’ Marcelle and Willow went with her first thing.”
“What about you?” Vo asked, unsure how Moirrey could have been missed if someone was already arresting the Aquitaine mission.
“Nobody here as sneaky as a watch goose, city boy,” she growled.
That made no sense, but Moirrey did that to him too frequently anyway.
“Okay,” Vo said, shifting suddenly into the sort of combat mode Navin had pounded into him over the years. “Can you get to that one park with the ducks we found the second week we were here?”
“Can do,” she chirped back. “What ’bouts you?”
“We’ll be along as soon as we can,” Vo replied, looking at the tense, angry men around him.
Vo cut the line and took a breath.
“Colonel,” Horst said before Vo even could get a word out. “We’re with you.”
“We might be on the losing side,” Vo countered.
“And we’re dead on Thuringwell without you, sir.” Horst replied. “Plus, if they’re overthrowing my Emperor, they’re doing it over my oath and my dead body.”
That did get a growl from the men, all long-serving veterans chosen for that loyalty. The 189th might be reduced to a parade unit and training cadre these days, but the men were all hardened veterans.
Vo went into mental overdrive.
“All right, break it down into fire teams and move,” he ordered. “Comms, cash, weapons if you have them. As much out of uniforms as we can so we look like civilians. Check the weather forecasts. Be ready to sleep rough if we have to go into the brush. Our target is the park about three blocks north of Keller’s palace. We need to be out of here before some bureaucrat remembers us and decides we might be dangerous. Move out.”
The room emptied around he and Horst.
Vo jogged back to his room and quickly dug out his weekend gear: blue dungarees in a heavy denim, a seaman-style wool sweater Rebekah had gotten him, rain shell, and a floppy hat. The weather had been tolerable, but that was going between taxis and bars, not sleeping under trees.
A weapon would be nice, but there was nothing at hand.
“Colonel Arlo,” a new voice called from Vo’s half-closed doorway.
Annette’s father, the hotelier himself, was standing there, holding something covered in his hands.
Vo was set to move already, so he smiled at Walter as he approached.
“Thank you, Walter,” Vo said. “For taking care of me and my men.”
“Sir, have they really overthrown the Emperor?” Walter asked.
“It looks like they intend to,” Vo replied, sizing up the small, pudgy, middle-aged man standing before him.
“And you’re going to go stop them?” Walter asked with a plaintive smile.
Him?
He was going to stop an Imperial coup? Take on the entire Imperial Security Bureau and the Navy and demand that they behave themselves?
Vo laughed silently.
Yes. Yes he was.
Vo Arlo, Hero at Large.
“We’re going to try, Walter,” Vo said quietly, hearing his words echo down the hall and out into the crisp morning, a challenge to the entirety of Fribourg.
“Then you’ll need this, sir,” Walter said, holding out the cloth-covered lump in his hands.
Vo took it and unwrapped an antique, slug-throwing pistol in a leather holster. It was a glossy, black, semi-automatic, of a medium caliber, with rounds stacked in the handle. Probably older than either of them were.
“Are you sure, Walter?” Vo asked.
“Yes, sir. And you’d best hurry.”
The little man turned and
scurried away quickly.
Vo found himself in the hallway with Horst, Danville, and one other man, Sgt. Street, one of the quietest men in the platoon, and a pretty good darts player.
“Orders, sir?” Horst asked.
“Out and gone first,” Vo replied. “Then I need to contact the Fleet Centurion. After that, we’re going to go have a chat with Imperial Security.”
That got a chuckle from the three men. It sounded more like a pack of wolves than anything else.
It felt like it, too.
CHAPTER XXXIX
IMPERIAL FOUNDING: 176/11/08. DITTMAR PALACE, WERDER, ST. LEGIER
Sigmund hadn’t slept.
He had tried. Laid down with the lights out and the house quiet. Karya had taken something and slept next to him like a corpse, purring occasionally to show she wasn’t actually dead. Sigmund couldn’t risk doing the same, not when so much was at stake.
All he could do was lay there.
He might have even dozed, however briefly.
Nothing had helped.
Several hours before dawn, he had given up trying and gotten dressed.
Today, he wore his formal robes. Not quite Imperial, but as close as a cousin of the blood was formally allowed.
At least until he rectified that situation.
Emperor Sigmund I.
The birth of a new dynasty, a new direction.
Never peace with Aquitaine. Only enough peace with Buran to swallow the rabbit that the Republic represented, before turning on the so-called Lord of Winter.
Sigmund sat in his office now, lights still dim, but bright enough to work as he watched various news feeds and received regular, cryptic updates from General Grundman.
Friday night was a bad time to initiate a revolution. At least, this one.
The common populace was in the midst of a week-long pre-wedding celebration for the youngest daughter of The Red Admiral, the largest civic, social event any of them could imagine, until Prince Ekkehard was married off.
Not that they realized how little chance that had of ever happening.
No, best wait until after the bars have closed. And the all-nighters finally caved to the need to sleep and go home.
Strike early on Saturday morning, just as the sun was coming up. Catch the population of Werder hung over and confused. Both Karl and Emmerich would be at home with their entire families.