by Blaze Ward
Across from Strnad, an average looking woman with short blond hair. He had been briefed by Jež head of time that Iskra Vlahovic, the flight deck commander, was a very quiet woman and unlikely to speak much during dinner. The light was low, but just bright enough to show a small hairline scar on the left side of her head, starting just behind the cheek and arcing gracefully backwards over her ear. Apparently, a trophy from her last combat flight, after which she spent six months in the hospital learning to walk and talk again. Followed by turning herself into a flight engineer, when she could have honorably retired and enjoyed her life.
Again, something else the Empire would not understand.
It was an interesting group of people that fate had conspired to bring together. When Jessica Keller first came to his attention after the recent battle at Iger, Emmerich had wondered if her mission last year had been the luck of audacity, or something deeper. Now he would be in a position to finally discover the truth.
At least he would be allowed to return home eventually. That was something to look forward to, as opposed to the insultingly–long debriefings that the Security and Intelligence Services would subject him to, having been a prisoner of the Republic and Keller. But he could go home, after he was done here.
So, until then, he would learn all there was to learn about this woman and her staff. There would come a day when that information would be both useful, and necessary.
The food, in seven courses, was amazing. There was simply no other way to explain it. His own personal chef aboard his battleship, IFV Amsel, was extremely good. Keller’s was an artist.
He burped in spite of himself and reached for his wine glass.
“Thank you, Commander Keller,” he said, loud enough to be heard by the stewards along the walls, “for a most amazing dinner. If we were at peace, I would try to hire your chef away from you. I hope I am able to host you to an equally exceptional dinner, sometime in the future.”
He toasted her chef with his glass. The other joined in.
“And now,” he continued in a much quieter voice, eyes locking with Keller’s down the long length of the table, “I would like to know more about how you plan to resolve things on the planet below us.”
Emmerich was careful not to call them invaders, now or at any time. It served a polite fiction for everyone to pretend otherwise, and let him enjoy his time here, rather than being permanently stowed politely away in a hastily converted “flag suite,” with doors that locked from the outside.
He watched Keller put her glass down carefully and observe. First him, and then each of her staff in turn. All eyes had turned to face her, leaving him silhouettes and hair to look at.
“Having arrived and eliminated the immediate threat,” she said carefully, “the obvious next choice would be to reduce the base, so that it cannot ever be used again.”
Emmerich was fascinated by her choice of words. He could see her choosing them with care before she spoke.
“Lincolnshire does not have any capital–scale warships capable of dislodging a force like we found here,” Jessica continued. “The more so because their fleet largely consists of second hand Escorts and Destroyers. Just destroying the forces here isn’t enough. They would come back eventually, like rats.”
She paused to take a drink of wine and think before she continued.
“So you will just destroy the base?” Emmerich asked. “I have heard rumors of a redirected asteroid being used as a weapon.”
It was an elegant solution, worthy of her growing legend. Others would bomb the place, or attempt to storm it. Instead, she was taking the thing that offended her and annihilating it utterly. It was truly The Grand Gesture.
“That would be correct, Admiral,” she said with a hint of smile. “We will level the entire mountain being used as a base. Now it remains only to be seen if the inhabitants down there will surrender peacefully, or be destroyed along with it.”
Emmerich stopped. He was sure there was a look of utter befuddlement on his face, but he didn’t bother to cover his confusion.
“Surrender peacefully?” he asked, surprised. “Fribourg would have already razed the base.”
“If the situation were reversed, Admiral Wachturm, with you in charge of similar forces, how would you deal with them?”
Emmerich leaned back in his chair and swirled his wine, more to gain time than for show. Auberon and her consorts were so much smaller and less capable than Amsel. Powerful, yes. Dangerous, exceedingly. But greatly limited. A Strike Carrier, after all, was an under–gunned cruiser with a short fighter squadron, not a full Task Force like he normally commanded.
He gestured to the Republic tactical officer, the woman Tamara Strnad.
“Given the opportunity to make Le Beau Geste,” he said carefully, “I would have hammered the surface of a base a few more times, just to make sure they were well and truly trapped underground. Then, I believe I like the idea of using an asteroid to finish them. It is this silliness about negotiation that I find disconcerting.”
Jessica nodded in agreement.
“If wishes were fishes, sir,” she replied, “I would have something like Amsel’s forces at hand to deal with this situation.”
“With Amsel, I would have already taken the place intact.”
“Ah,” she smiled at him, “but your battleship fields a huge ground combat force, Admiral. You can pay that particular butcher’s bill. I cannot, so we are going to attempt diplomacy first.”
Diplomacy? With invaders from Corynthe?
Emmerich mentally reduced his overall opinion of Keller’s brilliance by an entire notch as he listened, carefully keeping his face neutral.
If she was trying that, then she must be in over her head. Or, worse, possessed of some sort of squeamishness that prevented her from acting with the utter ruthlessness he had expected. Was she over–rated, after all?
“I see,” he said, more as a placeholder than because he did. It was a polite placeholder. “And then what?”
She smiled more warmly at him. “Then we transport them to Corynthe and give them a good talking to.”
Never in his life had Emmerich heard a more silly proposal, especially not from a serving officer, to say nothing of a commander. Suddenly, the rightness of the Fribourg Empire’s prohibition of women in service made so much more sense.
If Aquitaine’s most dangerous commander was all soft and gooey underneath, was there any doubt why they were losing the Great War?
“I look forward to following things as they unfold, Commander Keller.”
Emmerich rose from the table. The rest rose with him.
“And now, if you will excuse me, I find myself exhausted by such rich and interesting company. I will take my leave and bid you a good evening. Senior Centurion Jež, if you would?”
Emmerich really didn’t need to write all of this down to remember it, but it would be invaluable to the Intelligence Services to have all of his impressions recorded fresh from having taken Keller’s measure, as little as he had suddenly found it to be.
Ξ
Jessica watched Denis escort the imperial Admiral out of the wardroom, and no doubt, back to his den, there to compose his reports like a good little spy. At her right hand, Tamara Strnad started to say something, but Jessica cut her off with a finger before a sound came out.
Jessica turned to Iskra and Vilis. Both nodded to her, Vilis with a tremendous grin on his face as he bowed to her then departed. Iskra gave her a contented shrug and followed the engineer.
“Let us,” Jessica said to the tactical officer, “retire to my office and have some coffee. We can chat there.”
Tamara nodded at her, mute, but followed.
The office, when they got there, had not changed. Nothing was allowed to change here. This was where she worked, comfortable in her space.
Jessica gestured to the chair as Marcelle followed the two women in, a coffee service already organized on a tray.
“Am I getting predictable, Marce
lle?” Jessica asked.
“Not at all, sir,” the tall woman replied. “I had expected everyone staying with the admiral for more questions, or you staying up well past your bedtime doing reports.”
Jessica smiled. Predictable was the wrong word, but it was probably close.
“Tamara, please sit,” Jessica said as Marcelle poured two mugs and departed. “You look confused.”
“Yes, sir,” Tamara replied.
“Not the conversation you were expecting me to have with the admiral?”
“No, sir.”
“What were you expecting, Tamara?”
Jessica watched the woman screw up her face in concentration, unsure of how to phrase her words.
“Speak freely, Tamara,” Jessica continued. “Easier that way to make sure everything is clear.”
“Okay, sir,” the tactical officer replied after a moment. “You came across as…soft. Almost weak. Not at all what I would have expected. I would have thought we wanted to impress him.”
Jessica smiled. Denis had made the connection, as had Iskra and Vilis. Only Tamara had missed it.
Lesson learned. Her tactical officer was as much in need of having her horizons broadened as Jessica was. Her own failing for not making sure Tamara understood. Fortunately, an easily correctable mistake.
“Tamara.”
“Hmmm?”
“Emmerich Wachturm is possibly the best tactician the Empire has.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We don’t want to impress him with our competence.”
“We don’t?”
“No, Tamara,” Jessica said. “If we impress him, then he takes us seriously. More seriously. If we underwhelm him, he will hopefully underestimate us when it counts.”
“Sir?”
“Tamara, he may be a perfect gentleman and a worldly scholar, but he is still the enemy.”
“Oh.”
Jessica watched the woman’s eyes light up with understanding.
“Oh!”
“Yes,” Jessica agreed. “Hopefully, right now, he is busy writing a report about how over–rated I am and how much they can discount my stock as a commander, attributing everything to pure luck and timing. All because I’m a woman and soft.”
“Got it, sir. Will it work?”
“Every little bit helps, Tamara,” Jessica concluded. “We’ll have to fight that man again, one of these days.”
Chapter XVII
Date of the Republic October 8, 393 Sarmarsh System
The chime got her attention. Jessica hadn’t been asleep, but day dreaming lightly. She had been up too late doing paperwork, until Marcelle dragged her to bed. It was mid–day shift now. Perhaps something to pick up her afternoon?
The chime sounded again. Yes, someone wanted her attention.
She put down her pen and keyed the microphone.
“Keller. Go ahead.”
“A Mister Ishikura requests your attention, sir,” Centurion Giroux, in charge of sensors and communications today, said politely.
Jessica checked the clock. The base below them still had several hours before her deadline. Was he expecting to negotiate?
Tough luck on that, mister.
Jessica stretched her back and shoulders quickly to loosen up. Too much paperwork. Not enough time with the fighting robot.
“Patch him through, Giroux,” she said as she put on her serious face.
She considered leaving the video function off, but decided that was just being petty.
Ishikura had taken the time to clean up since she last saw him. His hair was combed neatly and the black smear of something had been cleaned off. The bags under his eyes were just as bad, perhaps a little less, and the eyes themselves a little less bloodshot.
“Commander Keller,” he said after a moment. His voice was at pains to be polite today. Perhaps he had already gone through all the stages of death?
So, going out in a blaze of glory or living to fight another day?
“Mister Ishikura,” she replied.
They studied each other for several moments.
“That’s not the bridge of your ship,” he finally said.
She glanced over her shoulder at the view he would have.
“Correct, this is my office. I was doing paperwork. What can I do for you, Mr. Ishikura?”
“Are you really going to destroy this base?”
She looked closely at him. Engineering that massive was probably magic to most people. It was part of what made the Republic and Imperial Navies so impressive, the ability to work on that scale. Nobody out here on the galactic fringe could do that.
“When the rock I am using hits,” she said simply, “I will go a long ways towards knocking that moon out of orbit of Sarmarsh IV, although my staff assures me it will not actually break away. Large sections of the planetoid will be reformed by the amount of energy released. Your base will be a soap bubble in the path of a bullet.”
“And you are still willing to transport all of the survivors from the surface back to Corynthe?”
She could see something in his eyes. Possibly hope, which had probably been snuffed out like a candle when Auberon and Rajput had come over the horizon firing.
“Under very specific circumstances, Ishikura,” she replied. The iron was there in her voice for him to hear. Diplomacy just might have to be damned until after she had made her point here.
“Such as?” he said, carefully, deliberately.
“Your people will only be able to take what they can carry,” she replied. Iron. “They will be searched before transport. My people will inspect the base. If any of them get hurt in the process, I will hang you all in low gravity.”
“Those are your terms?” he asked. From his voice, he knew just how little rope he had. As someone had once described it for her, enough to hang and no more.
“They are,” she replied. “If you have any dead–enders wanting to do something stupid, I suggest you take care of them right now and give everyone else a chance to get home.”
“And you will keep your word? Take us to Corynthe?”
“Ishikura,” she said, beginning to verge on exasperation, “my mission was to deal with the pirate threat plaguing Lincolnshire. The military aspect has been completed, but without a diplomatic solution, it will return, like a bad penny. I have more important things to do than keep coming out here. If you can see to reason, perhaps the King of the Pirates can as well. You should convince him.”
She watched the man laugh quietly to himself.
“And what amuses you so, Mr. Ishikura?”
“I was exiled out here because that man got tired of my advice.”
“Well, then, perhaps with my assistance, you’ll be able to make him listen. I’m very good at that.”
“Yes,” he agreed with a weak smile. “Your arguments have been most effective, Keller. I will accept your terms. We will be ready to begin transport in a few hours.”
“Very well,” she agreed. “One of my people will contact you with details shortly.”
She watched his shoulders unslump as she closed the comm channel, as if a large weight had come off of them. It was a weight she knew.
Command.
Taking these people home would be one less source of blood–feud between the two nations. Perhaps it would be enough for peace. Perhaps the King of the Pirates would make nice.
Jessica snorted to herself. And perhaps she could teach the horse to sing.
Chapter XVIII
Date of the Republic October 13, 393 Sarmarsh System
Jessica had adjourned to the small conference room with Daneel Ishikura and three of her guards, his minders, for the show. Most of her officers were on duty on the bridge right now, getting a first–hand view of the engineering feat they had just accomplished. Or, were about to accomplish.
More of Keller’s Legend.
Daneel Ishikura had turned out to be even bigger in person that she had expected. Two meters tall and V–shaped across the ches
t, tapering down to a narrow waist. He had cleaned up well, though, dressed in pants and a long shirt that would not stand out on the street in Ladeaux, accessorized with just enough gold, in the form of a small bracer and a necklace and such to still look like a pirate at second glance.
They were done with the evacuation now, having gone through all the exhausting effort necessary to pack up seventy–eight people, the survivors of a once much–larger staff, and get them aboard Auberon, under guard, fed, and quartered away.
She and the man relaxed as the display screen lit up, small talk out of the way. They were alone, except for the marines keeping close watch at the door, but that was normal when dealing with a high–value prisoner. Even admiral Wachturm had a discrete minder when he was allowed out of his quarters. Jessica didn’t expect Ishikura to do anything stupid or suicidal at this point.
“So you really are going to make a production out of this?” she heard him say quietly.
Jessica smiled at the man. “Far more than just a production, Ishikura. This is an Event. You’ll see shortly.”
On the screen, the moon designated Alpha was centered. Engineering had converted all of their asteroid missile’s angular momentum that they could dampen to spin, so the planet appeared to move counter–clockwise on the screen, slowly but visibly, as the smaller rock approached. It left a slightly queasy feel, as though you were flying on a ship that lost one of its gyros.
Words suddenly appeared on the screen, overlaying the image. Adventures In The Land Of The Giant People.
Jessica heard the pirate next to her repeat them quietly, confused.
“What’s all that about?” he asked.
“It’s a tradition on this ship, Mister Ishikura,” she replied. “I have an engineering department with aspirations to high art. This is a stage production to them. They treat it as such.”
“I have a hard time with that name, Keller,” he said back to her. “Mister Ishikura is my father, a small–scale butcher in a middle–class neighborhood on the edge of the city of Corynthe.”
“City?” she asked, equally confused for once.