by Blaze Ward
“Yes,” Desianna said. “Meanwhile, we can work on the others and see if we can find out what they have planned. I’m sure whatever it is it will happen when we get back. Without Du and Zhao here, no coup could succeed.”
“There is one thing you will have to do for me, Desianna Indah–Rodriguez.”
The woman stared at her closely for a moment, her eyes suddenly serious, though she remained silent.
“You will also need to convince Arnulf and Jing Du to fly in state aboard my ship, aboard Auberon, while the others escort us.”
“So, hostages?” Desianna concluded.
“Your lives will be in my hands, yes. Will Arnulf accept those conditions?”
Desianna smiled slyly. “I have known the man for three decades, Jessica. I can convince him.”
Jessica nodded. It would be interesting to have Arnulf and the Red Admiral, together for dinner. She held out her hand to this woman who was apparently now her co–conspirator.
Desianna took it, held it.
Jessica tried to relax.
“Now,” Desianna said, rising and pulling Jessica to her feet. “I have a young man I would like to introduce you to. You may not seduce him, Jessica Keller.”
Jessica’s confusion felt evident on her face.
Desianna opened the door to let the outside world in.
“I asked my son, David, Arnulf’s oldest child, to join us this afternoon, but that will be nothing more than idle chatter.”
Jessica smiled at the implied compliment and followed the woman out into the outer chamber. Hopefully, there would be no more marriage proposals from pirates.
At least today.
PROMENADE
Chapter XXX
Date of the Republic November 21, 393 Walea System
Desianna waited as Intan closed the door to her salon and departed. Technically, it was verging on inappropriate to entertain a man privately, but this was a conversation she didn’t wish to share even with her maid, a woman who had been with her for over a decade.
Back home, there were a few people she might invite, mostly to provide camouflage, but they were many light years away right now. So she would settle for whatever whispers might start.
It would all be moot soon, anyway, one way or another.
Daneel Ishikura sat nervously across from her, as though called to the principal’s office and about to get in trouble with his parents. Desianna could only imagine what thoughts were going through his head, what guilt.
She poured tea and handed him a mug before pouring her own.
“Daneel,” she began, quiet but firm, “how have you been faring?”
Best to put him at ease, especially considering what was coming next.
“Well enough,” he replied neutrally. “The effects of the poison were flushed out of my system within a few days. There are still occasional moments of weakness, like phantom pain in a joint, and my dreams are a bit more vivid than before.”
“Nightmares?”
“Sometimes,” he shrugged. “Other times…”
She felt the uncertainty in his voice, this man she had known for better than a decade. But she also heard other tones. Deeper, for lack of a better term. From a man well known for his embrace of the pirate lifestyle.
As with Jessica Keller, it felt like time to take a gamble.
“Daneel,” she said, “I need your help.”
One eyebrow rose and spoke silent volumes about the man. Two years ago, he would have said something. Anything. Just to fill the silence.
Being exiled to Sarmarsh had changed him. Nearly dying twice had as well. Hopefully, for the better.
“What’s Jing Du up to?” Desianna asked bluntly. Better to get it out into the open early, like tearing a bandage off. Quick pain, and then relief.
Daneel squinted at her carefully. Unlike with other men, there was nothing of an eye wandering about her bosom and curves.
This felt like a man measuring her for a blow. Which said a great deal all by itself. Warlock used to be about as shallow as a mud puddle.
“We know.” She emphasized the parties unknown to make him understand that this was bigger than just the two of them, “We know that he has gone well beyond his usual posturing and triple–crossing. This isn’t about him retaining his power in the palace, Daneel. He is becoming a threat to Arnulf.”
“And?” Daneel asked her back, just as bluntly.
Desianna stared closely. She could barely discern the old Warlock in this new person sitting across the small salon from her. That man had been gruff and loud.
Now he was turning subtle.
“I would like to think,” Desianna replied, “that they wouldn’t have tried to assassinate you in open Court, if you were working with them. Arnulf tends to agree. Jessica Keller isn’t so sure.”
She watched his eyes growl and his nostrils flare. Interestingly, not at the mention of Arnulf, his king, but at Jessica.
“That woman…” he growled under his breath.
“Is deeper and more dangerous than you realize, Daneel Ishikura. She’s had three opportunities to see you dead. So far. And yet, here you are.”
“Three?”
She watched his anger morph into a vague confusion.
“At Sarmarsh, you should have been dead. She stood your Second when Hellhound tried to kill you. And you only survived because her marines are that good and she brow–beat the royal surgeon into putting you in Arnulf’s personal clinic. Anywhere else and the poison would have done you in before you arrived.”
His eyes were unfocused, his whole body language vague.
“Three,” she heard him whisper.
“So, again,” Desianna pressed, “whose side are you on, Daneel?”
She watched him come back to himself with a start. For a moment, he stared at her as if she had appeared out of thin air, before he blinked and centered.
“My side, Desi,” he said. “Always my side. Ask anyone. Loyal to the throne. A good little minion, doing what he’s told. What more could you ask?”
“Loyalty to Arnulf?”
“Ha,” he cried. “That man sent me to Sarmarsh in the first place.”
“Yes,” Desianna agreed. “To keep you safe from the Agano clan and their allies trying to get revenge for Willem.”
“Well then,” he snarled at her quietly, “that certainly didn’t work. It took Rory all of five minutes to try his luck when I got back.”
“Arnulf thought that you were conspiring with Ian Zhao and the Red Admiral to overthrow him,” she replied, trying to keep any emotion out of her voice.
“And now?”
She could see his anger running just below the surface, like a hungry leopard seal hunting.
“Arnulf told them that they risked his anger if they touched you. That he would protect you from them if they tried again. Does that count for anything?”
“I had heard that, from her,” he said. “Did he mean it?”
For a moment, she could see the crack in his armor. Jessica. Apparently, she had gotten to him.
Desianna wondered if either of them realized how they reacted when the other’s name came up. Or rather, if they understood why.
She kept a serious face, even as she smiled inside.
“He wasn’t sure.” Desianna pressed her point home, like a duelist against a suddenly–lame foe. “Jessica convinced him to bring you with us on this Promenade. Probably since you wouldn’t be safe with Arnulf absent.”
“Keller did that? Why?”
Desianna had once had a small lap–dog that would occasionally give her that same confused look, that odd cock to the head, when she spoke to it. She fought down the laugh that threatened to erupt from her lips at the memory. This was most certainly not the moment for such levity.
“Apparently,” Desianna said ambiguously, “she saw something in you worth salvaging at Sarmarsh, and again at Petron. Perhaps she thought you had it in you to grow up and become someone more interesting than just another p
irate from Corynthe?”
For just a moment, Desianna thought she had gone too far. Certainly, with the old Warlock, that would have been too much. But this new person, this Daneel Ishikura, former governor of Sarmarsh, former conspirator, former Captain, had plumbed new depths.
At least, that’s what she was counting on.
His next words confirmed it.
“So what would you like me to say here, Desianna?” he said simply. “Shall I dance to Arnulf’s tune? Implicate Jing Du and Ian Zhao in such a way that I’m an innocent bystander? Spin tales of treachery and conspiracies to fill his need to settle old scores?”
“No,” she replied. “Because you wouldn’t even believe them yourself, Daneel.”
He blinked, shock blanking his face.
Really? Were there any men out there with half a brain?
This was another one of those times when she wished that Corynthe was sophisticated enough that Arnulf could show off his brains, and that men like Daneel Ishikura could become educated, instead of being big, dumb warriors.
“Two things,” she continued, letting her own anger bleed slowly into her voice. “First, you need to figure out whose side you plan to be on when the flag goes up. You don’t have long. Second, you really need to decide what it is you want to be when you grow up. Or were you planning on being a man–child for the rest of your life?”
He just sat there, apparently an empty shell.
Desianna decided that she didn’t want her tea after all. She rose, stepped around him, and opened the hatch.
“I still don’t know what it is that Jessica sees in you, Daneel,” Desianna said, looking back. “Hopefully, something good.”
She stepped fully into the outer chamber and closed the door before he could see the tremendous grin on her face. He was almost as transparent as Jessica. If only one of them could be made to see it.
“Mistress?” Intan said, rising from a comfortable chair and setting a book down.
Desianna waved her off, letting her smile turn mischievous.
“Intan,” she said, “I’m going to retire to my cabin, feeling unwell, if anyone asks. I suspect Warlock will emerge in a few minutes, probably somewhat bewildered. Make sure he’s okay when he departs, please.”
“Yes, madam,” Intan smirked back. “Was the tea and the company too much for our poor pirate to handle?”
“Indeed, I suspect it was.”
“Very good,” her maid replied. “I will see him off.”
Desianna crossed the chamber and entered her personal suite, normally apparently a place for visiting admirals, but currently hers.
Jessica had entrusted her to bring Warlock around. She just really didn’t understand what Desianna planned for him. Or her.
Chapter XXXI
Date of the Republic December 3, 393 Hemera System
The comm chirped just as he was sitting down to dinner.
“Aeliaes. Go ahead,” Robertson Aeliaes, Brightoak’s command centurion, replied.
“We just got hailed, Skipper,” his second in command said. “You’ll want to be up on the bridge in about twenty minutes or so when they get close enough to talk real time.”
“Who is it?”
“CR–264 just dropped out of Jumpspace and transmitted a big packet of data for whoever was here to carry back to the fleet. When he realized it was us, he also requested a face to face.”
“Jessica Keller and Auberon with him?”
“Negative, boss,” she replied. “Just Tomas Kigali for now.”
“Acknowledged,” he said. “Wake up the flight deck and deploy a shuttle over to pick him up. And send a bottle of wine over when you do. Knowing Kigali, he just set another navigation record from wherever he was before this.”
“Roger that.”
Ξ
Brightoak’s primary conference room alone was larger than CR–264’s entire bridge. It was an odd thing to come to mind as Tomas Kigali walked into the room. It made him smile.
CR–264 was designed for long sails with a small crew, an old Revenue Cutter. She was compact, designed to maximize efficiency. A piloting room, where he practically lived, with his office opposite the head. Space for him, a pilot, and a comm yeoman.
The fighting deck was down a level, with sensors and tactical scrunched in tight together so they could fight as a team with a minimum of friction and distraction.
But Brightoak was a Destroyer Leader, bigger than even Rajput. Kigali felt like he could probably stuff his whole vessel inside her flight deck. He couldn’t, not even on Auberon, but it felt that way.
So much open space because they had enough power to do anything they wanted.
He smiled to himself. Except sail halfway across the galaxy without stopping for potty breaks every thirty days.
Command Centurion Aeliaes, an old acquaintance he still called Robbie, was already present, along with members of his command staff. He stood as Kigali entered.
Physically, Robbie was an impressive officer. Tall and well–kept, the man had muscles like a swimmer, or a polo player. Chocolate–brown skin and darker hair, with eyes that appeared brown or golden, depending on the light.
Mentally, a brilliant man always on the edge of insubordination with Jessica’s old nemesis, Fleet Lord Loncar, according to some of the stories Kigali had heard through the fleet grapevine.
Right now, just what he needed most in the world.
“Tom,” he said, “good to see you again.”
Tomas crossed the space and shook his hand. “Robbie. You have no idea how happy I am to find you guys. How the hell did you end up here?”
“We were attached to the fleet sent out to the Cahllepp Frontier after you guys left. But Jessica’s old commander, Fleet Lord Loncar, just doesn’t like us much,” Aeliaes replied. “He sent us out here as a punishment detail. Keeps us out of his hair.”
They sat and settled as a yeoman brought coffee and tea.
Robertson Aeliaes speared him with a hard look finally, his chocolate skin getting all wrinkly with the seriousness of his thoughts.
“Okay,” he said, “out with it. I thought you were cruising the fringes with Jessica. What brings you to Hemera?”
Kigali nodded and smiled grimly. He quickly related the events at Ramsey, Sarmarsh IV, and Petron to a roomful of rapt listeners.
“So this, what did you call it, a Promenade?” Aeliaes asked.
“Correct. A Promenade,” Kigali replied.
“Right,” Aeliaes continued. “Promenade. So she’s sailing the King of the Pirates world to world to show off that we’re friends now? Are we?”
Kigali looked at the assembled officers with a serious face. “Between us, she’s expecting all hell to break loose when she completes the circuit and gets back to Petron.” He shrugged. “She sent me on the mail run before she knew more than that.”
“And what do you want from us, Tom?” Aeliaes asked.
“I was just dropping into Hemera to leave a log packet and pick up news,” Kigali smiled. “From here, a straight jump across to Ramsey to see if I can talk the governor into letting me borrow CR–255 and CR–219 long enough to scare the bad guys back at Petron. CR–264’s out of her league solo against that many Motherships, but an interlocked escort squadron is a whole other beast. Jessica figures that more guns to back her play might convince whoever is being dumb over there to walk away instead.”
“Will it work?”
“Anybody but Jessica,” Tomas shrugged, “and I’d say no. Loncar for sure. But this is Jessica Keller we’re talking about. The woman always finds a way.”
“That she does. Need help?” Robbie Aeliaes asked slyly.
Kigali watched Brightoak’s first officer tap the table, just loud enough to get everyone’s attention.
“Devil’s Advocate, Commander?” she said. “First Fleet Lord ordered us to Hemera, not off on adventures beyond the pale. Much fun as they might be.”
Aeliaes smiled serenely. “Loncar ordered us to quote/
unquote Show the flag and remind the frontier worlds that the Republic still cares about them. Lincolnshire would certainly welcome the morale boost that such a visit would entail.”
“And Petron?” she asked, formal in voice, but with a mad twinkle in her eyes to match his.
“Them’s pirates,” Aeliaes smiled. “Who cares what they think?”
He turned to Tomas Kigali. “Want some company?”
Kigali sniffed at the assembled officers and did his best Loncar impression. “Can this poor bucket of rust even manage such a jump?”
The room howled with laughter.
“I’ll have you know, Kigali,” Robbie Aeliaes replied after things calmed down, his dignity all mock–serious, “I was trained by Jessica Keller.”
“Well, then, Brightoak,” Kigali smiled. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”
Chapter XXXII
Date of the Republic February 4, 394 Above Callumnia
There was a quiet little observation bubble, dimly lit and well aft, down on A Deck, tucked in under the engines. Not inaccessible, but nowhere near any crew quarters or rec facilities. That made it a nice place to sit and watch the stars. Or, in this case, the big tumbling marble of a planet below them as Auberon slowly orbited.
Callumnia. Third stop on the Grand Promenade with the King of the Pirates. Jessica snorted to herself at the grandiosity of the title. Still, it had been a success to hear Desianna give her all of the gossip during their weekly teas.
Certainly Auberon and Rajput looked fierce and intimidating when they dropped out of Jumpspace. All the more so when escorted by Arnulf’s flagship, the 4–ring Mothership Supernova, plus Ian Zhao’s 4–ring, Kali–ma, and David Rodriguez aboard his 3–ring, Sky Dancer.
Others also came and went. The 4–ring Valhalla had been with them for one stop. Warduck, a battered old 3–ring, had joined them here. The 2–ring Black Prince and a tiny little 1–ring named Lithuania called Callumnia home port.
Throw in a random collection of a dozen or so Strippers and a whole caravan of freighters, and it was something of a rolling party.