by Blaze Ward
A smell distracted her before she began to purr.
Jessica’s chef was standing at her left hand, holding a silver bowl for her to inspect.
Figs and arbequina olives brined in red wine vinegar. Desianna shot Jessica an inquiring look.
Someone had blabbed.
She smiled up at the man, aware that Jessica would probably kill her if she tried to seduce him away. He seemed to share their dirty little secret as he placed the bowl before her with a half bow.
The men could wait.
Desianna delicately speared a fig and nibbled, wondering what it would do to her reputation if she spiked the first hand that reached for the bowl. It was a close–wrought thing. That might be embarrassing, seated between Arnulf and David. But still.
The fig was perfect.
She speared two olives before she consented to share, and then only because a steward set down a cheese plate and a tray of pickled vegetables, half of which she couldn’t hazard a guess at, even by color.
There was a very good reason she had skipped lunch today.
Ξ
Daneel considered the evening’s underplay and bi–currents swirling and eddying around the table as Auberon’s crew removed the main course and the head cook again appeared, to again personally attend Desianna and deliver…
Were those strawberries? In cream?
The capital region on Callumnia was in winter right now. And the governor was a hack, a tax farmer mostly kept in the palace by Jing Du and protected by Arnulf as long as the revenues flowed. That fool wasn’t smart enough to bring something like this to the party.
That meant it had to come from Jessica.
Her little smile as he glanced over seemed to confirm his suspicions. Gods, that woman just kept getting more and more amazing.
How had any man let her get away? More likely, what man had ever kept up?
Ian Zhao was constantly at the edge of being insulted to be seated across from Daneel. He was a big–shot captain, after all, and Warlock was a has–been nothing who was only invited because that female bitch captain wanted to rub it in their faces.
Ian, you need to learn to play poker better. Or, better yet, don’t, and let me take all your money some time.
Daneel smiled. Just the right level of carefree and innocence that seemed to drive burning splinters under Ian’s fingernails. Not that he hadn’t dreamt of doing exactly that sometime.
No, the most fun tonight seemed to be watching Jessica and Desianna play people like an orchestra.
Daneel wondered if he would have even noticed, back when he was someone else. Before Sarmarsh. Before resurrection. Before Jessica.
Was this what it meant to be civilized? Leave behind all that crazy pilot shit and actually look forward to living longer than the next raid, the next fight, the next romantic conquest? Worse, to dress so boringly?
Daneel grinned at his own dark gray and dark blue outfit, across from Ian Zhao in fuchsia and aquamarine like a half–drunk peacock. Come to think of it, he sounded about as useful as well.
Maybe get him fully drunk sometime, with all that anger, might let more details flow.
Jessica barely trusted him. He knew that. But Daneel didn’t know the key details of the bigger plot, and at this point couldn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know.
Daneel gauged Ian’s face and wondered just how much farther Ian could be safely pushed this evening.
A thunk on the table brought his eyes around. Along with everyone else.
Damn, Arnulf knew how to work a room.
Arnulf grinned back at everyone, slowly making eye contact, politely establishing his pack dominance with bulk and size and charisma. But, oh, such a deft touch.
It was a shame Arnulf would never survive what Daneel knew was coming. Daneel had developed a much greater understanding and appreciation of the man recently.
He sighed internally.
“Admiral Keller,” Arnulf began slowly, deliberately, humorously, “we have talked in the past about the difference between Aquitaine as a nation and Corynthe as a collection of loosely aligned worlds.”
He paused for effect, dangling everyone in the room as he seemed to choose the right next words.
“It seems to me,” he continued, “that one of the differences is that Aquitaine was founded, while Corynthe simply grew into existence over time. Corynthe needs to be re–founded, so we can turn it into a nation. I have studied your history, but I am more interested in your founding myths.”
“Myths, Admiral?” Jessica volleyed.
To Daneel it was like watching a sporting match, as heads swiveled back and forth.
“Yes,” the big man smiled easily. “Three hundred and ninety–four years ago, the Republic was proclaimed, with Ladaux as its capital. But that was an ending to the story, not just a beginning. Tell me of the time before. Tell me of the time that ended.”
Jessica smiled, a thoughtful look on her face as she sipped her coffee, eyes a thousand meters away.
“To do that,” Jessica began, “I need to tell you about the Story Road.”
Arnulf smiled expectantly. Daneel watched the king’s left hand reach out and come to rest on the back of Desianna’s, fingers twining together.
“Three millennia ago,” she continued, “the Homeworld was destroyed in a war. Fools pounded it with giant rocks, small moons really, until it was a bed of lava. I haven’t been there, but I have seen pictures taken in the modern era. The old maps are irrelevant, because the entire face was changed. Even the gravity has been altered, so much material had been cast down from the heavens.”
Crew members brought out a fresh batch of coffee, apparently recognizing that the evening wasn’t going to wind down nearly as soon as they had originally expected.
“A thousand years ago, from out of the Darkness, Zanzibar contacted Ballard, uplifting them from the steam to the stellar age in a single generation. Without a war. Pohang and Saxon followed soon after.”
Jessica smiled to herself at some secret memory as she spoke. Daneel made a mental note to ask her what she had been thinking at that moment, later.
“Those four worlds quickly formed the nucleus of a trade network,” she said after a moment, “with Ballard at one end. When the ancient library was lifted into orbit, technology took off, and lifted civilization with it. Because the four worlds were like pearls on a string, travel between them came to be known as the Story Road. Ancient wisdom from the library headed out, new ideas sailed in.”
The Red Admiral muttered something quiet in a deep voice. It sounded angry. Daneel considered the weight and heft of his metal coffee mug before he looked over.
“Admiral Wachturm?” Jessica asked politely.
“The Abomination,” he growled again, loud enough this time that everyone at the table could hear him clearly.
“How so?” Arnulf asked from the far end.
“So it is written: that no woman shall have authority over a man,” Wachturm stated harshly. “It is the root of all evil.”
Jessica nodded. “And thus was Fribourg founded, Admiral,” she said. “But I am speaking of Aquitaine.”
The Red Admiral fixed her with a sharp look
“Perhaps your founding legends would be a good corollary when she is done, Admiral Wachturm?” Desianna asked, breaking the spell that was taking hold on everyone.
The Red Admiral turned, relaxed his scowl into something neutral. “Just so, m’lady,” he bowed his head to her. “I had nearly forgotten myself.”
“Jessica?” Desianna prompted.
“One of the visitors to Ballard,” Jessica continued, “was a young man from a backwater world, Bayonne, close enough to the Story Road to travel it in search of knowledge. He was a bard, a musician, a seeker of songs.”
Jessica paused to sip her coffee, letting the energy bleed out of the room. It was obvious to Daneel that she was not a natural story teller, but it was also obvious that she was trying to become one.
Danee
l wondered what she might turn herself into, given time. What he might turn himself into, given space.
“At Ballard, he studied the sciences instead,” she said. “This man, Henri Baudin, invented the modern Jumpdrive as we understand it, opening up the galaxy to exploration in a way that had been lost. With his skills and vision, he was able to forge a new nation, well to the interior of the Story Road worlds, though they joined later of their own free will. Thus is Aquitaine a beacon of hope and learning in the galaxy, and not just another conqueror.”
“Truly?” Arnulf inquired. “A bard invented the modern age?”
“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Jessica smiled. “However, Admiral Wachturm also has his founding legends, for Fribourg is a very different place. Admiral?”
Daneel watched the Red Admiral compress himself like an angry bear woken in winter. His eyes bespoke the Apocalypse.
Ξ
She hoped she hadn’t overdone it. Jessica had watched Desianna’s use of physicality to induce men into misdirection, and had tried to emulate it, but she had no idea if it worked. She didn’t have Desianna’s body to lead men astray, but she also wasn’t trying to seduce the Red Admiral, merely convince the man that she was just a lucky, bubbly airhead.
The last thing she wanted was to lead him to wonder if she might be his equal. That would be all kinds of bad.
Still, that tilt of the head as she spoke was beginning to feel more comfortable. The little toss of the hair. Even the resting of her shoulders was different, more relaxed. Slinkier, to hear Desianna judge it.
She was just a silly little girl, easily out–maneuvered by the big, bad men around her.
Honest.
Anger practically radiated off of the top of the Red Admiral’s skull, like the special effect speed lines from a children’s cartoon. Where Arnulf had slowly drawn everyone into his web with a smile, Wachturm bound them with his fury.
“Fribourg remembers the distant past,” he said slowly, gravely. “Earth was destroyed by robot starfleets. Electronic demons turned loose to wreak havoc and devastation on all worlds. Without any human oversight.”
He paused to let the weight of his words settle. Jessica watched his hands squeeze the sides of his indestructible coffee mug, turning white with pressure that did not carry into his words. She had never imagined this level of emotions from the man. He was always the consummate commander. This was something special to know.
“During the Dark Times, the AIs, the Immortals, went mad, becoming unto themselves gods or destroyers. No man was safe in their grasp.”
The Red Admiral slowly turned his head from right to left, spearing each of them with a look before coming to Jessica. She understood much better now what made this man tick, just gazing for once into the angry depths of his soul.
“When they destroyed the Homeworld, they nearly ended all humanity with it,” he growled, speaking mostly to himself. “Because they did not stop with one planet. No, they also destroyed many, eventually their own lives. Starfleets need bases, factories, industrial civilization. When the fools unleashed Armageddon, those things were lost. And thus did the Creator spare us from the Pit. The armies of the Dark One could not sustain themselves, and they fell. Where we have found them, we have destroyed them without mercy.”
Jessica watched him put down his coffee and begin to drink instead from a glass of water cut with lemon. Perhaps that was better than the bitter richness of the coffee, at this moment.
“So, aye,” he continued, “Ballard re–ignited humanity, but they were aided by the AI who is the Librarian. They did so by opening Pandora’s box and birthing a modern demon. As with Eve and her apple, so the Demon of Ballard seduced the Explorer, Iwakuma, and then the Bard, Baudin.”
He turned now, focusing his entire being on Arnulf. Jessica could almost see the waves of energy connecting the men as unspoken messages passed back and forth.
Arnulf leaned forward, lightly resting his chin on a fist, but remaining silent lest he break the spell.
Jessica had never heard Admiral Wachturm be so emotional. Had never even thought that the man was capable of it.
“Fribourg will not suffer such things,” he said, barely above a whisper. “The demon there portrays herself as a young woman, the better to seduce the people of the galaxy. My great–grandfather, Gunter Wiegand, the founding emperor of Fribourg, made it clear from the outset that such a woman would lead the many worlds down the path to darkness. Aquitaine is beholden to her ideas, and thus uplifts her as an ideal woman. Fribourg rejects her, and rejects her power over men.”
“Is not all knowledge simply a tool?” Arnulf asked simply.
Jessica blinked a little, happy that nobody was looking her direction. She kept forgetting how sharp, how canny, the King of the Pirates really was, under that grand showman exterior.
She wondered what his smile held.
But she needed to play the airhead. Letting these people see the wheels turning in her head right now would spoil that artful charade
“Knowledge tainted by evil furthers the course of evil,” Wachturm intoned.
“And you do not believe that this creature, this Oracle, this woman who is the last of the immortals, has anything useful to teach us?”
“She is a black widow spider, Your Majesty,” the Red Admiral bowed his head. “Mate with her at your own risk. If it were my decision, I would take a fleet to Ballard and destroy that creature tomorrow.”
Jessica fought down her own laugh, or comment, or snort, lest she mar this wonderful social development.
Arnulf was looking for how to transform Corynthe into a place where his own dynasty might prevail. Certainly, Fribourg offered a more compelling case for dynastic hegemony, but this was a king who had to win over his rivals and transform them all into something they had never wanted, generally against their will.
Aquitaine offered exactly that solution, the possibility of co–opting these Captains into something like the Fifty Families, those disciples who had joined with Henri Baudin at the beginning.
She could see the same calculations, the same conclusions on other faces about the table as she watched.
Most of them were concentrating on Arnulf, or the Red Admiral, or their own avarice. They could see the present, not the possibilities the future might be shaped into.
Only Desianna smiled at her.
Chapter XXXVI
Date of the Republic February 8, 394 Above Callumnia
According to all the entertainment videos, there should be a thin fog of smoke from burning herbal products hanging in the air. And the room should be darker, more ominous to go with being smoke–filled. Possibly music to heighten the tension.
Captain Ian Zhao laughed at himself and his foolish notions. Let Arnulf and that silly bitch from Aquitaine paint him as a villain. They didn’t have the balls to do anything about it, and nobody was going to be able to save Arnulf at this point, if Warlock hadn’t already told his new little doxie everything.
Not that that would help, either. Without Sarmarsh or Daneel Ishikura, the major players had modified the plan enough that Ishikura was almost as much in the dark as the rest.
Still, Ian smiled. His office was bright and clean, as befit one of the senior–most captains of Corynthe in command of a 4–ring Mothership. It was only in the movies that such a space was squalid and vile.
A watercolor, done by his youngest daughter when she was eight hung framed across from him, where other captains might have kept a picture of their first command.
A rap on the door preceded Jing Du. Ian rose and shook his hand as he entered.
“Chancellor.”
“Captain Zhao.”
Jing Du seated himself and watched. He did that. No movement except the eyes.
It was a stillness you almost never found outside of a dead, orbiting hulk.
“The plan proceeds apace, Captain,” Jing Du said finally.
“Without Bunala?” Ian asked.
“Bunala is as close a
s we will get to our neighbor Salonnia, Captain Zhao,” Jing Du said with a solemn nod, “but there is too much risk. Arnulf will be weaker here, but someone could escape in the chaos, return to Petron, and rouse the rabble. Would you care to fight twice for the crown?”
“No,” Ian said, “It is a good plan. But what of Aquitaine? Auberon is at least the match for a 4–ring, maybe two 3–rings, if you count her escort.”
“Messages have been sent to our associates in Salonnia,” Jing Du replied dryly. “Assumedly, they have in turn notified their friends. It is another reason I expect nothing to happen until we return to Petron. Those people will need time to adjust their plans and forces accordingly.”
Jing Du studied him carefully.
“And you, Captain Zhao?” he continued. “Will you be prepared to pay the price they ask?”
Ian felt a harsh smile cover his face. “Surely Salonnia does not believe they will be able to dictate terms to me when I am king? Those merchants?”
He laughed.
“Jing Du, what they want is to disturb the frontiers, because most of the chaos will spill over into Lincolnshire. Salonnia will be sheltered and believes themselves prepared. In addition, they can pile on, wresting worlds and trade routes away, so they can control all the trade in this sector. Certainly, that is Fribourg’s calculation.”
“And Admiral Keller?” Jing Du asked pensively.
“A well–born Aquitaine fop,” Ian replied. “Much more concerned with entertaining than command. If not for Jež, I imagine that ship would be a complete mess.”
“Really?” Jing Du asked. “I was given to understand that she is a prominent commander, at home.”
“The Red Admiral believes her to be an over–promoted woman who got lucky at the right times, not a competent field commander. Did you know that she once rammed an Imperial fighter craft in the middle of a battle? Intentionally?”
Jing Du leaned back with a look of mild surprise on his face. “Interesting.”
“So if she does actually choose to fight, rather than simply withdraw when ordered to leave,” Ian continued, “we will have more than enough forces to overwhelm her. Granted, she has excellent pilots, but they will not be able to overcome raw numbers, regardless of what they think, especially with that nasty little escort ship detached and sent home.”