by Blaze Ward
Reif nodded, aware of that legend as well.
Keller’s Raid, what she and Denis called The Long Raid, had occurred not all that far from here, as galactic distances went. In another time, he might have detoured on his way home, just to swing by 2218 Svati Prime, the scene of so many practical jokes, so he could see what the system was like today.
“However, I have no doubts that we’ll pick up Republic scouts at some point,” Denis said. “Kosnett and his team will probably start shadowing us, just to make sure which direction we’re going. Maybe to hit any unarmed freighters that get too far from our guns. Certainly to prevent us from retaliating cleanly.”
“So how do we throw off everyone’s expectations?” Reif asked.
“I have two problems, Reif,” Denis said. “Everyone believes that Her Majesty and the Grand Admiral are currently aboard. And we need to sustain that ruse as long as we can. The more eyes I can keep concentrated on me, the longer, then the better Casey and Jessica’s outcomes are. They are hopefully close to home now.”
“Lady Moirrey’s infamous Project Mischief, Denis?” Reif asked.
“Exactly that,” Denis felt a smile take shape on his face.
It wasn’t particularly warm or friendly. More like a predator baring his teeth before ripping someone’s throat out. But Project Mischief hadn’t been all fun and games, when you got right down to it. Harmlessly explode a radiologically-dirty bomb high in the atmosphere of 2218 Svati Prime and then just leave, letting the natives work themselves up to utterly paranoid berserk with fears of whatever undetectable contaminants had been released.
“We need to play a shell game,” Denis told these two. “If everyone believes that Casey and Emmerich are with the fleet, at least until we got to Stabiel, but have since left, they’ll pay attention to us for pure tonnage, but go racing after wherever they think Casey’s gone, to try to hit them and make it look like pirates or something. Fog of war often gets extended to cover a multitude of sins. I had considered sending a corvette home with my information, but the risk is too great. As much as I want to punish people.”
“You’ll take Indi?” Reif asked, referring to his old flag cruiser, which had once retrieved a newly-elevated Emperor and returned her to her home.
“No,” Denis countered. “You will.”
“Me?”
“I need to remain in overall command here,” Denis reminded him. “The fleet will not get lazy if they think I’ll report them to Em. And Valiant’s crew is maybe the safest place in the galaxy for me, these days. But I need to send a cruiser racing home to St. Legier with two important packages. Or that’s the story we want Aquitaine to buy.”
“Indianapolis can’t make a hard run like that,” Reif reminded him. “We’ll have to stop a number of places on the way home to lay in supplies.”
“Absolutely, but they can be Imperial stations, if you load heavy here and stretch that first run. Once you’re in Imperial space, Aquitaine gets a lot less willing to attack you, one hopes.”
“One hopes,” Reif commented dryly. “I take it we don’t fight?”
“Run like hell from any provocation,” Denis nodded. “Even from a Corvette/Scout. Kosnett has already shown the galaxy how dangerous those ships can be.”
Both men across the desk chuckled.
“More importantly, Reif, under my orders as Fleet Commander, acting under the Grand Admiral’s authority, you will raise the Imperial Standard, as though Karl VIII herself was aboard,” Denis finally let some of the lava out, before it burned him to a crisp from the inside. “Failure to follow my explicit orders will result in your Court Martial.”
There, that made it a legal order, issued under threat. Reif could lodge an official protest, and would, but it would remain legitimate until a more senior admiral had a chance to review and rescind it. There weren’t any here. Reif would have to talk to Em, who would probably make Denis buy the first round of beers as punishment.
Reif sobered. Everett sobered, as well.
“Sir, I must protest,” Reif replied with absolutely no conviction in his voice. “This order contravenes the Imperial Code.”
“Noted,” Denis said, just as mildly. “Overridden. You will carry out my orders.”
“Understood, sir,” Reif nodded.
“Everett, make sure you file a detailed report of this conversation under seal for the Grand Admiral to review,” Denis turned to the other man. “Specifically that Reif is following my orders, under protest.”
“Yes, sir, Denis,” the Flag Commander nodded, blinking a little as the shock hit.
Power politics wasn’t limited to politicians, but Denis had been taught by some dangerous people, like Em, Jessica, and Tom Provst, how to do things like this.
“Reif, go pack, and cross over to Indi as soon as possible, taking command on her deck,” Denis continued. “Load up on consumables ahead of every other vessel, regardless of need, and pack your hallways and storage areas to the unsafe levels. Raise the flag as you back away from orbit, before you make JumpSpace. I’m sure there will be spies around here frothing at the mouth to report every which way, so you’ll be the fox and they’ll be hounds trying to tree you. Questions?”
“Not immediately, Denis,” Reif said. “I’m sure I’ll have some by the time I get ready to depart.”
“Make it convincing,” Denis said.
“So while I have everyone distracted, what are you off to?” Reif asked.
“It was good for the goose, Reif,” Denis growled. “It will certainly be good for the gander.”
CHAPTER XXXIII
DATE OF THE REPUBLIC JUNE 5, 405 PENMERTH, LADAUX
IT WAS, Tad decided, one of the sad parts, the amount of time it took for him to get messages and information back and forth across such a tremendous width of space. He sighed and reviewed the piles of documents and notes before him.
One stack of notes to enter into a notebook called simply Fribourg. Another for Aquitaine. Salonnia. Lincolnshire. Corynthe. Things would move around with the players, like the Imperial fleet that should be into Salonnian space by now. He would need to confirm that, before he moved on to some of the next stages of his Grand Opus. That would take time.
Jessica Keller, of all people, had taught him this trick. Nothing was in a computer, where spies from Naval Intelligence, and several of the civilian services under a variety of flags, might crack it open and read it. Or change things they didn’t like.
No, everything was on paper. A set of small notebooks, written not in code so much as a personal shorthand that was close enough to an impossible cypher for his purposes. One might penetrate all the way to his personal bedroom and crack open the safe wherein they were stored at night, but if they could do that, he was already in deeper trouble than what would be his punishment if someone caught him trying to bring down the rest of the galaxy in chaos and flames.
Time was the game he was playing with those fools.
Everything probably looked rather random to someone on the outside, not knowing which wheels were turning at what speed. Fribourg’s Dukes should have been well on their way to proclaiming peace and trade, but for the House of the People suddenly getting obstreperous. At least he had built calculations for friction into his plans.
Tad had always noted how so many failed conspiracies hinged on somehow achieving perfect timing, to bring all the elements into alignment like an old-fashioned, mechanical clock.
As if humans were orderly creatures.
He didn’t need order. Didn’t even particularly want it. Aquitaine was stable enough for his needs, and it was everybody else that he was in the process of tossing rotten tomatoes and Molotov cocktails at. He just had to make them angry, and blind, and stupid, like the ancient arena bulls, maddened by pain and charging recklessly at any motion.
The Dukes would overrule the People soon enough. Tad had centuries of Fribourg history on his side there. Then they would move the people to demand peace and a broad neutral zone he could exploit.
Judit had remained in Lincolnshire, better able to maneuver his chess pieces where they were within her reach. And it gave the neighbors solace that they wouldn’t be forgotten if the Premier of Aquitaine had his personal representative in the room, as they worked their way up to the monumental stupidity of a two-front war.
One of the Syndicates in Salonnia, one that Tad had engaged in the past for various smuggling and destabilizing tasks, had been more than willing to step up and hit one of their competitors for him for a small favor. Lincolnshire had howled bloody murder, but conveniently not mentioned that the ship captured happened to be an illegal trader smuggling goods without paying the appropriate taxes.
People might have gone to jail for that sort of thing, even on Ramsey.
Confusion. Contradiction. Chaos.
By now, a fast courier should have made it to Petron with updated orders from Petia. Given the lag, and the speed with which the Imperial fleet had begun to head home, Tad had his doubts that his quarries were still there, waiting. Jessica was too cagey to just wait for orders to arrive, even if that might have been the best choice on her part.
She had been right when she told Judit that it would take an Act of the Senate to force the Queen of the Pirates to give way. And Tad couldn’t have even begun that very-public process until this courier returned with her official refusal to return to duty the first time.
Tad guessed that it would take him at least a month to line up the necessary votes here, whipping his men and women into line with a patriotic theme. Keller might have staved off the inevitable break with him until well into the fall, longer if she played on the sympathies of the Senate just right.
He would know in another six weeks or so, which way it would play out.
But this was Jessica Keller. The woman didn’t know how to just sit back and let her opponents maneuver. She was aggressive. She would want to be in motion.
Tad had sent the courier anyway, with the official orders for Keller, Jež, Kasum, and the others, just to make a point, but he doubted that they would be anywhere to be found. Tad would have certainly gone to ground in their shoes.
And the only place capable of offering that group shelter right now would be an Imperial battle fleet, currently sailing the long ways around Aquitaine and Fribourg. The best speed they might make would be to get home by the start of winter, giving him six months or longer from today to work his playing board.
And the fun was only just starting, as he reopened Judit’s newest report from Lincolnshire.
Salonnia and Corynthe had, by random luck of sailing most likely, both lodged official complaints about sealed borders on the same day. A day when those people were already feeling feisty. Judit had been able to use that to her advantage, and speed up the scale of things.
Not much, but enough for Tad’s plans.
Lincolnshire had gone ahead and declared war on both of them.
Fools.
CHAPTER XXXIV
IMPERIAL FOUNDING: 183/06/04. IMPERIAL PALACE ANNEX, MEJICO, ST. LEGIER
SHE WAS HOME. Of a sorts, anyway. Casey had managed to hide everything behind orders from Tom Provst that got her, Em, and Torsten back to the old palace, the hotel in Mejico where she had first gone when she needed to take charge of the Empire. When she needed to be sitting at the right hand of a foreigner named Arlo who had somehow become the beating heart and weeping soul of St. Legier, and perhaps an Empire.
She and Anna-Katherine had managed to sneak into the building in the midst of a team of faceless Imperial Marines who immediately isolated the place to their idea of secure. Until her other team of bodyguards were brought into the situation, this would do. Only the 189th would probably have done a more serious job of protecting her right now, and she had been forced to leave them behind with Vo.
She missed Vo’s presence right now. His calm solidity as a tor upon which everything else would shatter or bounce off. At least she had Mejico, what little of it she could have for now.
Casey hadn’t even been able to make arrangements to have Melina Arcidiacono and her daughters fix any food for her. Not today, anyway. That would change as soon as she was officially back. Casey could make that sacrifice. There were bigger things afloat.
They had taken her old suite over. It was in the process of being turned into a museum, but that just meant that everything was exactly as she had left it.
Jessica sat on the arm of the soft couch, more or less draped across Torsten in ways that looked like they should have been uncomfortable. Or perhaps the prelude to a seduction, if the two of them had been alone. Em and Nils faced each other in the reclining chairs, sipping from a bottle of wine Kigali had brought along, after he discovered that Casey wasn’t about to let him remain behind on his ship and hide. Kigali himself was over at the table, stating a preference for space after having to have so many people breathing his air for so long.
Casey was at the other end of the long sofa from Torsten, being served tea by Anna-Katherine, who wasn’t about to remain as relaxed about Imperial protocol as she had aboard Kigali’s ship.
Pity. The young woman was rather fun as a mere companion. At least Casey would feel better about some of the marriage matches she was considering to reward Anna-Katherine for the sacrifices she had made over the last few years.
A knock at the door, two beats, and it opened.
The marine who entered did not speak. He merely escorted someone in, and then a second marine followed, closing the door so the two of them could take the responsibility to guard her, now that her Imperial party was about to be discovered.
The last year had been atrocious to Cameron Lara. The man looked like he had lost perhaps fifteen kilograms. Still pudgy, but nowhere near the corpulent bureaucrat she had put in charge to mind things while she was gone.
Lara did a triple take. In a comedy vid, this would be the part where the man was drinking a glass of water and turned to spray it all over someone in awkward surprise. Vaudeville, but cheap laughs were still laughs, especially when you could really shock someone.
Her Chief of Deputies looked at her. At Em. At Nils. Jessica and Torsten. Even Kigali got a goggle. Anna-Katherine appeared with a tea service in hand, as if today was the most natural thing in the world.
She might have gotten a second faceful of water right now, had Lara anything to drink.
Nobody spoke. Utter silence.
Lara took a dainty mug and sipped it as fast as the heat would allow. It did manage to bring some color back to his face, the man having gone white as a ghost.
He scanned the room again as everyone waited. Counting noses and stories, no doubt.
Finally, he smiled. Em had that same smile at times. As did Kigali, at that moment when Olivier Janguo had dropped out of JumpSpace two days ahead of schedule.
“I win,” Cameron Lara whispered in a fierce, laughing bark that seemed to fill the room with a brief touch of madness.
Casey studied the man more closely. The stress must have been immense, to melt him like it had, but the smile on his face suggested the best, handmade Alfredo sauce ever, over skewer-grilled shrimp and homemade fettuccine, with a perfect, slightly-sweet white wine on the side. Probably a tart Riesling, knowing this man.
Yes, she knew Cameron Lara’s true passions.
Lara bowed to her with all the grace and experience of a lifetime at Court. His chuckles subsided, but she could see the way he jiggled as he held them inside.
“Would you prefer to sit, Cameron?” Casey finally asked as the man got himself together.
“Your Illustrious Majesty, I am not sure that such a thing is even possible at present,” he said with a merry grin. “If the young man with the gun might shift a little to his right, I might as well pace this end of the room back and forth, as I might not sleep again for three days. My chef would be overjoyed, however. This calls for a celebration the likes of which I haven’t allowed him to indulge in for years.”
He began to pace as Casey watched.
“The Dukes have made their plans as if you will not be able to weigh in before late autumn, at the absolute earliest,” Cameron almost sang as he continued.
Casey briefly wondered if this whole scene would have worked better as some manner of Bollywood vid, but kept that silliness to herself. At least for now. She could see a musical coming out of this at some point. Better she do it and either make it accurate, or make herself look good, than let someone else guess.
“My allies in the House of the People have been so effective at arguing precedent and law with the Dukes that they have almost paralyzed the government, except where I have the power to simply dance around those two groups and handle things. With the Grand Admiral here, Provst will be able to do things as well, so we move to a situation where I can go from sandbagging those bastards to rolling them up and stuffing them into a closet. Or a museum.”
“What did Provst tell you?” Casey asked.
“That he had left an early birthday present for me, and that a marine would escort me to pick it up,” Cameron chuckled grandly, almost licking his lips with anticipation. “How much do you know?”
Casey took charge this time, letting the others fill in details as she went. Cameron filled in even more details as he worked his way through an entire pot of tea by himself, still pacing like a madman, prone to occasional fits of giggles.
Torsten had warned her that Cameron Lara was a far more dangerous player than anybody gave the man credit for, that brains and lethality both were hidden under a fat man with a big laugh.
She believed Torsten now, to hear how the Dukes had been flat-footed, back-footed, and then bushwhacked.
Finally, everyone was up to date. At least as well as they could be, given that nobody knew where Denis was at present, and could only estimate his progress in a best-case or worst-case scenario.