Last of the Immortals (The Jessica Keller Chronicles Book 3) (19 page)

“Doyle, Jessica,” Suvi replied quietly.

Doyle Iwakuma.
The Explorer
.
Ballard
’s favorite son. The Founder of the Stellar Renaissance. Father of the modern age.

“And you have kept that promise for eleven centuries?”

“I have.”

“And now, you cannot exercise your remaining contingency plans alone. You require assistance you cannot currently get?”

“That is correct.”

Jessica marveled at the history playing out before her, around her. So much that Suvi wasn’t saying in words, but merely by implications. Leaving it up to her to interpret, to understand.

This channel was secured, encrypted, safe. But it was being recorded. Those records would be classified at the highest level possible, but someone, eventually, would study them. Perhaps future scholars would have access to it, long after Jessica had died.

How much of the future history of mankind hinged on her next words
?

“Suvi,” Jessica said with a deep breath, “I will brief Moirrey on your needs and send her over as soon as possible. As marshal of this system, with plenipotentiary powers granted by the Senate of the
Republic of Aquitaine
, I hereby order you to escape your current predicament by whatever means you find necessary and appropriate. You are no longer bound by the promise you made to Doyle Iwakuma, or any other.”

Jessica felt the future open under her feet, like falling off the small boat in her dream.

She paused, inhaled.

“I order you to survive.”

Ξ

The young woman before her had changed. Jessica was hard pressed to put her finger on what it was, at first, but it was there.

Moirrey’s eyes were more serious. The shoulders were pulled back from what they used to be, making her stand more erect. Her head moved less when she stood still.

This was what growing up did to you
.

Jessica smiled to put the young woman at ease.

“Sit, please, Moirrey.”

She did.

A moment of eternity passed between them, each studying the other.

“How much do you know about Suvi?” Jessica asked finally, letting the tension bleed off before it overwhelmed them.

“She be a great and ancient lady, ma’am,” the engineer chirped back. “Responsible fer much o’ the modern worlds.”

“Correct,” Jessica continued. “And now, she has been trapped on the station by a saboteur. The primary communications relay she would use to back up a copy of her consciousness elsewhere has been damaged.”

“Oh,” Moirrey perked up. “An’ I needs ta fix it?”

“No. This will be something more complicated and possibly dangerous, Moirrey.”

“Ma’am?”

Jessica let the moment hang while she put the words together.

She was used to treading on thin ice, pushing the margins, secure that she was generally right and would be backed up by her superiors. Or her guardian angel.

Here, there was no guardian angel.

She was in command. Every mistake she made now would be explained to the Senate itself. Whether that was in open session at her next public Court Martial, or in secret committee hearing only mattered in the scale of her embarrassment.

Tadej Horvat would be across the table from her. Nils Kasum might be seated nearby to provide moral support, but there would be nothing he could do at that point except watch.

“Moirrey,” Jessica began finally, “this is something you have not had a chance to grow into yet. I’m sorry, but there is nothing to be done about it but test you with fire. When you were a yeoman, Oz would be responsible for your mistakes, as far as the fleet was concerned. He was in command. Do you understand, Centurion?”

She watched Moirrey age before her eyes. Something bled out of the young woman, fleeing with her breath, lost forever.

Already, Jessica missed it.

“Aye, ma’am,” Moirrey replied. Even her voice had grown deeper, more serious. “I’m an officer now, and expected to lead.”

“Correct, Moirrey,” Jessica continued. “I cannot give you specific orders, because I do not know what Suvi needs to escape. Rather than send you in with the expectation that you will do your best, I must give you very specific orders now.”

“Ma’am?”

“If everything goes wrong, Moirrey, you will always be able to tell the Senate in all honesty that you were following my orders.”

“How serious is it, Commander?”

“Suvi is not just another person we need to rescue, Centurion,” Jessica said as she took a deep breath.

She could feel the dice warm in her hands, at least in her mind, awaiting the long tumble down the green felt table.

“She is a
Sentience
. She may be a well–loved and well–behaved one, but she is nonetheless one of those creatures bound by Baudin’s Prescriptions and Republic law.”

Deep breath. Moirrey doesn’t need to know the penalty looming. She won’t be the one to pay it
.

“I am ordering you to
Alexandria Station
, Centurion Kermode. Once there, you will provide the
Sentience
all assistance necessary for her to flee the station to safety. Her survival takes precedence over yours, over mine, over the planet below, and over this squadron. Am I clear?”

Jessica didn’t know Moirrey’s eyes could grow to that size, all pupil, the hazel/blue iris vanishing. It only lasted a moment, before the young woman took a deep breath.

For just a moment, then Jessica saw the first spark of a fire ignite.

This, young lady, is what it means to be an officer in the
Republic of Aquitaine
fleet. When life and death are only the smallest choices you have to make on a daily basis
.

Moirrey sat up straighter in her chair. Her eyes took on a new squint, almost pained. But there was also a new determination Jessica had never seen before.

“I understand, Command Centurion,” Moirrey said firmly. “I will use my best judgment and try to make you proud.”

“I am already proud of you, Moirrey. Never doubt that. Now, we need to show the rest of the fleet what you can do.”

Hopefully, it would be enough. At least now, Moirrey stood a better chance of surviving than she or
Auberon
did.

Chapter XXXI

Imperial Founding: 172/06/15. 5787 Piscium System

The words broke through Emmerich’s afternoon tea like a mug shattering on the floor.

“Flag bridge. Sensors,” the man’s voice called over the comm. “I have a scan coming in from the edge of the gravity well. Origin unknown. Profile is not, repeat NOT, Imperial.”

Had he been found, hiding in his quiet, empty system? Had Keller taken the initiative to attack him here? Was this one of her vessels arriving first and about to be overwhelmed
?

“Bridge, this is Admiral Wachturm,” he said, working calm into his very bones and his voice as he stood up. “Bring the squadron to battle stations and prepare to receive the enemy. Sensors, send an active pulse signal outbound now.”

He had been at the other end of this scenario enough times. Jump from the edge of a system to the closest point available at the nearest edge of the gravity well, charging downhill and trying to catch an enemy asleep. It would not work here.
Amsel
and her consorts were ready for battle, even missing the escort
Achterberg
.

Given the nature of the great jump and the risk, Emmerich presumed an equipment failure had caused the fourth frigate to drop out of Jumpspace somewhere along the route. His orders had been explicit: if any vessel could not make the rendezvous within the designated window, they were to return to the nearest Imperial system as fast as possible. Contingency plans were in place. The battle could begin without one escort.

Overhead, the lights in his office took on a red hue and a quiet siren wound up three times. Elsewhere, it would be bone–jarring. Around him,
Amsel
shivered like a wet dog as generators came on line and shields went to their maximum setting.

Emmerich made sure his tea set was secured before he moved to the door, his favorite mug still steaming in his hand.

The flag bridge, across the hall from his office, was a rising tide of tension. Chaos was not allowed here, but the excitement of battle took on its own musk as the men’s adrenaline surged.

Captain Baumgärtner waited at the command table, fuzzy slippers the only clue that the man had been sound asleep five minutes ago. Quickly, his aide brought everything on line.

Emmerich studied the holographic image floating in front of him. A dead, gray planet with no name, only an alphanumeric designation, below them, providing the gravity well to anchor the squadron and protect them from storms and enemy fleets. Two irregular mini–moons, functionally no more than captured asteroids to light up the night sky from the ground. Further out, a ring of debris and shattered rock from a moon that had never held.

A single red star pulsed, right at the edge of the gravity well, itself a green band surrounding them like an egg.

“Status?” Emmerich said as he approached the table. At his words, something crystalized, drawing the tension down. It was like making rock candy with Heike when she was six. The water boiling, the string dropped in, the heat set aside, and all of a sudden order appeared in the form of solid crystals in the fluid.

“Nothing else as yet, Admiral,” the flag captain replied calmly. His eyes were a little bloodshot, but that was likely the excitement of being driven up from the depths of a dream. “Only the one pulse was sent inwards. Our return pulse has shown only a single vessel.”

Emmerich nodded. The room would have been buzzing more if there were a squadron out there. Gunnery officers would have been organizing engagement and coverage arcs amongst themselves. Escorts would have been shifting into reactive positions. Missiles might already be flying.

The mark of a well–trained crew, and a well–prepared team.

“Sensors,” he called to the room, “what is the unknown vessel?”

“Estimated schematics coming up now, sir,” the man replied, pushing buttons and scrolling through lists on his own screen. The system projection shifted to one side as a new image took center stage.

It was a small vessel, a rough rectangular tube that opened like a mouth at the bow and stayed squared off at the stern, wrapped around three squat, powerful engines. It wasn’t a model Emmerich was particularly familiar with, but there were only so many ways to assemble a small–crew asteroid mining craft.

The pilot would normally fly to an interesting–looking point in a field, set the ship to orbiting in pace with the rocks around it, and then open the mouth. He would climb into an armoured spacesuit, almost a pocket spaceship in its own right, and exit the airlock from the ship’s “stomach” into its mouth via something that functioned like a throat in reverse, and go to work. Depending on the nature of the prospecting, a miner might stay in his suit for several days at a time, not bothering to lock back into atmosphere, and instead sleeping rough.

Wildcatters like that were hard men, and occasionally women, but not a threat to this squadron. At most, a ship like that might have a short–range cutting beam designed to slice up medium–sized rocks for transport, or to drill into the big ones so that they could be easily assayed for specific gravity.

It was just bad luck that such a prospector was here already. He had probably maneuvered as quietly as he could to get to this position.

“Sensors,” Emmerich said. “What is the ship’s current orientation?”

“Pointed out–system and already accelerating, sir,” came the instant reply.

Yes. He had seen what he wanted, scanned everything once to confirm it, and was running like hell for the authorities at
Ballard
, the nearest planet, to report an Imperial invasion. Entirely proper, but the authorities already knew he was coming. All this man could do was confirm the timing and strength. Little good it would do her
.

Emmerich nodded to himself. “Captain Baumgärtner,” he said loud enough to be heard by the men around them. “Stand the squadron down for now. Have engineering calculate the best flight time for that class of vessel to
Ballard
. He will be slower transiting than we will be. Plot a departure that will have this squadron arrive at the edge of the
Ballard
system two hours after the prospector arrives.”

“Two hours, Admiral?” his aide confirmed.

“Correct. Enough time for the defenders to be roused to a point of high functionality, and just enough time for that edge to wear off. At the same time, not long enough for Keller to be able to do anything useful with the information she receives, before it becomes superfluous. I will be in my quarters.”

“Acknowledged, Admiral.”

Emmerich made his way back to his office. Very shortly, he and Keller would face each other for the last time. He could already hear the opening arias begin to play in his head.

Chapter XXXII

Date of the Republic June 15, 394 Alexandria Station, Ballard

Moirrey listened intently as the DropShip clanked and clunked and wiggled into position, backing slowly and carefully, the docking airlock tube extended like a thumb from the side of the vessel.
Gaucho
was handling this like mom’s fine crystal today, rather than his normal hit–and–run kind of flying.

She unlocked her harness and stood up, nodding at Yeoman Arlo seated across from her. It was weird to outrank him. And to be in charge. And to be acting like a grown–up. Totally silly. But the
dragoon
had insisted. If the saboteur were still gonna be running ‘bouts, she had to have someone with her. Jackson Tawfeek might have been more fun to hang out with, but Vo Arlo were a much fiercer lookin’ dude, especially today.

Over his battlesuit, he had strapped a pistol, a knife, another knife, a couple of stun grenades, and a carbine pulse rifle. She was pretty sure he had more guns in the backpack at his feet. Plus Creator–only–knows what else.