Queen of the Pirates (10 page)

“Thank you, Vilis.”

Jessica turned to her flag centurion. “Order him to strike, Enej.”

“Been doing that, sir,” he replied. “He refuses. Claims diplomatic immunity. Still accelerating outbound.”

She paused and considered her options. None of them were good. But, conversely, none of them were probably career–ending. She hoped.

“Denis,” she said into the bridge radio, “put me on the general comm.”

“Go, commander.”

“Tactical, this is the Flag,” she intoned formally, straight out of the book. It was going to be another one of
those
conversations. She couldn’t just attack the Imperial vessel out of hand, but she was still the law in these parts. She had one more tool in her bag, something nobody could ignore, unless they wanted to proclaim themselves pirates.

“We’re legal representatives of
Lincolnshire
and they’re trespassing here. Order the Imperial vessel to heave to for a
customs inspection
,” she continued, her face and voice as serious as she could get. “If he’s a courier, he doesn’t get to act like a private vessel. When he refuses, fire a shot across his bow under my authority. Because that is a diplomatic vessel, miss by a wide margin. Because I want him to understand that I’m serious, fire a Primary beam when you do it.”

Tamara gulped once before she spoke. “Aye, sir,” she said. “Stand by.”

Auberon
’s entire hull pulsed a few moments later, a dull hum that was absolutely unique to the big guns firing. It had a feeling like the angel of doom descending.

Jessica waited. That had been the only warning shot required. If they didn’t follow the rules now, she was in her authority to treat them like a pirate, like those bastards down on the surface.

That was the down–side of claiming diplomatic immunity. You had to behave. It was a two–edged knife.

“Target has struck her colors, commander,” Tamara said a few moments later, visibly relieved that she didn’t have to start a more–serious interstellar incident.

“Roger that, Tactical,” Jessica said quietly. “Tamara, prepare a prize crew and lead them yourself to take possession of the ship. First officer will accompany you just long enough to escort the diplomat back to
Auberon
.”

Jessica paused for a moment, playing out the various scenarios in her head. She had not remotely prepared this scenario. Who would?

“
Cayenne
,” she said after a beat. “Prepare for a non–hostile landing party on the Imperial vessel, and a red carpet flight back, transporting an Imperial Ambassador with full honors.”

“Really?” came the call from
Cayenne
’s commander, Hollis Dyson,
Gaucho
. He even appeared on one of her screens, tall and skinny with a shaved head and a magnificent handlebar mustache. “An Ambassador?”

Jessica suppressed a smirk at the look of incredulous shock on the man’s face.

“Really,
Gaucho
,” she replied with a serious look. “Fly nice.”

“Aye, sir,” he said as he disappeared, deeply dejected.

Jessica smiled. He could have flown ambassadors and Fleet Lords, if he wanted. Certainly, he was probably the best pilot she knew. But he was also the biggest adrenaline junkie she had ever met, which made him a natural fit to fly a DropShip.

There was no more dangerous job in the Fleet. You wanted the crazy ones handling that task. Luckily, she had more than one who matched that criteria.

Ξ

Jessica’s screens showed the aftermath of combat down on the planet.
Auberon
wasn’t an Assault Carrier, with a full regiment of marines and armored vehicles to go toe to toe with a bunch of desperate and suicidal pirates down in their warrens. And that was what it would take to capture the place right now.

Rajput
had managed to insert herself in a very low geo–synchronous orbit over the base, nose down and most of her weapons pointed at the base like a broadsword. The flight wing was slowly orbiting, far enough out that they couldn’t get surprised, close enough that nobody could escape them. Now she just needed to decide what to do with the place.

Since
Auberon
was working under the authority of the
Lincolnshire
government, and this was a pirate outpost, she could legally just sit in orbit and pound the base into the surface of the moon. From here, it already looked like she had gotten a head–start on the task. Every weapons emplacement on the surface had been hit with enough force to qualify as overkill, but the living quarters would be down deep beneath the surface, safe enough unless she got serious.

Or, until.

“Enej,” she called across the flag bridge, “what are they saying down there?”

“Not much, sir,” he replied with a sardonic grin. “The accent is extremely hard to decipher, but I’m pretty sure I got the gist of what he was suggesting I go do when I told them to surrender.”

Jessica smiled and began to unstrap herself from the command chair. “Let me know if they change their minds before I run out of patience.”

“Will do, commander. Time for one of Moirrey’s surprises?”

Jessica blinked. She had been thinking of this as a nut that needed to be cracked. Maybe there was a way to handle it with flash and misdirection. “Maybe.”

She stopped what she was doing and keyed the comm. “Engineering, this is the Flag.”

“Go ahead.” Moirrey appeared on the screen immediately.

Luck of the draw. She was thinking of the evil engineering gnome, and there she was.

“What does
Project Mischief
suggest for cracking hardened pirate bases on low–gravity moons, Moirrey?” Jessica asked simply.

She watched the tiny woman screw up her face in concentration as she thought furiously.

“Nothing as yet, ma’am,” she said after a few seconds. “How soon would you be needing sumtin’?”

“I will let you know, Moirrey,” Jessica said. “Right now, I have a meeting with an Imperial Ambassador, and that group down there won’t be going anywhere soon.”

“Very good, ma’am. Will keeps you posted.”

Jessica closed the channel and rose from her seat. After the adrenaline from a battle, she would need a shower to clean up, especially if she was going to get into a dress uniform to receive an Imperial Ambassador.

“Flag, this is
Cayenne
,” came the call suddenly. “Thought you would like to know who I’m bringing back.”

Jessica opened the image that
Gaucho
sent with his message and gasped.

It was a grainy still, taken from a close–range maneuvering camera, as
Cayenne
backed into a docking airlock with the corvette. It showed a view portal next to the airlock, filled with a variety of people in Imperial uniforms.

One man stood out in the group. Not for his size, as he was a just little taller than average, and well–built but not particularly muscular. No, he looked like a senior Imperial Navy officer. Which he was.

It was the uniform that gave him away.
Fribourg Empire
naval uniforms were a dark blue that was often called navy, from time immemorial. This tunic was the same cut, but a rich maroon, covered with a variety of ribbons and tags. There were two thick stripes on the sleeve visible in the picture, as befit the rank.

He was, after all, an Imperial Admiral of the Red. And his face bore an uncanny resemblance to the Emperor, Karl VII of the House of Wiegand, with the same brown hair graying about halfway up the side. That was to be expected, since this man was a close cousin to his Imperial Highness.

Jessica’s prisoner was her old nemesis from
Qui–Ping
, and before that,
2218 Svati Prime
, and before that
Third Iger
.

Emmerich Wachturm.

What the hell was he doing here?

Chapter XII

Date of the Republic October 3, 393 Sarmarsh System

Denis stood and came to parade rest as
Cayenne
finally settled on
Auberon’s
flight deck. He was in the presence of greatness. Admiral Emmerich Wachturm.
The
admiral.

The Academy at
Ladaux
taught tactics classes based on this man. Upper–level classes. Advanced Fleet Maneuvers. Nobody else born in the last century even rated a mention, Republic or not. Jessica Keller might, before her career was over.

And yet, for all that, Wachturm was still human. Perhaps a finger taller. A few kilos heavier. But possessed of an air of command that Denis would have said was unique, before he met Jessica Keller. They were of an ilk, if there was such a thing.

The admiral rose as well and faced Denis from across the aisle with a grim smile. “Senior Centurion Jež,” he said with a rich voice, “it has been a pleasure meeting you, regardless of the circumstances. You reflect well on your commander. I look forward to making her acquaintance.”

Denis nodded sagely and tried to look serious. Inside, he was trying to decide how immature it would look right now if he asked the man for his autograph.

How often did you meet a legend?

“Passengers, please stand by for deboarding,”
Gaucho
called from behind his armored bulkhead up front.

That was much more polite than
Gaucho
normally sounded. Apparently, even he could be duly impressed.

The rest of the admiral’s staff finished unbuckling and stood. The man had only three others with him. One appeared to be a steward, the rough equivalent of what Marcelle Travere did for Keller. Another was obviously a bodyguard, but well–trained and unobtrusive. He had surrendered a whole suitcase of weapons into Denis’s custody without a peep. The last was a younger officer, probably a flag centurion. No wait, didn’t the
Fribourg Empire
call them command lieutenants, or something equally strange?

They were taking this better than Denis had expected, although nobody over there looked happy. Not a surprise, considering the circumstances. Who liked being mousetrapped?

Denis nodded politely to the men. All men. The entire
Fribourg Empire
was run by men, for men. Women were not allowed into the military, lest they be somehow “soiled” by the experience. It was a dumb idea.

Denis kept his smile to himself at the thought. Roughly half of the
Republic of Aquitaine
Navy was female, and, if his boss was an example, it was the better half.

Denis checked the landing camera screen and saw that everything was in order. He keyed the comm live.

“
Cayenne
, this is Jež, standing by.”

Gaucho
responded by opening the side hatch.

Denis went first, down three steps and onto the deck. He stepped to one side and turned inward, part of a reception line that included a significant amount of the command crew, although the flight wing was all still outside keeping watch on the bad guys.

The rest of the deck was cleared of everything. Denis couldn’t remember the last time it had been set up like this. Certainly not when Command Centurion Kwok took over, four years ago.

And Denis and his staff had pushed their luck by leaving the deck a mess when Jessica first came aboard, just barely a year ago.
Had it really only been a year?

The best comparison Denis could think of would be if the First Lord, Nils Kasum, were to visit. Then it would be just like that in here. As it should.

“Attention,” Denis called, projecting his voice off of every flat surface in the bay like thunder on a calm day.

Feet came together and bodies came still.

The last trailing tidbits of noise vanished, leaving only the hiss of air systems.

“Presenting his Imperial Excellency, Admiral of the Red, Emmerich Wachturm, Hereditary Duke of Eklionstic, Imperial Ambassador.”

The Admiral appeared at the top of the steps, alone, as befit his rank and station. He paused there for a moment, majestically, before carefully stepping down onto
Auberon
’s flight deck.

Two rows of officers and crew in their best day uniforms lined a carpet, red for historical reasons, down which the Admiral slowly walked.

Denis fell in as the admiral passed, one step behind and to the man’s right. The rest of the admiral’s staff trailed behind Denis silently. Everything by the book. Everything was in the book, even this. He followed the man to a small dais that powered up out of the deck for exactly this sort of reception.

Command Centurion Keller stood alone atop the dais. Normally there would be several other officers with her for this ceremony, but he was down here escorting the man. Tamara was over on the corvette, being politely in charge after the Admiral had threatened to practically excommunicate the Imperial Captain if he did anything wrong. Iskra Vlahovic, the flight deck commander, was happy not interacting with people unless she had to.

That left Keller alone to face the man and his entire suite of assistants. It looked evenly matched. Denis fought down his grin.

“Admiral Wachturm,” Jessica said, warmly despite the formality of the language, “it is my pleasure to welcome you aboard
Auberon
and to place myself and my crew at your service.”

Denis waited. His job at this point was to provide diplomatic lubrication in the case of awkward circumstances. After several hours with the man, he couldn’t imagine awkward circumstances here. So he waited.

The admiral actually clicked his heels together and nodded deeply to Jessica. Again, appropriate between a visiting grandee and a simple command centurion, regardless of the situation outside.

“Command Centurion Keller,” the man replied. “I look forward to my visit. I have studied your career with interest since the episode known to Republic historians as
Third Iger
and look forward to being able to make the acquaintance of you and your crew.”

Denis watched as the man stepped up onto the dais and turned to address the crew. The rest of the afternoon would be formal speeches and a reception, but the admiral looked like a man who felt he held all the trump cards. He obviously had never had to deal with Jessica, or any woman like her.