The Red Admiral Read online

  The Red Admiral

  The Jessica Keller Chronicles: Volume 6

  Blaze Ward

  Knotted Road Press

  Contents

  Overture: Jessica

  Overture: Joh

  Overture: Kier

  Emissary

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Engineer

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Chapter XXV

  Chapter XXVI

  Chapter XXVII

  Chapter XXVIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Chapter XXX

  Chapter XXXI

  Chapter XXXII

  Chapter XXXIII

  Chapter XXXIV

  Explorer

  Chapter XXXV

  Chapter XXXVI

  Chapter XXXVII

  Chapter XXXVIII

  Chapter XXXIX

  Chapter XL

  Chapter XLI

  Chapter XLII

  Chapter XLIII

  Chapter XLIV

  Chapter XLV

  Chapter XLVI

  Chapter XLVII

  Chapter XLVIII

  Chapter XLIX

  Chapter L

  Chapter LI

  Chapter LII

  Chapter LIII

  Chapter LIV

  Chapter LV

  Chapter LVI

  Chapter LVII

  Chapter LVIII

  Chapter LVIX

  Chapter LX

  Chapter LXI

  Chapter LXII

  Chapter LXIII

  Chapter LXIV

  Chapter LXV

  Chapter LXVI

  Chapter LXVII

  Chapter LXVIII

  Chapter LXIX

  Chapter LXX

  Chapter LXXI

  Chapter LXXII

  Chapter LXXIII

  Chapter LXXIV

  Chapter LXXV

  Chapter LXXVI

  Chapter LXXVII

  Epilogue: Yan

  Epilogue: Vo

  Epilogue: Jessica

  The Red Admiral Cast List

  About the Author

  About Knotted Road Press

  Also by Blaze Ward

  Overture: Jessica

  Date of the Republic March 22, 399 Keller Palace, Werder, St. Legier

  Jessica Keller considered the view from the mezzanine, overlooking the training floor below.

  Unlike the canvas-covered, packed sand in her own dojos, this was a concrete slab with a thin, padded layer over it. Enough to keep you from breaking a bone if you tumbled, but not enough to prevent some wicked bruises. It would, however, teach you to fall correctly, and quickly.

  There was a young woman training. Jessica knew that the local media liked to play up comparisons between the two of them, but the likenesses were rather sparse.

  Jessica was a few fingers below average height for a woman of the Republic of Aquitaine, around 160 centimeters tall, with brown hair just past shoulder length, impressively streaked with gray. The woman on the training floor had the towering stature of the Fribourg Imperial Family, nearly a head taller than Jessica, with golden-blond hair in a braid that hung past her shoulder blades.

  Jessica was built broad. Not stocky, but with hard curves. On another woman, a less-driven one, it would have turned to flab easily enough, leaving her a squishy, middle-aged hausfrau, like Jessica’s own mother. Jessica would not allow it, fighting a constant battle in the pool, the gymnasium, and the dinner table. So far, she was winning.

  Down there, the young woman was long and lean, built straight, like a volleyball player, only starting to develop muscles as she finally grew into herself.

  At forty-one years old, Jessica felt every one of the light-years she had covered in more than twenty years of hard naval service. The trainee was just eighteen, poised to take life by the horns and twist it to fit her need, something that would have been impossible even as recently as six months ago.

  Jessica was simply astounded at how much had changed. Not nearly enough, but if she died tomorrow, Jessica Keller could go into hell knowing that she had permanently altered the course of human history in her time. She didn’t know how many generations it would take to finally rid the Fribourg Empire of their toxic notions of gender, but she could see that day out there in the distance.

  She turned to the man standing silently beside her. Studied him briefly before he glanced her way with a wry grin on his face.

  Tall. Even taller than the woman on the floor, but obviously a close relative, both in coloring and features. Fully gray now, as his fifty-fifth birthday had passed. Broad in the chest, but with a vee-shape that tapered down to a narrow waist, the kind that came from serious time in the weight room and careful attendance to his diet. Nothing at all like the man she had first met in the flesh nearly seven years ago.

  At their first duel. Not the one to the death that First Ballard had wanted to be, but just as fraught, when she had foiled his plans and his minions at First Petron.

  In her mind, she still thought of him as The Red Admiral. Everyone did. If you used that term in casual conversation, anyone in either the Fribourg Empire or the Republic of Aquitaine would immediately flash to this man.

  Emmerich wore black now, no longer The Red Admiral, but The Grand Admiral. Commander-in-Chief, Fribourg Fleet. Third, only behind the Emperor and Crown Prince Karl Ekkehard, commonly known as Ekke.

  These days, Jessica wore red instead: a scarlet jacket, buttoned up the front with gold fripperies stitched here and there, rather than the tight tunic she still unconsciously expected, plus the dark blue slacks that made up a Fribourg naval uniform, so much baggier than the uniform she had worn seemingly her whole life. And impossible to fit quickly into an emergency suit.

  The only place she deviated from a Fribourg uniform was her shoes. She would be damned if she was giving up the comfortable walking shoes Aquitaine used, for the hard-soled leather her companion was wearing.

  His stare lingered before he turned his head the rest of the way, drawing those wide shoulders in a little.

  “I suppose you intend to blame me for this, as well?” Emmerich Wachturm asked in a dry tone, gesturing at the scene below. His eyes twinkled mischievously.

  “The thought had crossed my mind,” Jessica replied with a grin, turning back to watch.

  The blond woman was moving like a dancer, with a thin, straight sword in her right hand, turned sideways to her foe, a taller man with longer arms. Both wore mesh masks and heavy, quilted chest pieces, plus protection on arms and legs.

  In a more-formal event, they might have called this fencing, as the woman was using a sabre, a straight blade ninety-six centimeters long, but there was no carpet to dance on. And the woman’s opponent wasn’t an Olympian. Instead, he was Imperial Army, and a close-combat expert.

  The rules here were simple: don’t get killed while killing your opponent. Points were measured in limbs declared wounded. An arm injured must be held behind you. A leg caused you to have to stand in place and pivot.

  This was dancing with steel. Not quite the Valse d’Glaive that Jessica practiced, but much closer than many modern martial practices. The sabreuse below also fought with only on
e blade where Jessica used both a saber and a main-gauche interchangeably.

  Still, the young woman was learning quickly, gaining skill consistently from that first awkward lesson Jessica had watched. After twenty minutes, the man was ahead on points, but only seven to five, which was amazing against a trained foe like the soldier.

  Especially for an Imperial Princess.

  “It was her choice, by the way,” Wachturm said after a pause.

  “Uh huh.”

  He sounded a touch defensive. Jessica could appreciate why.

  Imperial propaganda had done a damned good job originally, making Jessica Keller over into an exotic barbarian so as to dissuade impressionable Imperial teenage girls from emulating her. A pirate queen from beyond the pale of civilization. That she was then a lowly Command Centurion in the Republic of Aquitaine Navy was glossed over. Later, those same bards played up the elements of the doomed romance that saw Jessica crowned and her first, great love, Daneel Ishikura, the famed pirate known as Warlock, slain in battle.

  Today, they were making her over again, only this time as the woman who had just helped save the Empire as a Fleet Centurion, and now, the new Red Admiral.

  Jessica considered rolling her eyes at the whole situation, but she understood politics and diplomacy well enough these days to let it go. The Fribourg Empire needed an anchor around which to coalesce. The young woman below would serve as inspiration for their dreams, but Jessica had to be the rock upon which those dreams could be built. Just as Em was the mason who would build them.

  A whistle sounded, ending the bout. Both opponents stepped back and saluted each other before removing their masks and turning to the gallery, which today consisted solely of one referee keeping score and two Imperial Admirals.

  Even from here, Jessica could see the immense grin on the Princess Kasimira’s face. She had lost on points, but only barely, to an expert with decades of experience. Four hard months of rising early every single morning in order to train with weights, dance, swim, and practice gymnastics, coupled with youth and good genes. Plus occasional lessons with Jessica herself on the finer points of a woman using edged steel, so different in movement from a man, and yet so similar.

  Kasimira, Casey, would go as far as her dreams took her.

  That was another thing Jessica could count on her side of that cosmic ledger.

  “Are you convinced, Jessica?” Emmerich asked, his voice gone more serious now.

  “I was never worried about Casey, Em,” she replied, looking down. “Her father, and her brother, will be the harder sell.”

  She stared at the man again, intent written on her features.

  “Convince them, and then I will believe.”

  Overture: Joh

  Imperial Founding: 177/03/25. Imperial Palace, Werder, St. Legier

  Karl Johannes Arend Wiegand, By Grace of God Almighty His Sovereign Imperial Majesty of Fribourg, Karl VII, known as Joh by his family and close friends, sat at the far end of the big conference room table, facing the closed door, alone with the requisite, dozen bodyguards, and his thoughts.

  As much as the Imperial Palace and Fleet Headquarters represented his authority, this room was probably the actual seat of his power. The massive table, cut and polished out of a single piece of blue granite, resting atop heavy wooden legs, dark with age. The walls were austere, sheathed over in a dark jade covered with a few tapestries that represented many of his ancestors in the founding and history of the Empire.

  This was the place where the Inner Staff met. Flag Officers only, and only members of the Imperial Blood. They were the men who truly made Imperial policy, but they did it by keeping the important decisions under their personal control. His cousins, since he had no brothers and had become emperor sooner than expected, after the terrible accident that killed both of his parents.

  This room, right here, was the Fribourg Empire.

  Hopefully, it would survive what he was about to do today.

  All protocol had been cast to the winds for this…moment. Now was not a time for conservatism, or halfway measures. The avalanche had already started, and he could only hope to successfully ride it to the bottom of the mountain while trying to steer it to a safer place.

  Joh knew he was probably destined to fail, but he was looking with eyes measuring centuries, and not the mere decades of his remaining lifetime.

  He took a moment to check his uniform, it having been hours since he got up and worked out this morning. Tailored navy blue slacks. The same dark fabric in the jacket, over a lighter blue shirt. The single, gold spiral galaxy embroidered on each epaulette, symbol of rank as supreme commander, Emperor of Fribourg.

  He was prepared.

  Beside the door, a light changed from green to red.

  Joh knew he could remain seated. It was his prerogative to do almost anything that suited his fancy. Today called for more.

  He rose from his seat and nodded to the bodyguard closest to the door.

  “Open it,” he ordered in a deep, firm voice.

  The man made no acknowledgement but to reach out with one hand and palm the sensor. Joh’s men, his Imperial guards, took themselves much more seriously today, having failed him six months ago, when his cousin, Sigmund Dittmar, sought to overthrow the Empire.

  They would never make that mistake again.

  Joh drew a deep breath to settle himself as the door opened and the group assembled outside began to enter.

  The term motley had a negative connotation, historically, but it also communicated the amazing diversity of humanity represented before him.

  Come to his Court.

  Emmerich Wachturm stood in front, The Grand Admiral of the Fleet. Joh’s strong right arm, his Best Man, his best friend for more than fifty years. Dressed in the black day uniform of his rank, rather than the more formal affair he was occasionally forced into by circumstances or company.

  Jessica Keller walked behind him. The Fleet Centurion who had been the bane of his Empire, as well as its savior. Recently, she had taken to wearing the day uniform of a Fribourg Fleet Admiral of the Red, but today she had reverted to her Fleet Centurion’s attire. Joh preferred women like his beloved Kati, long and willowy, but there was something to the compact, athletic curves shown off by Keller’s uniform.

  Perhaps it was just the being who inhabited the flesh. One of the most dangerous people in the galaxy. And slowly, awkwardly even, becoming something of a friend.

  Behind Jessica, one of the most daring minds out there, contained in a tiny body under a thatch of black hair. Lady Moirrey zu Kermode. Ritter of the Imperial Household. Advanced Research Weapons Technician, Republic of Aquitaine Navy. According to his spies, a goofball of the first order, capable of quoting amazingly-obscure literature and modern pop songs in the same sentence.

  And a woman who had killed two Imperial assassins in single combats. Never forget that part.

  zu Kermode wore what Joh assumed was a homemade outfit today, based on the intelligence files he had read about her. Tight, slate-gray slacks under a top that split the gap between a tabard and sundress, front and back panels hanging to her boot tops and slashed to her thigh, with a black, leather belt containing it. Interestingly, the dress had been done in dark maroon, edged and embroidered in white. Over her heart, also hand-embroidered, the Imperial Crest: Golden Eagle Elevated and Displayed.

  Moirrey had taken the style of her formal cloak as a Ritter and gone fashionable with it. As one of only two women alive with the zu designation, there were no official guidelines for how a female Ritter should dress.

  Still, he approved. It was demure but still flattering on a woman that barely came up to his collarbone. And it conveyed her importance and place to anyone who wasn’t immediately familiar with her face.

  As if such a person actually still existed on this planet.

  Joh smiled a secret smile with Moirrey as she came in, rather like the one they had shared when she had shot Geoffrey Grundman, who had happened to be standin
g just behind Joh, the shot passing beside his ear close enough that he still remembered the heat.

  She blushed and glanced down, obviously fighting to control a bout of giggles that threatened to erupt. Moirrey was like that.

  Behind Moirrey, Joh’s greatest surprise. Not that she was here, but how she presented herself.

  The Imperial Princess, Kasimira Helena. Casey zu Wiegand. His youngest child, and only surviving daughter, since her sister Steffi had been killed during the coup, while saving his own life.

  Casey wore an identical outfit to Moirrey’s, scaled up, obviously hand-made by Moirrey in secret, probably for exactly this occasion. Joh could sense a new fashion trend breaking out, although Imperial woman would be careful not to match the exact color, nor the Imperial crest.