Queen of the Pirates Read online

  Jessica grinned. She couldn’t be positive without looking back, but Marcelle was probably blushing. As rowdy as she might be in a dock–side bar, she was an absolute kitten around the power players of the Republic. It had taken Jessica years to get over that herself. She was never going to make her steward, her assistant, her dog–robber, change. It wasn’t worth trying.

  “First Lord,” she heard Marcelle mutter.

  The door closed a moment later, leaving the three of them alone.

  Three?

  “Jessica,” First Lord Kasum began, gesturing to a chair, “sit. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. You might as well be comfortable doing it.”

  Jessica took the chair on the left, leaving an empty one between her and the Premier. She noticed a coffee service for three already laid out, so this was not a spur of the moment thing. She adjusted her plans accordingly.

  She watched the Premier of the Republic Senate lean forward and turn on the charm.

  He was very, very good at it. What had she done to rate this level of attention? How scared should she be?

  “Command Centurion Keller,” he began, in a voice pitched to fill the room like cool water, a soothing radio voice, or something intended to calm wild horses.

  Wild horses? Okay, maybe she was just a bit keyed up. Jessica took an extra deep breath and held it.

  “I wanted a chance to meet you in a private setting,” he continued. “To take your measure, if you will, before the news I am going to share with you is generally known to the public.”

  “Sir,” she replied simply. Now was a very good time to keep her cards close to her chest.

  “Jessica,” the First Lord said with a placating smile, “before you get serious and tactical on us, Tadej is on your side. I personally watched him threaten several senators, in public, warning them that you were under his protection, when they wanted to get stupid over the affairs at 2218 Svati Prime. He’s one of the good guys.”

  She nodded to both men, relaxing a bit. “Thank you. Both of you.”

  “Jessica,” Kasum continued, “this is likely to be another one of those conversations, so for now, please call me Nils. The Premier will occasionally answer to Tadej.”

  She watched the Premier nod back at her. Were they really expecting her to call the Premier of the Senate by his given name? Her?

  “Nils,” she said, tasting the word for a moment. It felt odd to be on such informal terms with the man who had been her teacher at the Academy and mentor since. It would be far more so to address a total stranger such. “Tadej.”

  “Thank you, Jessica,” Tadej said quietly. He rose and poured coffee into all three mugs and served them, before returning to the sofa. He sipped slowly, just as she did, watching her over the rim carefully. To Nils Kasum, they were probably a mirrored tableaux.

  “Jessica,” Tadej continued, “you are here as a victim of your own success. And I––we,” he said, nodding to the First Lord, “wanted to make sure you understood this was a reward, and not a punishment.”

  Uh huh.

  Jessica already had serious doubts about that.

  “As a result of your activities on both sides of the Cahllepp Frontier over the last year, the Fribourg Empire has been forced to redeploy a significant amount of their own fleet elements defensively. At least two full battle squadrons, as we count such thing, broken down into patrol elements and in constant motion.”

  “Aye, sir,” Jessica said. “Tadej. As intended. Economic warfare at a time when our military options were constrained by circumstances.”

  She saw both men smile the same way at the same time. They might have been brothers in that, but for the difference in their looks. The Premier was as broad–shouldered and bulky as the First Lord was a tall, skinny pencil. The Premier’s sandy–blond hair was longer than Fleet preferred, while Nils’s was regulation length and beginning to turn completely white. Only one of those heads of hair was its natural color.

  “Correct,” Tadej continued, “and as a result, we will need to station RAN squadrons to counter them. This will require several Fleet Lords as well. Nils tells me that you have been operating unofficially as your own Fleet Lord on the frontier up until now, and we have your amazing success to judge that by.”

  “Sir.” She took another sip of coffee and let the man speak. It felt like a prepared speech. The least she could do is let him get to the end of it with minimal interruptions.

  “Given the circumstances and remoteness of the posting, Jessica,” Nils said with a suddenly–wicked smile on his face, “I plan to recall your old commander, Bogdan Loncar, to active duty, and send him out there with the Fleet Carrier RAN Archon.”

  Jessica resisted spitting on the nice carpet at the man’s name. It would look unprofessional, regardless of how accurately it portrayed her opinion of the fool who had been in command at Third Iger.

  Something must have appeared on her face. Both men smiled.

  “Since you are still too junior to promote to Fleet Lord, just yet,” Tadej continued, his smile warming, “and would be junior to Loncar in any case, I have asked Nils to detach your squadron from the sector forces and put them to work for me, on a special assignment.”

  Just yet? Fleet Lord? Her? A Fleet Lord? I must have misheard him. He hadn’t really meant that. Had he?

  “I see,” she said. This was where politics tangled up the purity of command. It was not her specialty, although she had spent a great deal of time studying how the two interacted.

  Jessica silently gritted her teeth. Duty was duty. “What can I do to help, gentlemen?”

  Nils smiled at her like a cat. “I’m sending you pirate hunting, Jessica.”

  Chapter II

  Date of the Republic August 16, 393 Fleet HQ, Ladaux System

  It was a part of the Officer’s Bar at Fleet Headquarters that Jessica had never been in before, tucked back into a corner and away from the normal bars, lounges, and salons, around a corner and down a long hallway, through a door protected by a concierge. The playgrounds of the Fifty Families, the elite, the rulers of the Republic.

  Someplace a blue–collar girl didn’t attend. Unless invited. Being First Lord of the Fleet, or Premier of the Republic Senate, obviously meant entirely different things here than they did down on the surface.

  Interestingly, the hallways and doors had been designed by a naval architect. They had the exact same dimensions as a warship. The walls were metal, painted with the same muted gray/cream color the fleet used. The floor had no carpet. Everything was intended to remind one of being on a fleet warship.

  To make them feel at home.

  Jessica smiled at the realization. She felt at home.

  It was hard to see around the two men she accompanied, both taller than her, neither stopping to ask questions, not even to open doors along the way. At each key point, there was a guard, or an aide, or a concierge, opening those doors as these men approached.

  That was what this was. Power. But not the power of good birth, although that probably helped. No, this was the power of respect by one’s peers. Of having been elevated to the highest rungs of society on will and achievement, not merely wealth.

  Where she wanted to be.

  The last door deposited them in a very small lounge. Three booths and a larger table, plus a bar with four empty chairs. It had been done in very old wood, darkly stained and weathered by time. Every shelf was filled with nautical knick–knacks, but not space–based. This was maritime, when the word meant sailing on a water–filled ocean on the surface of a planet.

  Jessica saw things dedicated to fishing, and sailing, and old boats. Strange tropical islands. There were photos, and junk, and memorabilia. The one that almost made her laugh out loud was a silly little tin–press sign that read Kip’s Maritime Museum and Cultural Center in red letters on a white background. It was the sort of thing one of her uncles might have hung on a barn wall.

  The room was currently empty of guests. Only a quiet woman tending bar
and a young man with blond hair in fleet uniform were here. That one had the look of a well–prepared Steward about him.

  “Good evening, Premier, First Lord, Command Centurion Keller,” the young man said as he directed them to the booth in the farthest back corner, through a little archway that separated two of the booths from the rest of the tiny space.

  “My name is Joshua,” he continued. “Normally, I would be taking care of the entire room, but the Marquette Room has been reserved for you privately this evening, so Anna and I are at your disposal.”

  Jessica found herself on the outside, seated next to Nils Kasum. He was wearing a pleasant cologne this evening, understated but masculine. She approved. Tadej Horvat had the entire opposite side to himself.

  “Joshua,” Tadej began, “we’ll start with one of my merlots from Vaadwach Estates, a cheese plate of your choice, and two plates of antipasto”

  The waiter nodded pleasantly. “Coming right up, folks.”

  And then he was gone.

  At the center of the booth, on the wall, a series of pictures showing a young, dark–haired man in various stages of life. At a dance with a pretty young woman. Enlisted, proudly showing off his first uniform. His Orders To Report. That formal dress uniform shot they take after a year or so of active service. Many years later, now with several rank rings on his wrists. That same young woman, older now, and fully pregnant. Older yet, with three young children running around.

  Jessica looked closely at the Orders Of Separation papers, carefully framed and hung to the right. Senior Master Chief Miles Abraham Kenneck. Pretty impressive outcome for a scrawny kid. A picture of the man, twenty or so years later, hair mostly gone, jowls taking over, and a smile still a kilometer wide. Finally, his obituary. Retired Chief, private astronavigator, fisherman, raconteur, card sharp, liar, and beloved great–grandfather of seventeen.

  Not a bad way to go.

  Jessica caught the Premier, Tadej, eyeing her carefully. “Miles Kenneck served with my great–grandfather. One of his grand–daughters is my aunt.”

  Jessica nodded. A diorama so prominent in a room so reserved would require a very personal touch, and a very powerful patron. Like the man seated across from her.

  “He represents to me,” Tadej continued, “the strength of the Republic. The Fifty Families provide a significant portion of the Senate and upper reaches of the Fleet, but there are over five hundred worlds providing the crews for those ships, whether they come from a backwater like Saxon, or from right here on Ladaux, the very heart of Aquitaine.”

  Jessica nodded again. Tadej’s words had the feel of a speech to them again. Well–rehearsed and important, but more than just conversation. Much more.

  “Jessica,” Nils said, leaning a little closer, “what my esteemed sidekick is wandering around without actually saying is that you are at a point in your career most people from your background never reach. It’s time for you to decide what you want to be.”

  Oh? Cards–on–the–table time? With two of the biggest power players in the Republic? Seriously?

  “What are my choices?” she replied, opting for Socrates rather than commitment.

  Both men smiled. Nils spoke.

  “You already have a reputation among the Fighting Lords as a tactical wizard, perhaps comparable to Emmerich Wachturm, your erstwhile opponent. That alone will eventually pave the way for you to be promoted to Fleet Lord.”

  Jessica eyed both men closely. “What if I want more?”

  She leaned forward and tented her hands to rest her chin. It was a pose she had picked up from the man seated next to her. He recognized it with a smile.

  “How much more?” Nils smiled at her.

  “How far could a scholarship student from the outskirts of Penmerth go, Nils? Tadej? On the strength of her own accomplishments, and not just as the spouse of someone far better bred?”

  She was careful with her tone. These men bled blue when pricked. But they had asked for it.

  “Could I take your job?” she continued at Nils with an honest appraisal.

  “That, Jessica Keller,” Tadej said seriously, “is why we are here, tonight.”

  “To answer that question?” She turned her tone on him, sounding like a tactics instructor, perhaps the man who had taught her, who sat beside her now.

  “To begin your education, young lady, that one day, you just might.” Nils smiled down at her. It was a warm smile, for all the cold implications in his words.

  Jessica kept her smile neutral.

  These men were serious. Very serious. Like they believed she might actually pull it off.

  Her Advanced Fleet Operations final exams had been less intimidating.

  Joshua returned to break up the scene, pouring wine and delivering hors d'oeuvres. Jessica used the space to gather her wits back together. As much as she could.

  First Lord Jessica Keller? Wow.

  She took a leap of faith.

  “So,” she began around a bite of cheese, “I presume my naval skills have been found acceptable. What is the next thing I should master, gentlemen?”

  Tadej blinked in surprise. Nils laughed outright.

  “I told you so, Tad,” Nils said, toasting his friend with a wine glass.

  “Yes,” Tadej replied with a wry smile. “Yes, you did. I will pay up tomorrow, you scamp.”

  Seriously, they had bet? On her? Was she predictable, or were they?

  “Jessica,” Tadej said with utter gravity, the levity gone from his voice, but still holding all the warmth, “what you need next is diplomacy.”

  “Diplomacy?” she said, one eyebrow creeping up in spite of her best efforts.

  “Not command, Command Centurion Keller,” Tadej replied. “You do that well. No, I mean going out as the senior officer and talking to diplomats and politicians. Fencing verbally with them. Spying on them. Out–maneuvering them at the dinner table.”

  “I see.” She did see. It was one of the things she detested most. Fleets were predictable. Battles as well, within limits.

  People, not so much.

  Still, if she wanted this future, she would have to master this task.

  Simple as that.

  “So what is the secret key to diplomacy, Tadej?” she asked, putting him on the spot to see how far he was prepared to go tonight.

  “Diplomacy is the art of the unsaid, as much as the said, Jessica,” he replied, suddenly very, very serious. Her reminded her of Father. “Politics is the art of perception, the shaping of minds with your words. Leading someone verbally to a place without ever taking them there, merely on the strength of your words alone. Never threatening. Never cowering. Hinting at ambiguities and repercussions, while letting their imaginations and nightmares fill in the blanks in whatever manner best serves your purposes.”

  “Lie?” she asked simply.

  “Never,” he said, “unless you cannot possibly ever be caught. And even then, sparingly. Paint instead in subtle grays, where men like Fleet Lord Loncar work in simple black and white. Use ambiguity offensively. And always make sure your opponent has a way to escape you, so he doesn’t decide he has to die fighting. Always treat your worst enemy with the highest respect, because the wyrm will eventually turn and he will box you in someday.”

  Tadej paused to take a drink of wine and fix her with his steely gaze.

  “Death is exceedingly rare in diplomacy and politics, young lady, so you will meet the same players again and again. Understand that today’s opponent may be tomorrow’s friend, and vice versa.”

  Nils poured the glasses full as a way to engage her.

  “And while you are not known for using your feminine wiles, Jessica,” Nils said with all the seriousness Father had used on the first boy she had ever brought home to meet, “many of the places you are likely to visit are not as enlightened about the equality of the sexes as Aquitaine. They will underestimate you because you are a women, especially Imperials. Do not overlook that advantage. They will see you as weak, unpre
pared, possibly harmless. Men like that see what you want them to see, regardless of what others might tell them.”

  Nils smiled impishly. “And men are visual creatures, at the end of the day. We will see the shell and miss the soul.”

  “Enough for now,” Tadej said with a lighter smile. “We will eat, and then digest all of this over a good brandy. Jessica, we are sending you to Lincolnshire because they are friendly, and will provide a good way for you get your feet wet without having to act like a spy. Plus, they have a problem that requires a military solution, so you should be in your element.”

  Jessica smiled back. An easy mission to the backwaters of the fringe. How bad could it be?

  Chapter III

  Date of the Republic August 20, 393 Ladaux

  Bogdan Loncar emerged from his private vehicle as the doorman opened the heavy portal into his club. It felt good to be back in the saddle, back on Ladaux. Shortly, he would return to command. As he had long said to anyone who would listen, he was too big, too important to keep on the sidelines for long. Even that pipsqueak Kasum had finally had to bow to the opinion of the Senate.

  He took a deep breath of the capital’s air. Not as good as Anameleck Prime, and nowhere near as good as the air on a flag bridge, but it would do. For now.

  This was what triumph smelled like.

  Inside, he found that the carpets had been replaced, sometime in the last six months. The rich maroon on the floor had been replaced by a deep forest green reminiscent of the fleet uniform he had pulled out of the closet today, for the first time in ages. It was just another sign that his time for glory had come.

  Bogdan suffered the elite, personal service that his club was famous for, being escorted to the second floor grotto where his compatriots and he would dine. Tonight was to be a celebration.

  The staff deposited him and a glass of the best brandy at his favorite chair, close enough to the fire for warmth, but not so close as to be overwhelmingly bright.