Nils didn’t like it. Not one damned bit. But he also knew there wasn’t a single thing he would have done differently had they done it over. He looked around the shuttle’s small conference room and thought about the necessity for secrecy that had him sneaking across deep space, rather than holding the big ceremony in the traditional way.
For luck, he touched the bulkhead closest to him. Jessica happened to glance up from her reading at the moment. She grinned at him.
Nils had read her many reports. Emmerich Wachturm had a vessel just like this, designed as a compact flag transport, built specifically to get fleet lords or admirals rapidly between systems without tying up a larger vessel. Wachturm’s was newer and apparently much faster.
Nils had confiscated the one originally outfitted by Bogdan Loncar before the man had been cashiered for treason. Nothing wrong with the vessel itself other than the utter decadence of the fittings. The gold plating everywhere. The deep carpets halfway up the green walls.
But it shouldn’t be necessary. It offended Nils that he had to sneak around.
Jessica had insisted. And she had been the commander on the ground long enough to know how to fight this particular battle.
She sat at the far end of the cabin, facing him. Petia was closer, turned sideways, reading. Arott Whughy had the apparent ability to fall asleep the instant his butt hit a comfortable chair. At least he didn’t snore. More like soft purrs.
Nobody else.
Or rather, everyone else had already snuck off, or been consumed in the various Builder’s Trials that would precede Acceptance Into The Fleet. Even Mendocino and Duncan, First Expeditionary’s normal Fleet Transports, had been loaded up and sent off with sealed orders, only to be opened in deep space.
Nils suppressed a sigh. Or thought he did.
Maybe Jessica was reading his mind. Again.
She did that.
“2218 Svati Prime,” she said in a low voice. “Xi-Shi. C’Xindo. Surat Thani.”
Nils knew the names.
He knew she preferred a different nomenclature, but he also knew she was going to lose that argument with the historians.
Keller’s Raid.
Her signature move, the sudden explosion out of JumpSpace onto an enemy system that was unprepared, overwhelming all local opposition before it had a chance to do anything. At Thuringwell, she had added the twist.
Staying put and fortifying.
Strategic offense. Tactical defense.
Petia was paying attention now. She closed her reading slab and prodded Arott awake with a toe, aware that perhaps it was time for that conversation.
After all, it was just the four of them right now, the inner core of participants in the crazy adventure set in motion by a distant Fribourg Emperor. Only two of them of actual importance, when push came to shove.
The others had retired to their own, aft section of the small ship: Marcelle Travere, Willow Dolan, Kamil Miloslav, and the dozen or so officers and crew who supported their commanders with the daily paperwork. Not even Enej Zivkovic and Cheng Yin Dominguez, respectively the Flag Centurions for Jessica and Arott, were present.
No, this was just the principals.
Arott squared and stretched his shoulders like a bear awakened mid-winter. Nils and Jessica both grinned at him at the same time.
“Because I simply don’t know how much Buran has penetrated the Republic’s political apparatus,” Jessica began. “In that, Loncar did us a favor, because you’ve spent several years now aggressively digging out moles and spies when you might not otherwise have put that much effort into it. But Buran is coming. Fribourg is utterly riddled, or was when I left. I suspect Em’s unleashed the hounds of hell on Imperial Security.”
“Em?” Arott asked.
“Grand Admiral Emmerich Wachturm,” Petia interjected in a disinterested-sounding voice. “Casey and Jessica both refer to him as Em.”
Jessica turned a surprised look on the woman, got a grin in return.
Arott nodded confirmation. “Go ahead.”
“So the Senate vote for a massive construction program wasn’t exactly a private affair,” Jessica continued. “And all the various shipyards suddenly ramping up to spit out a dozen new ships will make the news. I want to keep our capabilities as quiet as I can. As long as I can.”
“But a secret commissioning?” Nils asked. “Vanishing like a thief in the night?”
“You agreed with me then that it was the best way to do it,” Jessica replied carefully. “What’s changed?”
“I’ve gotten old and grumpy,” Nils realized, feeling a weight suddenly heavy on his shoulders. “Set in my ways. What you are doing overturns every tradition I’ve spent my whole career upholding.”
Nils stopped and considered his next words. What he needed to say.
Like so many other things about Jessica, it would be an important footnote argued histrionically by historians, probably for centuries.
But now, more than ever, it felt right.
“When this thing is done,” Nils said, gesturing to include Arott as well as Jessica. “When I’ve blessed the two of you and sent you into battle, I intend to resign as First Lord of the Fleet. I have spoken in vague terms with both Judit and Tad, and they are in agreement. Petia will most likely replace me as First Lord. As you’ve reminded me countless times, the Great War is over. I got to be the lucky bastard who was in office, so I’ll get the credit for being a genius, but the three of you are about to start a new Great War. I just don’t have the energy to pursue it, certainly not if you’re right about it taking decades to complete. No, this is a good place to round it off.”
It was hard to say whose face had grown the palest of the three. Which mouth had fallen the farthest open.
Intellectually, all of them had known this day had to be coming.
Eventually.
Nobody lived forever, except the very Sentiences they were going to be fighting, or the one they had fought so hard to protect, once upon a time.
Nils suddenly felt lighter. As if a great weight had been pressing him down, and now it was gone.
He smiled, looking forward to being that grumpy, ex-Navy Senator on the end of the first row, bitching about kids these days.
Petia was closest to him, both historically and emotionally. The other two had been his prize pupils, but Pet had been a close and dear friend for many years.
She reached out and put a comforting hand on his knee. Jessica and Arott were still in shock.
Good. That meant it was going to catch everyone off-guard, both Fribourg and Buran.
He could promote Kamil to Senior Centurion and leave him with Petia to retain continuity until she figured out how she wanted to run her office. And two of the most dangerous Fleet Centurions in the galaxy would be steaming to the far horizon of the Fribourg Empire at the head of the most formidable fleet in memory.
“Senator Kasum?” Jessica finally managed to get out past a mouth that looked like it had gone dry.
“Eventually,” he said. “I know the trip to St. Legier was supposed to be a vacation for you, in spite of what happened. I need a break. Hopefully nothing so exciting happens to me.”
Nils accepted congratulations and condolences in equal amounts. It wouldn’t be official for a few weeks, but in his mind, he was already gone. The hard part would be keeping the grin off his face.
Let Petia handle things for a while. Nils didn’t see Jessica ever taking his spot at the top, but Arott might, one of these days.
That was as good a legacy as he could imagine.