It would be an ending, though only three of the people in front of him knew it.
Nils stared out at the faces in front of him from the small riser and podium and memorized as many details as he could, aware that he might never see some or perhaps any of them again. Certainly not as their commanding officer… although he was aware-enough of his influence on their lives to know he would always be that, at least in their hearts, even after Petia took charge.
In all endings, beginnings. In all beginnings, endings.
A score or so of Command Centurions in green and black. Two Fleet Centurions. One First Centurion. All three of them in the white uniforms. Three Ritters of the Imperial Household, dressed in the red cloak that was their badge of office.
The future of Aquitaine, or at least the Navy he had served for more than forty years. Guarantors of the Republic.
Protectors.
He would be able to sleep at night, knowing they were guarding the walls.
Nils let the moment stretch.
Jessica knew why, as did Petia and Arott. The others might think him taken of a maudlin turn, and there was some of that. But that was not why he waited.
“I had hoped to promise you a generation of peace,” he finally began in a quiet, somber voice.
This was not the last time he would wear this uniform, nor this particular longcoat, but it would be the last with these people, this team. He and Petia would go home shortly, and there would be one last ceremony, one last mission, to attend.
“After what you did at Thuringwell, the Empire was shaken to its core,” he pointed at Jessica, and then let his gesture encompass much of the rest of the audience, also veterans of what had become the last battle, although none had known it at the time.
“And I asked each of you, privately, if you were done,” Nils continued. “Perhaps ready to enjoy the peace that you had carved out. Nobody took me up on the offer, but that will surprise none of you. I could not list all the people who chose to remain at rank and station in order to stay with their friends. Even the Senate itself recognized that, and altered the rules of promotion and seniority, to keep First Expeditionary intact and then make it up to you later, when you were done.”
Nils took a breath, faltering internally, but unwilling to lay that burden on these people, his other children.
“Yours will not be a generation at peace,” he said. “But we will not necessarily find that a terrible and grave sacrifice. Each of us found a home in the Navy as a way of protecting the weak and innocent from the monsters of this galaxy. You have simply gone beyond Aquitaine and made it your place to protect Fribourg as well. To protect Humanity itself. There will be kind words for you from the man we all still know as the Red Admiral, Emmerich Wachturm. I have no doubt you will meet Karl VII as well. And all of you have now met and worked with Princess Kasimira, Lady Casey, Centurion zu Wiegand.”
All eyes turned to the tall blond standing between Jessica and Pet. He watched her simply nod to the murmured congratulations. Hers was technically a reserve commission for foreign officers, but she had passed every test in the top ten percent. Casey had earned her spot on Jessica’s staff.
Given a full course at the Academy, Nils had no doubts that the woman would have graduated in the top dozen. And she still had the third highest score on Bedrov’s never-to-be-sufficiently-damned Buran Interceptor Course, having taken the lessons of First St. Legier and put them to deadly-efficient use.
“Understand this,” Nils finally let the raw emotion of the moment color his voice. “It has been my singular privilege to be your commander. To watch each and every one of you rise above all challenges and to do so with honor and dignity. So if I cannot go out there into the darkness with you now, rest assured that I will never let the light in that window be extinguished. You will always be able to find a way home. Now, Fleet Centurion Keller, if you would.”
Nils let the tears show in his eyes. He owed these men and women that much. They replied with cheers and applause perhaps inappropriate to a ceremony that was supposed to be a solemn affair. But Jessica’s Merry Men: Kigali, Aeliaes, d’Maine, and many others; had rewritten the book more than once.
Nils Kasum had no doubt they would do so again.
According to that book, he was supposed to stand to one side as Jessica made her remarks, but Nils stepped down into the crowd and let their warmth, both physical and emotional, embrace him. They would learn the terrible news in a year or so, long after he had retired and taken his well-deserved rest. It would be good.
He studied the apparition that had taken hold of everyone’s attention.
Jessica had a reputation as a hard and serious commander. Aggressive. Ruthless. A force of nature utterly unstoppable.
Nils was surprised at the wide grin that filled her face as she took his spot above the mob.
“I have often heard the turn of phrase about good commanders being the kinds of men and women that others would gladly follow into hell itself,” she said in a bright, cheery voice completely different from what Nils had been expecting. No doom, nor gloom. Perhaps discussing the fresh crop of blueberries just picked. “And that may be necessary yet. But I have studied the galactic architecture on the far side of Fribourg. That space where the stars peter out into a darkness light-centuries across, before you enter into Buran. A gulf of stygian darkness intent on swallowing all of our souls. My friends, they cannot have them.”
Nils made a note to inquire later. This sounded like something Moirrey Kermode had dug up from one of her ancient playwrights in rhythm and timber. The fellow who had written that thing about St. Crispin’s Day that he had heard her quote on more than one occasion.
Certainly, the whole audience was up on their toes now. Nils had known it was coming, and still felt the pull.
“We are not going to charge into hell and storm the place, ’though they may think it,” she continued. “Instead, we are going to take the gate itself and bar it from our side, so that none of them may escape us. I know that in normal times, a fleet like this would warrant a grand ceremony. Acceptance Into The Fleet of all these vessels at once should have required three weeks of ceremonies alone. But I asked the First Lord to forebear, even forego, such a thing.”
She paused now, long enough to fix everyone in the room with her stern gaze, from Robbie Aeliaes, probably her oldest friend, to Glenn, her newest Command Centurion. There was fire in that promise. She would be on that front line with them, facing whatever monsters another of The Immortals might bring.
“Comrades, we are on the clock,” she said simply. “Buran is coming for us all. They do not know who we are, where we are, or even that we are coming, and I plan to keep it that way. We will leave as soon as everyone is fully loaded and the last engineer has departed. The fleet will rendezvous deep in Imperial in space, with the Grand Admiral alone, so that not even the Empire knows we are coming, and so nobody’s spies can warn Buran. And then we are going hunting, my friends. Or rather, since all the Buran vessels are apparently classed after Homeworld sharks, we will be going fishing. And Moirrey has forged for me a harpoon of legend.”
Nils watched that smile grow to encompass the whole room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, one last hearty meal for the condemned,” she said. “In the morning, we ride.”