CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Baronesse Marija Shenoa had known Emperor Andrew for most of his life. She’d started out as his nursemaid, moved from there into the role of guardian and companion, and somehow ended up as one of his most trusted advisors. Along the way she’d seen him happy, sad, frightened, grouchy, and every other mental and emotional state a child, teenager, and young adult could go through.
But sitting a meter to Andrew’s left, close to him but not officially seated at the conference table in SMS Friedrich der Grosse’s flag briefing room, it occurred to her that until today she’d never seen his eyes blazing with such an icy, deadly anger.
Of course, it wasn’t like he was the only one.
“Majestät, this cannot be allowed to stand!” Kanzlerin Wilhelmine Heilbronn, Markgräfin von Schwarzer Flügel, snarled. Her green eyes swept the table, her army uniform in stark contrast with the naval and civilian garb worn by everyone else.
In contrast, but hardly out of place. Schwarzer Flügel had been one of Gustav Anderman’s most reliable army officers since long before he settled down to empire and crown. Along the way she’d been named not only senior ground commander, but also commander of his elite Black Wing assault infantry. Now, well into her seventies, she’d taken on the additional role of kanzlerin, head of the Empire’s government.
Many faced with that mix of age and responsibility would have found themselves softening. Not Schwarzer Flügel. Indeed, as far as Marija could tell, the effect had been to simply wear away the surface layers, leaving nothing but the underlying granite.
“It won’t be, Markgräfin von Schwarzer Flügel,” Andrew replied from the head of table. His tone was milder than his kanzlerin’s and the fire in his eyes not quite so visible. Some at the table, Marija reflected, might even miss that fire completely.
And that would be a mistake.
There were people in the Empire—many people, in fact—who believed Andrew Anderman to be a pale imitation of his father. On one level such a comparison was not only justified but inevitable. Men of Gustav Anderman’s stature were rare, and the shadows they cast over history were long and broad. Expecting anyone to measure up to such a standard was unreasonable, particularly when the person in question was only twenty-three T-years old.
Andrew had graduated from the Interstellare Kriegsakademie barely a year and a half ago and was still, technically at least, a mere leutnant in the Andermani Army. There’d been far too little time for him to build a reputation of his own, far less a reputation that could possibly rival Gustav Anderman’s.
The men and women seated around the conference table knew him better than most, of course. They knew he was a quiet man, and also knew that his relative absence from the public eye hadn’t been merely personality or misanthropy, but also part of Gustav’s strategy of keeping potential assassins looking in a different direction.
Still, even Andrew’s closest advisors and governmental leaders didn’t know him as well as Marija did. And none of the traitors and rebels on Tomlinson knew him at all.
But they would learn. They would positively, absolutely, and painfully learn.
“First of all,” Andrew continued, shifting his gaze to Admiral Basaltberg, “I want to offer my thanks and special commendation to you and Fregattenkapitänin Deutschmann. Without your quick thinking and perseverance we would have sailed directly into the rebels’ ambush. As my father always said, knowledge of your enemy is what allows you to deal with him effectively. Now, thanks to you, we have the beginnings of that knowledge.”
“I’m only happy we were able to alert you, Eure Majestät,” Basaltberg replied, bowing his head.
But while his voice was confident, Marija could see the quiet caution in his eyes. This was Andrew’s first real challenge, and even a man who’d been as close to Gustav as Basaltberg had been wasn’t at all sure how the young Emperor would respond.
“What I don’t understand is what insanity could have possessed Kapitänin der Sterne Hansen,” Außenminister Yuèguìshù Shān said, looking at Schwarzer Flügel as if expecting the kanzlerin to magically have the answer. Marija had seen that from Shān before, and her best guess was that it was a cultural thing. Thirty years younger than Schwarzer Flügel and steeped in the traditions of Potsdam’s original colonists, Shān perhaps naturally expected her elders to carry an extra depth of knowledge and wisdom. “She was one of Seine Majestät’s most trusted officers.”
“I would give a great deal to know the answer to that question,” Admiral der Flotte Hoher Berg said heavily. The senior uniformed officer of the Imperial Andermani Navy shook his head slowly, his eyes sad. “I’ve known her all her life and cannot conceive of anything that could have driven her to mutiny and treason.”
“Treason is always most painful when it comes from those closest to you,” Andrew said. His voice and eyes were dark, and Marija winced at the event she knew he was drawing from his memory. He’d had first-hand knowledge of that truth when he was barely five years old.
“Indeed, Eure Majestät,” Basaltberg said, his eyes still steady on the Emperor’s face. “And as soon as we can return with a sufficient force, I will personally see to it that she pays the price.”
“Return?” Andrew asked, the calmness in his voice gaining an undertone of challenge, his cold blue eyes taking on an extra layer of ice. “There’s no reason for anyone to return, Admiral. We have sufficient firepower at hand to accomplish that task. Moreover, I think it would please my father if he knew he would be present when it was done.”
“Majestät, I can’t recommend anything that risky,” Schwarzer Flügel spoke up.
“Are you implying such a mission is beyond my capabilities?” Andrew countered. “Or are you suggesting that I wait on Potsdam while officers and spacers of the Empire put their own lives at risk?” He shook his head firmly. “No. My father didn’t hide behind others’ lives. Neither will I.”
“Eure Majestät, it’s true your father risked his life leading his ships and his people in battle,” Basaltberg pointed out. “But only before he became Kaiser. Once he assumed the crown, he recognized he could no longer do that. And he didn’t.”
“Oh?” Andrew cocked his head. “What about the crushing of resistance at Babel?”
“That was a special case,” Basaltberg replied. “Victory was absolutely critical, and we had no sound fallback if we’d lost that battle.”
“This is a special case,” Andrew pointed out. “This is the first time the commander of a capital ship of the Imperial Andermani Navy has committed mutiny and treason. Hundreds of men and women have already been killed. Men and women of my Navy, who died loyal to their oaths and their duty. I will see those men and women avenged, Admiral.”
“And so they shall be, Majestät,” Schwarzer Flügel replied. “But that’s not the chief concern here. The crucial point is that you have no heir. The succession, should something happen to you, is not at all clear.”
Marija blinked. With all the talk of treason and retribution, that aspect of the situation hadn’t even occurred to her. Judging from the expressions of the others around the table, it hadn’t occurred to anyone else, either.
“After your marriage, after you and your Kaiserin have produced an heir,” Schwarzer Flügel continued into the slightly awkward silence, “then you will have the right to risk your life should you decide a situation demands it. But not before, no matter how grave the cause or critical the battle.”
“I must agree with Markgräfin von Schwarzer Flügel,” Berg said. “We simply can’t permit you to risk your life at this moment.”
“I don’t think anyone aboard this ship has the authority to tell me what I am or am not permitted to do,” Andrew said, his voice stiff.
“Perhaps not the authority, Majestät,” Schwarzer Flügel said. “But we do have a moral responsibility. As members of the Imperial Council, we are required to give you our very best counsel, even if that angers you. Even if your anger is justified. No one in this compartment doubts your courage, determination, or judgment. But it’s our duty, before God and the Empire, to protect the succession and the stability of the Empire your father spent so much of his life creating.”
Andrew sent a questioning look at Marija, inviting her to either speak in his support or else add her own weight of words to the stack that had already been delivered. But she remained silent. Her role here was completely unofficial, and taking a side would be seen by many of them as interference in matters beyond her authority or concern.
Besides, she’d seen Andrew face down his father on many occasions, standing his ground and presenting his case with logic and forethought. She had no doubt he could do it here, too.
“You speak as if I’m motivated by impatience or anger,” Andrew said. “That is not the case. I wish to mount an attack because, tactically, this is the best moment to do so. Admiral Basaltberg, remind us again of the rebels’ strength.”
“We’ve observed—” Basaltberg stressed the verb ever so slightly “—only Preussen, a battlecruiser, one heavy cruiser, and three destroyers.”
“And your forces combined with our own?”
“We can field a battleship, two battlecruisers, two frigates, and three destroyers.”
“So we hold a marked advantage?”
“So it would appear, Eure Majestät,” Basaltberg said reluctantly. “But it’s possible there are forces in-system we haven’t yet seen.”
“Possible, but unlikely,” Andrew said. “On top of that is the strong possibility that Preussen suffered at least some damage during the mutiny. That damage may or may not have been repaired, but Kapitänin der Sterne Hansen’s chain of command must also have been damaged. I think therefore we can assume Preussen will be at less than peak efficiency.”
“That depends on how organized the rebels were, and how prepared they were to move in,” Berg pointed out.
“Perhaps,” Andrew conceded. “But no matter how prepared they think they are, I’ll put Friedrich der Grosse up against any other warship in space. Moreover, I think it highly unlikely the battlecruiser you observed is as powerful or as effective as our own. They must be mercenaries hired by the rebels, and no matter how competent they are they can’t be as smoothly integrated with Preussen as our own ships are with one another. All of that taken together means we have a significant edge in combat power.”
He paused, looking around the table as if daring the assemblage to correct his logic. But no one spoke. It would probably take him a while, Marija knew, to realize that now that he was Emperor he could talk as long as he wanted, make any and all points that occurred to him, and that people would patiently and silently wait to hear him out.
“More to the point, the longer this situation is allowed to fester, the more risk it poses to the Empire’s stability,” he continued. “As has been pointed out, I have no heir and am newly come to the throne. If Kapitänin der Sterne Hansen and the Tomlinson rebels aren’t crushed quickly and decisively, their example may spread. Someone else may decide to challenge the Empire if I appear weak in the face of her treason.
“And finally, you’re correct that there may be ships lurking in the system of which we’re unaware. But by the same token, we have no way of knowing there aren’t additional forces en route. Unlikely, perhaps, but no less unlikely than one of our own battleships mutinying, or the Freets acquiring the support to hire even a single battlecruiser to back their rebellion. The point is that here, at this moment, we have parity in firepower and superiority in unit quality. That may not be true if we don’t strike now.”
Furtively, Marija looked around the table. It was a good argument, with good reasoning behind it. But the lack of an heir was an all-but-immovable object lying across the young Emperor’s proposed path, and from the expressions she could see everyone else knew it, too.
So how would any of them talk Andrew out of doing one right thing in order to do a different, even more important right thing?
At the far side of the table, Kapitänin der Sterne Yasmin Sternberger cleared her throat. Up to now Friedrich der Grosse’s commanding officer had stayed out of the discussion, deferring to those of Andrew’s advisers with more years and experience. She was young, less than forty-five T-years old, and Marija remembered a small wave of surprise through the civilian and military establishment when Gustav personally nominated her to be Friedrich der Grosse’s flag captain. But the Emperor had always had an eye for talent, and didn’t much care what people thought.
“Forgive me, Eure Majestät,” she said, almost diffidently. “But I’m afraid this discussion is pointless. I’m Friedrich der Grosse’s captain, and as such will not expose you to danger.”
A ripple of slightly discomfited surprise whispered around the table. “Excuse me?” Andrew said, his eyes narrowing.
“Majestät, there are well over two centuries of military experience in this compartment,” Sternberger said. Her voice was still deferential, but Marija could sense the steel beneath it. “The reason those centuries are disagreeing with you is that even if everything you’ve said is absolutely accurate, it’s also absolutely guaranteed that we will take damage in any engagement against a force so close to equal with our own. No one can predict how severe that damage will be, or where it will fall. Remember that Bayern was destroyed in this same star system twenty T-years ago, and damage far less severe than it absorbed could nevertheless get deep enough to kill you. Whether you accept it or not, whether you like it or not, you, Majestät, are truly indispensable.”
“No man is truly indispensable,” Andrew countered. “And be aware that disobeying an order in the face of the enemy is grounds for court-martial and execution.”
But to Marija’s ears, a hint of uncertainty had crept into his voice and manner. Maybe he was finally starting to realize that there was more at stake here than just him.
“That will be your decision, Majestät,” Sternberger said. “But whatever the consequences, I will not take Friedrich der Grosse into action so long as you are aboard.”
Marija felt a sudden flicker of inspiration. “You and Fräulein Liang,” she murmured, just loudly enough for Andrew to hear.
He sent another look in her direction, this one with a hint of surprise attached. As he’d momentarily forgotten about an heir, he’d apparently also forgotten that his fiancée was aboard.
And maybe—just maybe—that reminder would tip the balance.
He and Liang Ying Yue had met in Andrew’s first year at the Kriegsakademie. Her family was far removed from the Adelsstand, but she’d won an appointment to the Academy on the basis of sheer brilliance. Marija had watched as the acquaintance grew into a friendship, and finally blossomed into something greater.
More than one voice had commented disapprovingly on her lack of noble connections when the Crown Prince’s name was first linked with hers. But while Andrew and his father had not always seen eye-to-eye, Gustav had unflinchingly backed his son on this one.
Marija just wished she knew whether Gustav had supported him as his father, recognizing his right to marry someone he actually loved, or as his Emperor, a monarch aware of the need to cement his dynasty’s connection to New Berlin’s original colonists.
“The Kapitänin der Sterne makes a good point, Majestät,” Schwarzer Flügel said. “Another option would be for you and Fräulein Liang to transfer to the Manticoran diplomatic vessel, either to be safely escorted to Potsdam or to await the battle results here at the Tomlinson hyper limit.”
“The Manticorans have already offered their services,” Basaltberg added, “and I can vouch for their trustworthiness.”
Andrew’s lip twitched, and it wasn’t hard for Marija to read his thoughts. The Manticoran courier Diactoros could easily carry the Emperor and his fiancée. But there were numerous other civilians in his father’s cortège, including Schwarzer Flügel herself, and it was unlikely that even a tenth of them could be similarly accommodated.
Andrew and Ying Yue might be sent to safety. But they would leave behind scores of other civilians to face the danger their Emperor had fled.
Across the table, Berg stirred. “Whether you choose that option or not, Eure Majestät,” the senior naval officer said, “I must inform you that Kapitänin der Sterne Sternberger won’t be the only one you may have to have shot. There isn’t a single officer in this compartment, or anywhere in Friedrich der Grosse’s chain of command, who would disagree with her decision or reach any other. I respect your logic, and I respect your courage. But I will not risk your life.”
For a long moment the two of them locked eyes. Then, deliberately, Andrew pushed back his chair and stood up.
“Don’t think this will be forgotten,” he said in a voice of velvet-covered steel, the kind Marija had often heard him use in those often-strained discussions with his father. “Just because you’re unanimous doesn’t mean you’re right. It certainly doesn’t mean I’m prepared to begin my reign fighting against defiance at a time as critical as this. If you choose to defy me, there will be consequences.”
He glared around the compartment, but every set of eyes met his without flinching. Not happily, not without trepidation, but without flinching. He sent one final, unreadable look at Marija, then gave a short nod. “We’re done here.”
Turning, he strode out of the compartment.
* * *
The hatch leading into Emperor Andrew’s private suite was large, elaborate, and clearly armored. The royal crests to either side were even more elaborate and just as clearly permanently built into the bulkheads. This was an area reserved for the Emperor, whether the Emperor was aboard or not.
Winterfall had seen enough of Diactoros during the voyage from Manticore to know that shipboard space was at a premium. For the Andermani to carve out this much space—and he had no doubt that the compartment behind that hatch was impressively large—meant that their Emperor was of the absolute highest priority to them.
And here he, Travis, Lisa, and Captain Marcello were about to intrude on that space and that Emperor. All at the worst possible time.
What in the world were they doing here?
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Following Basaltberg and Zhong Kui to Tomlinson to meet the funeral cortège would put the Manticore delegation in position to be available for meetings with the new Emperor whenever he decided he wanted to take a moment from his other responsibilities. Until that moment Winterfall and the others would hang back, join in the grieving to whatever extent their hosts permitted, and just be available.
He’d had no way of knowing they would instead land themselves in the middle of a full-fledged military and political crisis.
And so now here they were, heading back to New Berlin with the Andermani fleet where they would…what?
Because, really, what would they do there? Emperor Andrew undoubtedly had a million things to do, both before and after he assembled whatever fleet he was planning to send to devastate the Tomlinson rebels. Would he really have time to spare for representatives from a small, backwater nation?
But what else could Winterfall have done? Offered to stay in the Tomlinson System and keep an eye on the rebels? Ridiculous, especially since Admiral Basaltberg had already detached two frigates for that job, and had also sent messages to Nimbalkar recalling several more. Offered to take messages to warn other Andermani systems of the trouble? Equally ridiculous, plus Basaltberg had sent ships to do that, too.
Offered to simply leave and go home?
He eyed the two black-clad soldiers flanking the door. Not just ridiculous, but potentially highly dangerous. Even if the Andermani didn’t take it as an insult, Queen Elizabeth would be furious if they returned to Manticore without even some preliminary meetings under their belts.
Behind the two soldiers, the hatch snicked open and a middle-aged woman stepped into the opening. “Wilkommen, meine Freunde,” she greeted them. “I am Baronesse Marija Shenoa, advisor to Seine Majestät Emperor Andrew Anderman. The Emperor will see you now.” She took a step back out of the hatchway and beckoned.
“Danke,” Winterfall said. Taking a deep breath, he headed inside.
The compartment beyond was somehow exactly what Winterfall had expected, yet at the same time somehow entirely different. It had all the size and grandeur he’d imagined, but was styled to be less of a throne room and more of a formal greeting lounge. Emperor Andrew sat in a tall-backed chair at the far end, flanked by two more soldiers, while four other slightly less elaborate chairs were set out in pairs between him and the hatch. Behind him were two other hatches, unmarked, probably leading to the Emperor’s private compartments.
Baronesse Shenoa took them a couple of steps into the compartment and then took a step to her right and motioned them to stop. “Eure Majestät, allow me to present the chief representatives of the Star Kingdom of Manticore,” she said, bowing to the young man. “Gavin Vellacott, Baron Winterfall, Foreign Secretary to Queen Elizabeth. Captain Hari Marcello and Commander Lisa Donnelly Long, commander and executive officer of HMS Damocles. Lieutenant Commander Travis Long, former tactical officer of HMS Casey. May I present Andrew Gustav Gotthold Boyer-Laird Anderman, Freiherr von Wolfenbüttel and Emperor of the Andermani Empire.”
“Wilkommen,” Andrew said gravely as they all bowed to him the way Basaltberg had coached them. “Your names and accomplishments are well known to me. The Andermani Empire stands in your debt.” He waved at the chairs. “Please, be seated.”
“Danke, Majestät,” Winterfall said, taking the right-hand seat closest to Andrew. Travis sat beside him, leaving the two left-hand seats for Marcello and Lisa. Baronesse Shenoa, meanwhile, crossed to the side of the room where a wheeled cart holding beverages and small cakes was waiting.
“May I begin by expressing our deepest condolences, and those of Queen Elizabeth, for the loss of your father, Emperor Gustav,” Winterfall continued as he eased himself into the chair, noting peripherally how much space was left around the little group. Apparently, the Emperor could tailor the number of chairs to match the number of invited guests. “We were very much looking forward to meeting the legendary commander and Emperor, the man who rescued the people of Kuan Yin from starvation. In our own small way, we feel the depth of your loss.”
“The Empire and I appreciate that,” Andrew said. A hint of a smile touched his lips. “I especially appreciate your remembrance of what he did for the people of the planet now known as Potsdam. Most of those outside the Empire remember my father only as a great military commander. It would have pleased him to know that some, at least, recognize that he was also a bringer of life.”
“Danke, Majestät,” Winterfall said. “The Star Kingdom has had its own brushes with planetary disaster. Those who reach into despair and bring out life and hope will always hold a place of honor in our thoughts and histories.”
“A wisdom that is, regretfully, all too rare among the peoples of the galaxy,” Andrew said. “May you never lose that perspective.” He gestured toward Baronesse Shenoa as she wheeled the cart into the open space between the Manticorans. “May I offer some refreshment?”
He waited until each of his guests had taken a glass and a cake before choosing one for himself. “Thank you, Marija,” he said, a hint of a smile briefly touching his face as he nodded to her. “You may leave us.”
“Majestät,” she said, nodding back. She gave each of the Manticorans a brief, thoughtful look, then crossed behind Andrew’s chair and disappeared through the right-hand hatch.
“As you know, there are many items currently demanding my attention,” the Emperor said, eyeing each of them with the same measured look Winterfall had just seen from the baronesse. “I realize that your primary purpose in coming here was to continue the talks begun at Manticore regarding the future relationship between the Empire and Star Kingdom, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to participate in such conversations as much as I might like. Certainly not as much as my late father likely intended for himself. However, when we reach Potsdam, my foreign secretary, Außenminister Yuèguìshù Shān, will be available for more formal discussions than the brief conversations you’ve already had.”
“We will be grateful for whatever attention your people can spare us, Majestät,” Winterfall assured him. “We realize that our arrival occurred at the worst possible time, and that it puts additional strain on an already difficult situation.”
“None of which you could have anticipated,” Andrew assured him. “But as I say, that was your purpose. My father’s purpose in inviting you, on the other hand, was to learn more about the two-pronged attack that finally erased the Volsung Mercenaries and their leader from the universe. My military experience is far less than his, but I would be interested in hearing those tales.”
His eyes shifted to Travis. “Perhaps we can begin with you, Commander Long. I’ve read Admiral Basaltberg’s report on the joint attack on the Volsungs’ base, but no two people ever remember history in exactly the same way. I would be grateful if you would relate your memories of those events.”
Winterfall felt his stomach tighten. His brother wasn’t exactly comfortable in high-level political settings, and this was as high as anyone could get in this region of space. Would he be able to pull it off?
“I would be honored, Majestät,” Travis said, inclining his head. “Should I begin with our arrival in the Volsung system?”
“For the moment, at least, I have plenty of time, Commander,” Andrew said. “Let’s start a bit earlier, when your ship first made contact with Hamann and Major Chien-Lu Zhou.”
“Yes, Majestät.” Travis took a deep breath. “We were in the Saginaw system when we were contacted by a man who called himself Charles Kane…”
* * *
Winterfall had spent a great deal of time on the voyage from Manticore poring over the RMN’s reports on those two engagements. But as he listened to Travis, and then to Marcello and Lisa, he found himself continually surprised by how much more detail there was to a battle than ever made its way into the official accounts.
Nothing factual had been left out of the reports, of course. But now he was getting the additional layers of sensation, emotion, anticipation, chagrin, and sometimes even gallows humor that turned a simple rendition into a vivid tapestry.
He was also struck at how strongly and permanently those facts and emotions were etched into their participants’ memories. It had been over a year since the Manticorans had fought against the Volsungs, but all three of them spoke as if the battles had been yesterday.
War sometimes changes people. Winterfall had heard that adage bandied about most of his adult life, and he’d always believed it. Now, he realized it was wrong.
The word wasn’t sometimes. It was always.
By the time they were finished, the group had talked for over an hour. Andrew had mostly listened in silence, occasionally asking a question or requesting clarification of some point. Winterfall had watched him closely the whole time, alert for the subtle signs that he was getting tired of the topic or merely becoming bored with his guests. But as far as he could see, the young Emperor was fully invested in the twin sagas.
“Most instructive,” Andrew said when it was finally over. “I must admit that hearing personal recollections is considerably different from reading official battle reports. One final matter we need to discuss before the shuttles return you to your ships.”
For a moment he was silent, again eyeing each of them in turn. “I’ve been told that you, Baron Winterfall, have offered any and all assistance the Star Kingdom of Manticore can provide to the Andermani Empire.”
“That is true, Majestät,” Winterfall confirmed.
“And do the rest of you also hold to that promise?” Andrew asked, looking at Travis, Lisa, and Marcello.
“Absolutely, Majestät,” Marcello said for all of them.
“No matter the possible danger involved?”
Winterfall felt his lip twitch. Could he really make a promise like that?
Marcello didn’t even hesitate. “Yes, Majestät,” he said firmly.
“Thank you,” Andrew said. “As you’re no doubt aware, the interstellar repercussions of what will soon happen at Tomlinson could be deep and wide-ranging. I would like to ask Commander Donnelly Long and Lieutenant Commander Long to help me minimize those repercussions.
“Here is what I wish for them to do…”
* * *
Llyn was in his cabin aboard Quint’s flagship Retribution, making sure everyone else aboard the battlecruiser knew he was there, when he got the message to meet Quint in her office.
“You definitely put in a full day’s work today,” Llyn commented when he was seated across the desk from her and the hatch was closed behind him. “How is Hansen doing? Has she gotten over Basaltberg’s escape yet?”
“Oh, she was over Basaltberg an hour after he hit hyper,” Quint said, dismissing the question with a casual wave. “Today was mostly about what Andrew might send, and how we would want to reposition our ships in response.”
“Does that mean she’s over Jachmann, too?” Llyn asked.
“That one, maybe not so much,” Quint conceded, pulling a bottle of brandy and two glasses from her desk’s side drawer. “She really hoped he would join her in this. Though I’m not sure she ever really expected him to.”
“Well, unreasonable expectations are still expectations,” Llyn pointed out. “I trust that’s not going to mess up your strategy too badly?”
“Not at all,” Quint assured him as she poured a small amount into each glass. “It just would have been easier with Jachmann. Did Amos get back, by the way?”
“Get back from where?”
“He went over to Preussen with me this morning,” Quint said, handing one of the glasses to Llyn. “He said he had a line on trading some spices to one of the cooks for some Cornish game hens.”
“He didn’t return with you?”
She shook her head. “He said it might take some extensive bargaining and that he’d come back with the XO when he was finished with his tactics discussions.”
“Ah,” Llyn said, frowning as if trying to chase down a vague memory. “I’m pretty sure I heard that Commander Grimling was back. If he’s here, I’m sure Amos is, too.”
“Probably preparing dinner,” Quint said. She reached for the intercom—
Llyn winced. Except that Amos might not be in the commodore’s private galley yet. He might still be cleaning up from— “If you’re going to call him, just make sure he knows it wasn’t my idea,” he said. “The last time I interrupted him while he was cooking he nearly took my head off.”
“You’re speaking figuratively, I presume?”
“Oh, yes, definitely,” Llyn assured her. “Though he was holding a knife at the time.”
“He does enjoy those antique Wootz knives, doesn’t he?” Quint said dryly, drawing her hand back from the intercom switch and instead picking up her glass. “Well, the artistic ego is a sensitive thing. I suppose we can just wait to see what he’s planned for dinner.”
* * *
Dinner that evening, to Llyn’s complete lack of surprise, was Cornish game hens.
“Whatever you traded for these, you got the best part of the deal,” Quint commented as Amos began clearing away the plates and flatware. “How many did you get?”
“We have four more, Commodore,” Amos said. “I wanted to offer you at least three meals.”
“Very good.” Quint looked across the table at Llyn. “My natural inclination would be to spread them out so as to savor the treat. But with the Andermani return only a couple of weeks away…?”
“We should probably compress the savoring a bit,” Llyn agreed.
“As you wish, Commodore,” Amos said. “Just let me know when you wish the next pair.”
“I will.” Quint set aside her napkin and stood up. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my evening inspection.”
“I’ll wait until you’re back,” Llyn said. “We can have one final nightcap before we turn in.”
“Sounds good,” she said. “I’ll see you in a bit.” Smiling at both men, she left the compartment.
Llyn waited another ten seconds, just to make sure she was truly gone. “Well?” he asked.
“I got in,” Amos said. “And you’re not going to believe this. Seems Hansen claims she’s Gustav’s illegitimate daughter.”
“Does she, now,” Llyn murmured. So that was the claim she’d mentioned to Jachmann. And, apparently, to everyone else except Llyn himself. “And, what, Gustav tossed her down the back steps?”
“Jachmann’s not sure,” Amos said. “He knew the Emperor pretty well, and said that doesn’t sound like him. More likely he never knew about her. Either way, he got married shortly after that, and Hansen’s mother decided not to tell her daughter about her heritage. The point is that, since she predates Andrew by over a decade, she thinks she has a legitimate claim to the Andermani throne.”
“And merrily into the firepit we go,” Llyn said, scowling. Talk about destabilizing the Andermani Empire and this entire region of space. “So if her mother didn’t tell her, how did she find out?”
“That’s the interesting part,” Amos said. “There was a coup attempt eighteen years ago that got squashed.”
“I know,” Llyn said. “Our late friend Gensonne was the only one who got out alive.”
“The only one we thought got out alive,” Amos corrected. “It seems that one of the top people in the conspiracy—or possibly there are two of them; Jachmann was a little vague on that—was able to keep his name out of it and skated on the whole purge thing. He read the Tomlinson rumblings correctly, figured their insurrection needed a boost, and told Hansen about her father, with DNA matches to prove it. He also told her Gustav knew all along, of course.”
“Of course. So now she wants revenge and figures the Empire can toss in the throne as extra compensation for her inconvenience?”
“More or less,” Amos said. “Whether her benefactor will really push to get her the throne, or whether he’ll play her just until he can put some plan of his own in motion is another question.”
Llyn sipped at his glass. An insurrection that ground to a deadlock and legal battle would have been messy. Hansen had lucked out with the timing of Gustav’s death, especially with the possibility that the Empire’s official heir would fly straight into her arms.
But Basaltberg’s arrival and subsequent escape had quashed that chance. Now, things were back to being messy.
“I presume no one saw you get into Jachmann’s quarters?” he asked.
Amos shook his head. “The guards are alive and well and won’t remember a thing.”
“And Jachmann?”
“He’s long past memories of any sort.”
Llyn suppressed a grimace. It had to be done, he knew—they could hardly have Jachmann telling anyone he’d spilled the truth to Commodore Quint’s personal steward. And Llyn had long since lost any squeamishness about killings.
It was just that Amos seemed way too satisfied with what he’d done.
“I hope you made it look like suicide,” he warned. “There’s going to be enough fallout over this between Hansen and her Tomlinson allies as it is.”
“She’ll get it smoothed out,” Amos said with a shrug. “The Freets can hardly kick her out and take over themselves. Not with Quint—and you—standing by to pull the plug if they try it.”
“True,” Llyn said. Unfortunately, the chaos Axelrod wanted here still required someone with Hansen’s position and reputation to be driving it. “I’ll keep an eye on things.”
“I’m sure you will,” Amos said. “And yes, of course it looked like suicide.” He paused, a thoughtful look in his eye. “Pity we’re here instead of in New Berlin. If Hansen’s contact there is planning something for Andrew—” He smiled. “I do so enjoy watching professionals at work.”
“Yes,” Llyn said, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. “I’m sure you do.”