Queen of the Pirates (31 page)

Ξ

Tomas pressed the stop button and pocketed the projector. Yeoman Kermode was an amazing talent. And she understood the locals in a way that nobody not born here could.

The governor sat across from them and visibly ground his teeth in anger. “There is no way in hell,
Aquitaine
,” he snarled, “that I will let you broadcast that over the planetary net.”

Tomas smiled serenely. “You don’t have to, Governor,” he said. “We transmitted it to some friends over at the university’s Journalism department when we first asked for this meeting.”

He checked his mechanical wrist watch with a flourish.

“Had it not taken three hours for you to agree to meet with us,” Tomas continued, “you probably would have had time to stop them. I suspect it’s a little too late now.”

As if on cue, an aide knocked at the door, opened it, and entered.

“Governor,” she said, taking a moment to check the two strangers out, “the comm system has gone completely nuts. People are calling in from all over. From the sounds of it, we’re talking pitchforks and torches angry.”

Governor Wapasha nodded and waved her out of the room silently.

“I don’t have a choice here, do I?” he asked.

“You have a number of options, Governor,” Tomas smiled ruthlessly. “The one that probably leaves you in the best position would be to send the former
RAN
vessels
CR–255
and
CR–219
with us to
Petron
.”

“And if you fail there, boy?” the man asked harshly. “You’ll have cost me a significant amount of my defensive forces for
Lincolnshire
.
Winnipeg
and
Admiral Matsushita
are what keep
Ramsey
safe from those pirates.”

“Governor,” Robbie said, leaning forward to lend a quiet gravity to his words, “if something happens to those two vessels, it will be because they’ve already gone through me and
Brightoak
to get there. And I promise you I intend to make that a very expensive bargain for those fine folks at
Petron
.”

“And if they overwhelm you,
Aquitaine
?”

“A great many of them will have to die trying first,
Lincolnshire
. The survivors won’t be bothering anyone for a while.”

Chapter XL

Date of the Republic March 1, 394 Bunala

Emmerich Wachturm looked down at his notebook with satisfaction as he closed it. He hadn’t really expected it, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t take advantage of the situation. Although he supposed that the wyrm could still turn at any time.

And he wasn’t about to trust his innermost thoughts to a computer controlled by
her
, but she had been happy to provide him with simply–made paper notebooks and a stylus. It was almost like being home.

In a nearby courier pouch, two other notebooks had already been filled, carefully encoded in such a way that only a handful of people, most of them blood relatives, could easily decipher them.

His papers were secure. He was generally allowed to tour this ship, if not one of the motherships, with one of Keller’s officers as a minder and tour guide. The regular dinners with Keller, Arnulf, Jing Du, and others. Even the big state dinners at every tour stop.

Better still, Keller had recognized all the diplomatic niceties, treating him with all the honors and care of an Imperial ambassador, even if he was just a Neutral with a story that smelled like four–day–old herring.

He smiled at the thought. Once upon a time, he would have expected so much more from Command Centurion Jessica Keller. At least he could report home with authority on that front.

Obviously, the conspiracy had had to become more circumspect, of design. It had been a master stroke, the work of Arnulf’s First Wife to grab all the chess pieces and hide the board.

The shame, the amateur mistake, lay in letting the main players continue to talk, even here in semi–exile, and to schedule the return to
Petron
with so much fanfare. But, what could one reasonably expect from females? Obviously,
Fribourg
was right, in that aspect. Wonderful Amazons, granted, but substandard spies.

Emmerich looked forward to returning home. He had always hoped that his youngest daughter, Heike, would grow up into a reasonable facsimile of Jessica Keller. Now he needed to tell her to aim higher and achieve true success.

His one great fear was dying out here, for no useful cause. Getting caught in the revolution, when Arnulf was deposed, and being trapped aboard
Auberon
at a point when Ian Zhao ordered the vessel to depart and she chose to fight instead.

Dying was one thing. Dying stupidly was something else.

That woman was a natural warrior, not a diplomat. She would fight. And be utterly destroyed by a wall of fighters descending on her like locusts. Hopefully, he could get Ian Zhao, in a first act as king, to demand his release. Certainly,
Fribourg
would have enough firepower close by to lend credence to such a thing.

Still, it had been a useful sojourn. Five months, so far, aboard Jessica Keller’s flagship. Certainly, her crew held her in awe, but his star was even greater in that pantheon.
Auberon
was an absolute case study in the use of chance in campaigns. Perhaps he should write another book on tactics. What was it the ancient general had once said? “I would rather be lucky than good.”

Jessica Keller had been lucky. Amazingly lucky.

That luck was just about to run out.

Chapter XLI

Date of the Republic March 1, 394 Bunala

A chime at the hatch interrupted Daneel’s thoughts. Not that they had been anything useful, or focused, or whatever.

Thinking about her. The feel of her hand on his arm. The sound of her voice. Her smile.

Daneel sighed and set his mind to useful tasks. Whatever those might be.

He set the book on
Aquitaine
history back on his nightstand and rose from his rack. He could have opened the door by voice command, but this was a good excuse to stand and stretch. He had been doing too much reading lately.

Learning. Expanding.

Becoming
.

He shook his head with a rueful smile and opened the door.

She
stood there.

“Am I intruding?” she asked.

Apprehensive. Unsure.

Nervous.

Her?

“Not at all,” Daneel replied, somewhat taken aback. “Please, come in.”

He stepped back. The cabin was huge by the standards of his old 4–ring mothership,
Sunset
. Nearly twice as long, and three times as wide as his captain’s cabin. And this was just for middling–importance guests.

It suddenly felt tiny.

She did that to a room.

There was one chair, so he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Sit, Commander,” he said, gesturing to that chair, equally unsure himself.

She moved to the chair and poised on the edge of it.

Daneel realized that Jessica was out of uniform, possibly for the first time since he had met her. Tonight, she wore a dark blue tunic, long over dark gray slacks, rather than the forest–green uniform of the Republic. Her brown hair was just long enough to be pulled back into a tail. He could detect no makeup, but she didn’t need it.

Something was wrong with the chair. Or perhaps, she just had the fidgets. He felt the same way.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Wordless.

“Commander?” he said quietly.

“Please, Daneel,” she replied. “Call me Jessica.”

“Jessica.”

Daneel had finally read enough about
Aquitaine
culture to understand what that level of
personal
meant, at least between a man and a woman.

He felt hope flicker. Embers in the darkness.

“Daneel, I…”

Her words trailed off. Knowing her, there had probably been a speech prepared. Really knowing her, probably three.

He realized suddenly that she was no better at this sort of thing than he was.

The fear in her eyes made him nervous.

Daneel took a deep breath and leapt into space.

He mutely held out his hand to her.

She grasped it like an escape pod off a flaming wreck.

Her hands were warm, moist.

His were suddenly blocks of ice.

“Watching the stars over
Callumnia
,” she said finally, quietly shattering the silence that had engulfed them, “I thought about kissing you. Or slapping you.”

Daneel held his breath, fidgets suddenly frozen solid in his chest.

“There had been too many casual proposals of marriage,” she continued, “from a group of worthless men–children with no understanding of manners, or courtship. Or even style. Just words. And braggadocio.”

She studied him for a moment. Apparently, she found what she sought.

“When I visited your hospital bed on
Petron
, you asked me if that would be so bad. You have no idea how angry that made me.”

“You’re right, Jessica,” he said quietly. “I didn’t. Then. That was before…”

Again. Before.

He had a feeling the entire rest of his life was going to be measured in Before and After.

“And I told you, in my anger,” she picked up the narrative, “that if you were serious, you would do it the
Aquitaine
way.”

He nodded, unwilling to speak. Her anger had been nearly solid that day.

He could still taste it.

Without looking down, Jessica put her other hand down on the cover of
The Modern History of the Republic
, by Voisson, sitting on his nightstand.

“And you did,” she concluded, eyes locked with him.

Daneel nodded again.

“I have to know. Why?” she said.

Daneel took a deep breath. Like her, he had prepared speeches for this moment, hoping it would come, afraid it never would.

None of them worked. Not here. Not now. Not with this woman sitting here, as vulnerable as he ever imagined she might be. More.

Daneel felt his eyes wander to horizon, looking for that word, that perfect turn of phrase, that thing that would convey it to her.

To Jessica Keller.

“If I told you,” he said finally, eyes coming back to hers, pain evident on both sides, “that every other woman I have ever known, including the two I had been married to, should be rendered in black and white, and you in color, that might begin to explain it. Perhaps.”

Daneel fought for the words.

Him, the glib dancer never at a loss.

She did that to him.

“That no woman has ever made me want to become something better than I was,” he continued. “That losing you, even if I never had you, would be the single greatest regret I could ever imagine having to live with.”

Daneel squeezed her hand.

She squeezed back.

“That…”

He got no further with his thought before she stopped him.

“Shhh.”

She tugged at his hand.

Daneel slid forward.

He started to rise as she did, but she pushed gently on his chest with both of her hands, holding him in place.

She stood before him.

Close enough to kiss. Almost.

Daneel found her face just a touch above his own.

She smiled down at him.

He could see a tear welling in one corner.

Nothing could have shocked him more. Absolutely nothing.

Her? Jessica Keller? Human?

He raised one hand to catch the tear before it fell.

Instead, she caught his hand and held it to her face as she closed her eyes.

She was warm to the touch. Soft. Feminine in ways you could not see. Only feel.

Cautiously, Daneel let his other hand find her side, her hip, her back.

Muscles. Hard and taut. Female, but not girly.

Powerful. Dominant. Commanding.

He felt her begin to relax under his touch.

How long they stood there, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

He had this. Now.

Even if he got nothing else, ever.

He had gotten this much.

Jessica opened her eyes after a bit.

Her eyes had turned to bright emeralds.

He felt a hand close on the cloth of his shirt, pulling him closer.

She was always so much stronger than he expected. But he always expected a woman of
Corynthe
. Not Jessica Keller. Not a force to be survived, rather than a woman to be overwhelmed.

She kissed him.

They had crossed into that place where
Aquitaine
demanded that he let her lead. So unlike
Corynthe
.

Her other hand came up around his neck, holding him close enough that he could feel her heart pounding, almost as fast as his. Almost as loud.

She broke the kiss finally.

Eternity might have passed. It was hard to tell.

Daneel didn’t really care.

Jessica Keller had a twinkle in her eyes as she leaned back slightly, still within the circle of his arms. He within hers.

“Am I intruding,
Warlock
? I happen to be off–duty, tonight.” she whispered with an evil grin.

“Well,” he replied, catching the wild energy in her body and drawing into his hands, “Voisson had just gotten to an especially interesting bit on modern mating rituals. I really should probably finish it. You know, research. Just in case.”

She did something like a hop and was suddenly straddling him, seated in his lap with her legs wrapped about his back, arms still where they had been.

Had he ever met a woman that strong? That coordinated? Hell, that capable?

“Yes,” she whispered, suddenly leaning close and kissing him on the neck, “you probably should. Never know when that sort of thing might be life and death.”

Daneel stood, holding her in place as he did so and kissing her back. He turned sideways to the bed, put an arm down, and laid her down on her back underneath him, never breaking contact, just as she never let go with her legs.