Rebel (2 page)

“No need to go anywhere, Your Grace,” he said.

Vicky raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“The admiral is on his way to pay his respects to you.”

Vicky paused to examine what the commander had just told her.

It was loaded with meaning.

Admirals sent their compliments to junior officers such as lieutenant commanders. Junior officers sent their respects to their seniors. Was Admiral von Mittleburg really on his way to pay his respects to Vicky?

If that was true, Vicky had succeeded in making a Grand Duchess worth a great deal in this dance with life and death.

Princess Kris Longknife had once told Vicky that modern society had little experience in valuing creations such as her, a jumped-up Rim princess, so she was making the best of it. Vicky had been doing much the same of late, trying to determine the value of one Grand Duchess.

Apparently, some people had come to consider her worthwhile. Certainly, Admiral von Mittleburg was treating her as if she had taken on greater value in this slow minuet toward rebellion that they were dancing.

Dancing for their lives and those of so many other desperate people.

Vicky settled into a comfortable chair in her quarters on the Imperial Greenfeld Battleship
Retribution
. During more normal times, they were the in-port cabin of any admiral who might find himself aboard one of the most fearsome battleships of the Imperium.

No admiral being aboard, Vicky had taken them over for herself and her staff.

Captain Etterlin had not objected. Vicky had counted that for a success.

Vicky took a moment to examine what she had to offer Admiral von Mittleburg in the way of hospitality. Against the far bulkhead was a metal desk, rarely used, but painted to make it appear like wood. In front of it was a conference table, also metal, also painted to mimic wood. Vicky, her two miniature assassins, and the commander often sat around it, examining how Vicky might next stick her neck out and maybe get it chopped off.

Vicky chose to settle into the more comfortable overstuffed chair of the conversation group. Across a coffee table that doubled as a computer display was a second armchair for the admiral. Anyone else would have to settle for the two sofas around the table or one of the straight-backed chairs arrayed against the closest bulkhead.

The not-airtight door opened. Everyone jumped to their feet and snapped to attention. The commander opened his mouth to call all present to attention, a superfluous announcement if ever there was one.

“As you were,” Admiral von Mittleburg said to those standing already. “I understand congratulations are in order,” he continued as he marched for the empty seat reserved for him.

“Metzburg has signed a trade agreement with St. Petersburg, Admiral, if that’s what you mean,” Vicky said.

“Signed, sealed, and delivered,” the admiral said, beaming happily, a rare event for a Navy officer of his lofty rank. “They took all the crystal and electronic products you brought, and I’ve already gotten a request to loan out the landing craft tanks from both the
Crocodile
and the
Anaconda
to drop the newly arrived heavy fabs down to St. Petersburg.”

“The mayors of St. Petersburg aren’t going to argue over who gets which of the heavy fabricators?” Vicky asked, surprised that that group of politicians could agree on anything.

“No, it seems you have brought enough back to leave their industrialists sated, for the moment.”

“No doubt that will be temporary,” Vicky said. She’d rarely found either businesspeople or politicians satisfied for very long.

“The battlecruiser
Smiter
just came in from Brunswick with a long wish list and an equally long list of nice things they can offer. Prepare to be waltzed through the streets of St. Petersburg the next time you drop down to the surface.”

Vicky could not restrain a chuckle. “Whereas, a few months ago, they were threatening to shoot me out of the sky if I darkened their doorstep.”

“How times change.”

“I’m glad it’s for the better,” Vicky said.

“At least on St. Petersburg,” the admiral added dryly. The admiral turned to a civilian who had followed him into Vicky’s quarters and taken a chair against the wall with Vicky’s two diminutive assassins. “Mr. Smith, if you will join us, please?”

Mr. Smith, whose actual name was likely something quite different, rose and joined the commander on the sofa, giving Kit and Kat the honor and trust of turning his back on them. Mr. Smith had started out in the service of Kris Longknife, keeping her alive against the law of averages.

In that endeavor, he had managed to save Vicky’s life at least once. When Kris had been hustled off to points unknown, Mr. Smith had offered his services to Vicky to be billed at his usual outrageous hourly rate. He had saved her life enough times to make his pay a bargain.

And to earn himself a shopping spree to Longknife territory.

“Did you manage to buy some of those spidersilk-armored body stockings for me?” Vicky asked.

“Kris Longknife’s Grandmother Trouble was very helpful in that. I got several for you as well as Kit and Kat,” Mr. Smith said, nodding over his shoulder. “I also got a couple of them in my size and two for you, Commander,” he added, now smiling at Commander Boch.

“Thank you,” Vicky said.

The commander seemed rather relieved to have been included, even as an afterthought.

The admiral cleared his throat. “That, however, is not the reason I brought Mr. Smith with me. He has some messages for you.”

“Messages?” Vicky echoed.

“While at Bayern, arranging for your, um, message, to be delivered to your loving stepmother, two messages arrived for you from the palace.”

“Hmm,” Vicky said. “And who were they from?”

“The first was from your father, the Emperor.”

Vicky eyed the admiral. “Have you seen it?”

“Yes,” was voiced in the most neutral manner Vicky had ever heard.

Vicky glanced around her quarters. Only her most loyal assassins were present. “Will you play it for me now?”

The admiral nodded to Mr. Smith and the bulkhead screen in front of Vicky came to life with the Imperial seal. Kit, Kat, and the commander turned with Vicky to watch it. Vicky noted that neither the admiral nor Mr. Smith bothered to turn toward it.

They were watching her watch it.

Her father the Emperor appeared. He was in his courtly dress though at least he was not seated on his gilded throne.

“Daughter,” he began. “We are hearing strange reports about you here at the palace. Very troubling stories. We know they can’t be true. You will always be Daddy’s little girl. Still, what
we
are hearing
is
troubling. We request and require that you immediately convey yourself to our court, here, to answer allegations of a most deplorable nature. You will do this immediately, without delay. Do you hear me, dear?”

The screen held the visage of a most troubled man, whether that of an Emperor or father it was difficult to tell.

“Interesting,” Vicky said. “He makes no mention of my leaving because I was kidnapped and threatened with death.”

“That does appear to have been overlooked,” Mr. Smith said dryly.

Vicky allowed her father’s words to percolate for a few moments, then said, “You mentioned another message?”

The admiral nodded.

The screen again showed the Imperial seal. This time, it was replaced by a very pregnant woman in full rage.

“You little bitch,” the loving stepmom nearly screamed. “So you think you can play in my game? You think you can stop me from taking what is mine?”

She paused, face red, to scowl out of the screen. “Your tits are in a real wringer now, you little bint. I’ll have your guts strung out on the palace lawn and pound your boobs flat with a croquet mallet. You get your stupid ass in here immediately, and I may just let that doting fool of a father let you live. Stay out there one minute longer than it takes to run home, and you’ll not just be dead. You’ll be begging my people to let you die.”

The screen went blank on a truly horrible glare.

“You know,” Vicky said, “if she’s not careful, she’s not going to pop like most pregger women. She’ll just explode.”

“All over the place,” Mr. Smith added. “By the way, the word is that she has delivered the promised baby boy.”

Vicky puzzled over what she’d just watched. “Did that message come in the mail like the other one?” she finally said, eyeing her spy.

Mr. Smith shook his head. “That message was embedded in your father’s message. When the one file was turned over to me, I noticed it seemed too large and had my newly upgraded computer examine it. It stripped out the one from the other.”

“While you were on Bayern?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he answered.

“Did you view it then?”

“Yes, Your Grace. I viewed both messages and shared them with certain former Navy officers that had met with you on a previous occasion. They have a third message for you.”

“Have you seen it, Admiral?”

Admiral von Mittleburg nodded.

“Should I clear the room?” Vicky asked.

“I believe the commander should see it,” the admiral said. “He is
trying
to keep you alive.”

“Then Kit and Kat will stay as well. Mr. Smith, if you will?”

The screen came alive. In place of a seal, it showed the rolling green hills of Bayern with some very lovely horses grazing peacefully. Then the view panned to a retired admiral.

“I understand that a well done is in order, Your Grace. A very well done, if I may say so myself. None of us here expected anything of the high order that you have achieved. It almost makes me believe that you Peterwalds do have some stern stuff in your bones. At least one of you. Please continue to surprise us, and we will do our best to keep up with you and give you what support we can.”

Here he paused, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he began again, his face was stern but loaded with commitment. “When you were last here, we spoke of a certain rag. Matters have gone downhill faster than even our worse fears allowed for. That rag is yours. Feel free to do with it what you may.”

And on that note, the screen went blank.

Vicky leaned back in her chair. She had met the man in the last message only once, during a quick stop at Bayern. They had returned the body of the first officer who died for his error of getting too close to her. She had met with a good score of retired officers and wives. They had debated among themselves whether to kill Vicky, as her stepmother wanted, or return her safe to the palace. It had been a close run thing, but they had agreed to let Vicky live.

All the while, in the background of their discussions had been a rag. Actually a flag. The flag of rebellion. Should it be raised? Should Vicky be used to wave it, and should the Navy back her in that rebellion?

Then, Vicky had been adamant that she was no rebel. Then, the Navy had been sure that, while matters were bad, they weren’t
that
bad. People were not ready to rebel against the Emperor.

A lot had changed since then.

Vicky had returned to the palace and seen for herself why a shadow Navy staff on Bayern made policy for a Navy staff on Greenfeld that was just too close to the palace to keep any secrets. She had barely made it off Greenfeld with her life.

Even distant St. Petersburg hadn’t been far enough away that her stepmother couldn’t hire assassins to do their best to rid the Empress of one troublesome Grand Duchess who stood between her now-born son and the throne.

Vicky let the content of all three messages roll around in her head. She had permission from the Navy to rebel. With her father’s summons so clear, failure to attend to court immediately would be rebellion, plain and simple. Equally, to attend to court was to put herself in her stepmother’s murderous embrace.

“I
must
go to court,” Vicky said softly, and to the consternation of all listening, even Kit and Kat.

“However, I can
not
go to court. That would be my death.”

Those around her settled back into their seats.

“So,” Vicky said, smiling at those around her, “how do I spin out my journey to court for as long as possible? The more time we have to prepare our rebellion, the more likely it is to succeed.”

CHAPTER 2

P
OLICY
established, the Grand Duchess turned to evaluating her options.

“I guess my little message really got to my stepmama.”

“I told you, mademoiselle, zat ze second nipple slip was just too too,” Kat offered slyly.

“You might be right,” Vicky agreed, absently.

“Ah,” Mr. Smith said, delicately clearing his throat, “I didn’t deliver your message.”

Vicky raised her eyebrows in surprise. “My dearest darling stepmom was that far around the bend without a word from me?”

“It may be that your actions spoke louder than words,” the admiral put in.

“Do you think she had time to get the word about us turning around her little invasion fleet at Presov?”

The admiral shrugged. “It is hard to say how fast news travels in these times, but I would strongly suspect that bad news flies to her without delay.”

“Your father was hearing stories about you,” the commander put in. “I doubt if he was reacting to word that you’d been kidnapped and staked out to die of thirst.”

Vicky nodded slowly. “Knowing him as I do, I suspect that
you are too right. Me nearly killed. ‘Oh dear.’ Me with just the hint of rebellion. ‘Damn it, you will answer me immediately.’ Or so it went when I was getting into this cookie jar or that boy’s pants. Now, I suspect it will be worse.”

“No doubt,” the spy agreed.

“So, what are your plans?” the admiral asked.

“We will have to somehow buy me time to stay out of the palace’s loving clutches.”