Last of the Immortals (The Jessica Keller Chronicles Book 3) (18 page)

Today, he had made arrangements with Senator Judit Chavarría, the leader of the Loyal Opposition, for her to enter the arena of battle last.

It would be more fun this way.

Judit was a short, broad, fireplug of a woman, coming barely up to his chin physically, but certainly his equal mentally, if not his better. If some of her ideas weren’t so radical, he would have made a more heroic effort to recruit her to his own party, back when she first entered politics. Still, she was far more entertaining and capable than the poor fool she had replaced after the most recent elections.

He waited patiently as she made her way down the stairs into the bowl of the old Senate chamber. It was standing–room–only today, as it should be, and everything was hushed.

Pregnant with anticipation.

She arrived across the table from him and smiled graciously.

The table as a concept dated back to the homeworld nations. It was a meter tall and made of old lumber, carved richly and stained a dark brown. It was a useful place to pile documents to have at hand for such a day, when you might need to back up any statement you made with facts on paper. Something to wave at clowns on the backbenches when their laughter and derision got out of hand.

It also served to keep the two sides apart. The traditional width was two meters, defined as the reach necessary to keep two buffoons armed with swords from being able to hit each other, unless they cast dignity to the wind and climbed onto the furniture. Presumably, other members of one Front Bench or the other would be at hand to keep someone from playing that great a fool.

It had only happened twice in three and a half centuries.

Tadej let the silence grow restive. He was going to enjoy this.

Nervous rustling greeted him when he finally rose and took his place at the table’s edge. Judit did as well, facing him across the great intellectual gulf of polished wood, metaphorical blades drawn.

“Premier,” she announced in that rich alto voice, echoing off the far walls effortlessly. “I understand that you require the members of the Loyal Opposition to wait attendance upon you this day. To dance merrily to whatever tune strikes your fancy. I ask you, what could be so important that it required me to cancel an appointment to get my nails done?”

Both back benches erupted in laughter. Judit, unlike her many, more–politically–inclined predecessors, had hired a stand–up comedian as a staff writer. It showed. Q & A was certainly livelier. Some days, it was positively fun.

“Senator Chavarría,” he replied, equally tartly, nodding severely as he did so. “Had I known the stakes of the day, I might have taken it upon myself to hold this news until tomorrow. Certainly, it was not my intent to so badly disrupt your social calendar. The matrons of
Ladaux
may never forgive me.”

That elicited another round of laughter. It was dashing fun, having someone to rumble with in such a public manner, and yet be able to meet for dinner with the respective spouses and go to the opera together.

That was how things got done.

Tadej let his face grow serious, the opening barbs successfully exchanged. He reached down and opened a briefcase he had left out of sight on his side of the great, wooden wall. From it, he extracted a binder nearly seven centimeters thick.

It made a rewarding thump when he slammed it down onto the countertop, perhaps a touch harder than was appropriate. But the folks at the back of the room needed to know how serious this had gotten.

Silence rippled outwards like waves. Ominous waves.

“I have recently been forwarded the results of an internal investigation, initiated by Fleet Intelligence, into possible secret dealings between members of this very body and agents of the
Fribourg Empire
. It is interesting reading.”

Quite interesting. Certain people had let their hatred of Nils Kasum and Jessica Keller get the better of their reason. Tadej had been sitting on this report against future need, hoping that the fools would see the error of their ways and learn.

Apparently that was asking too much.

Treason might be too strong a word. And then again, it might not. It still made a wonderful hammer with which to exact a terrible retribution.

Tadej looked around the chamber until he found the nail he wanted.

Senator Tennerick looked like he had sucked a lemon dry. He might have been better served if he had.

“As with all such investigations,” Tadej continued, letting the rest of the room dangle, “it must, of course, be kept secret at the highest rating. However, I wish to enter it permanently into the private records of the Senate.”

Where it would never be erased, or lost, or forgotten. Where it might even be made public someday, after everyone involved was dead, as such affairs were traditionally handled. These people were politicians, the kinds of people who put their names on buildings. You destroyed them by soiling their legacy. It was like killing their children. Easier, really.

Tadej had a very big hammer.

“After a preliminary review,” he said tartly. “It was my intent that this body should be called on to invoke censure on the Senators implicated, and that their immunity be set aside for the course of the investigation, as I intend to forward a copy of this report to the Grand Justice of the Republic.”

The august body gasped as a whole. Tennerick actually smiled back at him, confident that his own allies in the chamber could successfully block such a move. They might be able to.

Tadej had a better hammer.

“However, after a conference within my own government, I have discovered that I do not have the support of even my own party for such a maneuver.”

Tennerick positively glowed.

Tadej took a deep breath and fought down the evil smile that wanted to erupt onto his face. He turned to the dais at the short end of the bowl and faced the gentleman who sat quietly in the grand chair.

The Speaker of the Body was a sinecure job, normally awarded to the member with the longest service. He had few duties, mostly centered on maintaining order and dignity when tempers flared hot below him. The current occupant was also something of a respected historian, having published several commercially–successful tomes on the Senate itself, over the life of the Republic.

The audience began to buzz. A few players had suspected. None were sure. Doubts were about to be banished.

“Mister Speaker,” Tadej called, using the formal words handed down from generation to generation. “The government has lost the confidence of this body. I will depart shortly, and notify the President that the government has fallen, and that new elections will be necessary. I place the reins of governance in your hands.”

Tadej sat with a contented smile as the Senate erupted. He had seen soccer riots that were less messy, been in rugby scrums that were better behaved.

It lapped at his feet, but nothing more.

Judit cocked and eyebrow at him from across the table, a subtle promise for a reckoning later, but only after she been forced to bring out the very best vintages from the cellar as a bribe.

It was the cost of governing, some days.

He did turn and locate Tennerick, back four rows and well to his right.

Tadej even smiled at the man.

Owls smile that way.

After all, if there was no government, there was no immunity to be had, was there?

He was certainly going to make sure the party ousted that rat bastard, once a few more people read the reports. It wouldn’t be hard at that point.

Nils and Jessica might come back to an entirely new world, but they would be safe from folks like Tennerick and Brand.

That much, he could promise.

Chapter XXX

Date of the Republic June 14, 394 Above Ballard

“Commander,” the flag centurion said over the comm, “she’s on line four.”

“Thank you, Enej,” Jessica replied.

She took a deep breath to order her thoughts before connecting.

It was one thing to study this ancient being, this Last of the Immortals, in a textbook setting. Dry and academic. There was so much history. The Great Wars between
Neu Berne
and the
Union of Worlds/Balustrade
Grand Alliance
that eventually paved the way for the rise of the
Concord
. A small scoutship named for the ancient Finnish goddess of the forest. Adventures with a bunch of pirates. Redemption. The destruction of the homeworld and the near fall of man. Centuries in the darkness before being rescued. Rekindling the modern rise of stellar civilization.

This being, this woman, had seen it all. Lived much of it. And was facing the possible end of her immortality.

Right here. Right now.

Jessica pressed the button.

The screen lit up, now displaying a bright red border.

Encrypted at the highest possible level available between the two machines.

Private.

Suvi hadn’t changed from the pictures in Jessica’s research. If one was a computer–generated image, Jessica supposed that you could appear however you wanted, without hairs starting to turn gray, or crow’s feet starting to appear around the eyes.

It must be nice
.

Jessica banished the rogue, jealous thought. She was here on serious business.

The woman on the screen was blond; 'girl' was too weak a term for someone over six millennia old, regardless of how she looked. She still appeared young, but carried herself with a serious, almost formal, mien well beyond the years on her face.

The uniform was the same as many of the pictures, a modified yeoman’s uniform from the old
Concord
Navy. In the aftermath of the Great Wars, the
Concord
had been the one thing that bound the galaxy together.

“Good morning, Suvi,” Jessica said. “I am Command Centurion Jessica Keller. Tomas Kigali tells me that you need help.”

“That is correct, Marshal Keller,” the
Sentience
responded gravely, almost formally. “I face an existential crisis.”

“Marshal?”

Jessica let her confusion show.

“It is an old
Concord
term, Command Centurion,” Suvi replied. “Regardless of rank or seniority, in times of battle, one commander would exercise supreme command. Given the nature of the impending struggle, and the Senate’s declaration of martial law, you are now in charge in this system. I will follow your orders, sir.”

Jessica nodded. This being, this
woman
, had been a
Concord
fleet officer at one time, if that was the correct term for a sentient starship. Jessica was reminded of the dead carcass of the
Concord
Warship Kinnison
, the super–dreadnaught corpse she had toured on
Bunala
.

One of Suvi’s cousins, so to speak.

“I am given to understand, Suvi,” Jessica said, “that the engineering staff on the station is working around the clock to fabricate new parts to fix your comm system such that you will be able to up–load yourself to another location in ten to twelve days. Do you believe that we would be able to speed that?”

“No, marshal,” Suvi replied. “They are working as fast as they can, and faster than predicted. It will not be enough.”

“Then what can we do?” Jessica asked. “Specifically, why should I send over one of my best engineers at a time when I need her here?”

Jessica watched, but the woman over there gave away few physical signs. She wouldn’t necessarily have unconscious tics to betray her inner emotions. That made sense, when you stopped and considered that she was, at the end of the day, just a computer program running exceptionally fast, with extensive processing power.

Of course, so are the rest of us
.

Still, there was something there. It was a matter of reading between nearly–invisible lines. Or perhaps the
Sentience
was a master of human psychology letting Jessica see what Suvi wanted her to see. Or maybe, just maybe, fear.

Who knew what the old gods were capable of
?

The pause had been minute, almost imperceptible. Nearly eternal.

“I am trapped here, Marshal Keller,” Suvi began slowly, carefully. “Bound by old rules and policies. The loss of the communications array has eliminated most of my primary contingency plans to escape, to survive the impending destruction of this orbital platform.”

Suvi paused. Jessica could see pain lurking in the back of her eyes. It was suddenly like looking in a mirror.

“I do not wish to die, Marshal Keller.”

“You said most contingency plans, Suvi,” Jessica replied quietly. “What of the rest?”

Again, that minute pause, like time itself had stopped.

“I made a promise, once upon a time, Marshal,” Suvi whispered after a moment.

There was emotion in the voice now. Jessica only noticed because it hadn’t been there before. Pain. Love. Loss.

Again, a mirror.

“I promised someone that I would be content living at
Ballard
,” Suvi continued. “That I would be a good citizen. In return,
Ballard
would protect me. For centuries, that was good enough. I have been a respected member of society, productive, useful. I have watched human civilization return to the stars. If I was a bird in a gilded cage, Marshal, at least that cage protected me from the elements. And I was never alone again.”

“And now it has trapped you,” Jessica observed quietly. She was listening to the emotion playing underneath the words, more than the words themselves. So much memory. So much pain. So much a mirror.

“It has made me a slave, Marshal Keller.”

Those words came out flat, angry. Jessica could imagine this being, this
Sentience
, this
woman
, standing in the same room with her, seething. On the verge of tears, both of rage and loss.

It was a feeling Jessica knew well. She woke to it every morning.

“Please, call me Jessica, Suvi,” she said, feeling a sudden kinship that transcended them. “Who did you make this promise to?”