Auberon (The Jessica Keller Chronicles Book 1) (6 page)

“We’d probably be able to get about twelve or fifteen light hours out before the calibrations came apart and we spent a day fixing everything,” he growled. “In seven minutes, the calibrations can be redone inline, and tweaked when we come out the other side. In fifteen, you won’t notice we’ve transitioned.”

“Roger that,” Tamara replied with a smile. Her orders had simply said to take command and bring the ship to this point before awaiting further orders. And she still had three envelopes left.

Tamara suppressed a shiver at what might be in them.

Oh, what the hell.

She pulled the three out. Each had a number hand–written on the outside. 2. 3. 4.

Tamara turned to look over her shoulder. Command Centurion Keller stared back, a hard and unreadable look on her face.

Tamara held up the three envelopes and looked a question Keller, comfortably seated in the corner.

She was rewarded by the commander holding up three fingers.

Tamara cracked open the wax seal and pulled out the paper inside to read.

Oh, my.

She called up a navigation gazetteer and cycled through planetary systems until she found the one she wanted.

Yes. That’s what I thought. More adventures for the crew. Wonder if I’ll still be in charge for that? Might be fun. Might totally suck.

She pressed a button her screen.

“Navigation,” she called, loud enough to wake everyone up from any daydreams that might have intruded. “I’m sending you coordinates for the far edge of the
Simeon
system. Lay them in and prepare to jump.”

Tamara took a deep breath, aware she was showing off, but understanding that she needed to right now. Command Centurion Keller had a reputation as a brilliant tactical officer, but also a good commander who took the words of the command orders seriously, to “
exercise excellence and demand the same of her crew.
”

“Engineering,” Tamara continued, “Gazetteer says eighty hours to
Simeon
for a well–founded ship. What’s your estimate?”

Ozolinsh fixed her with his best withering stink–eye. “When we jump in eleven minutes,” he replied firmly, not willing to give an inch on damaging his engines without a fight, “Seventy–two hours. If you jump in six minutes, seventy–seven. Your choice.”

Tamara fought down the smile. Needling the man was fun, but inappropriate now that she was the commander. She understood suddenly why Keller looked so harsh.

She was never off duty.

Will I grow up to be like that?

Tamara thought about it for a second.

Do I want to be that successful? That respected?

Yes.

She started to work on what she considered her Command Scowl. Hopefully she would get more chances to use it.

“All right,” she said suddenly, thumbing a button to bring the Flight Deck into the conversation. “Department heads, please rearrange your schedules to have senior staff come on duty in roughly seventy hours. As you may remember,
Simeon
is a naval weapon’s range, and we will be exercising bangs and booms when we get there. Flight Deck, we’ll discuss weapons load–out tomorrow and then plan sortie schedules.”

Tamara watched a scrolling marquee message appear on her board from the Flight Deck Commander.
“Roger that. Iskra,”
was repeated until she pushed a button to acknowledge it.

They hadn’t been nearly as surprised down on the flight deck as the looks and gasps on the bridge had been.

Tamara smiled.
Auberon
really was going to war.

Chapter VIII

Date of the Republic October 2, 392 Jumpspace outbound from Kismayo system

She considered belching.

That had been an utterly amazing shrimp and spinach risotto, followed by a tiramisu that was divine. Jessica watched the Wardroom’s Chief Steward remove the last dessert plates from in front of her,
Bitter Kitten
, and Denis Jež before he refilled mugs and disappeared.

She smiled. Someone had taken the time to research the new Command Centurion in far greater depth and detail than the command staff had thought to do. It was too bad that it was her new chef.

Then again, maybe not.

Her mug of coffee was even the right roast. Who said life on the frontier had to be all deprivation?

“So, Lagunov,” Jessica began, “how ready is the flight wing going to be?”

Pilots, by their nature, tended to be cocky, arrogant, and full of themselves.
Bitter Kitten
was none of that, as six hours of close contact had revealed. Instead, she was a skinny brunette of average height who spoke with quiet care and precision instead of bravado and bluster. Jessica wasn’t sure what to make of her.

“Sharp,” she replied, “but not too sharp. Commander Kwok had us the range at
Simeon
every six or eight months. Plus regular piracy patrols.”

“Ever catch any?” Jessica asked, looking at both the pilot and her new Executive Officer, deep in his own mug of tea.

Bitter Kitten
shrugged and sipped at a glass of port. “Rarely. Kwok would come out at a safe distance, launch the birds, and then let us chase them. Usually, they had enough time to get away. We were rarely cleared to launch the kind of missiles that could run them down and scrag them before they could jump.”

“So,” Jessica turned to Jež, “standard fleet carrier tactics?”

He shrugged in turn. “The commander was very by–the–book on those sorts of things. Plus he was…well–bred.”

Jessica nodded. “One of the Noble Lords, rather than a Fighting Lord?”

“One could phrase it that way, commander,” he replied diplomatically.

Jessica took a drink to let the air simmer. She nodded to herself and fixed each of them with a look of irritation.

“I imagine things will be changing significantly around here, then. Jež, Lagunov, our orders are to rattle cages out here in the hinterlands. To do that, we’re going to have to act like a warship in a warzone, and not an oversized Revenue Cutter on patrol. Everything I’ve heard about this ship suggests she could be among the best in the fleet, so I’m going to work the rest of you almost as hard as I work myself, and see what we can become. Questions?”

“Am I allowed to gossip about what I’ve heard, commander?”
Bitter Kitten
murmured.

Jessica’s smile lit up. “Absolutely. I asked you here so I could pick your brain and see things that would not necessarily bubble up from the lower decks. A lot of Command Centurions say they have an open door. Few of them actually exercise it. Just remember that you’ll be signing your name when you walk through that door. Most of the time, we will outrun the news of what we’re doing.”

“Understood, sir,” the pilot nodded at her. She pushed back from the table with an accidental burp. “Excuse me. Since I’m off duty for a while, I’m going to go sleep for twelve hours. That food was lovely, sir. Thank you.”

Jessica watched her stick her head into the kitchen to thank the staff before disappearing into the hallway.

She turned to see Jež giving her a strange look. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” he said after a moment.

“Ask now,” she replied. “When we leave here, you’ll be scoring the exercise and preparing to turn back into the Executive Officer.”

“Are you really as hard and tough and good as they say?”

Jessica blinked. Well, she had asked for it.

She fixed him with a stern look. He didn’t blush or blink. Good.

“Yes,” she said simply. “Denis, I believe I could win this war if given the chance. Not just push the
Fribourgers
back to where they started, but actually design the strategies and logistics to defeat them. First Lord sent me out here to start a war. In his words, to set the frontier on fire and make them dedicate whole fleets and committees to stopping me.”

She took a sip and gauged his reaction.

He nodded back at her.

So far, so good.

“
Auberon
is a tool. The Flight Wing is a tool. This crew is a tool. They are all good ones, and you don’t blunt a saber by mashing it against a rock. However, they
are
tools. They will get honed by use. Sharpened. Probably dinged and dented. Because we are going to go do something nobody has ever imagined. This little strike carrier is going to frighten entire fleets of Imperial ships. I would like to camp in orbit about
St. Legier
and say hello, one of these days.”

She stopped to take a breath. Denis nodded at her.

“How can I serve?” he asked simply.

Jessica flashed to the notes in his personnel file. Loyal subordinate. Had served under several Command Centurions generally promoted for political reasons rather than command acumen, so he could be trusted to keep things in motion. Smart but not brilliant in the way of some of his subordinate officers. Nobody back at
Ladaux
interested in advancing his career. No great options, until he had the luck to be serving under her.

“Denis, this is going to be much bigger than
Auberon
. That you will see shortly. I’m going to be far too busy commanding a squadron to be engaged in the day–to–day operations of things here, although I will most assuredly be reading your reports much closer than Kwok ever did. Your job will be to keep everything and everybody on an even keel. When we go into combat, and we will, you will be commanding
Auberon
at the tactical level while I handle strategy. I know you can do that, and do it very well. Keep that up and we will have the opportunity to do great things together. Good enough?”

She watched his eyes as he processed. According to the file, he was also a chess player, and pretty good. Jessica was a fencer. It was an entirely different way to think and move, but he would complement her well, if she could rely on him. What she needed was to know if he had that spark left, after being a babysitter for so long.

“Aye, sir,” he finally said. “We’ll give them hell.”

She shook his outstretched hand. So far, so good.

Chapter IX

Date of the Republic October 4, 392 Jumpspace outbound from Kismayo system

In some ways, it was an entirely new sound, but not anything unique when she thought about it. Jessica stood quietly in a side hallway with the door opened and listened to the Flight Deck Commander call the roll.

Iskra Vlahovic was a rare bird in the fleet. She had been a pilot until she’d been shot up enough that she couldn’t fly combat missions any more. Instead of retiring to a desk job or piloting shuttles, she had gone back and gotten advanced degrees in engineering and eventually taken command of the flight deck of
Auberon
.

If she couldn’t fly, according to the information in her personnel file, at least she would keep others going.

From the discipline records, the woman ran a tight ship. Infractions were closely logged, and punishments paid out without regard to rank or station. Crew either learned from their mistakes or transferred to other ships. The survivors of her wrath thereafter maintained a very high rate of excellence and included a number of seriously over–qualified crew members who had later gone on to other posts and shined.

Jessica counted the names as they were read off. It was an all–hands meeting, so there were twenty–one pilots and flight crew present, plus one senior engineer. They sounded generally bored, perhaps a touch sullen, as if meetings were beneath them.

Based on the pilots she had known, any time not out–ship flying was generally time that was wasted. Opportunities lost. Years of chasing pirates down and rarely catching them would wear.

That was going to change, too.

Jessica perked up as Iskra’s voice changed timber. It was never soft, but it gained something, like what you would use to drive nails through boards.

“Okay,” the woman said. “You’re all here, you’ve heard the news, the rumors, and the gossip. We’ll leave Jumpspace at
Simeon
in twenty–six hours.”

That was greeted with groans and hoots. About normal for people who considered themselves hotshot pilots.

“Iskra,” a man’s voice cut through the noise. “Don’t you have anything better for us? I’ve flown the range at
Simeon
seven times now. It’s getting predictable.”

The voice sounded like it belonged to a young man who was used to giving orders. The tone was a good, rich, penetrating baritone. It probably went over well with the ladies at ports of call and dockside bars. Reviewing the roster in her head, Jessica was pretty sure who the owner was, as well.

“Well,
Jouster
,” the Flight Deck Commander replied, hard, heavy, “I’d like to be the one to ruin your day, but I got outvoted. Ladies and gentlemen, I will now turn the floor over the Command Centurion Keller for your briefing.”

Jessica stepped in from the side hall and surveyed the group as she walked to the lectern. They scrambled to their feet in surprise as their commander walked in.

Iskra was a little taller but very blond. The assembled crew represented about every ethnicity in the Republic, bound together by service and experience. Most of them scowled at her. She returned the favor.

Darya Lagunov was in the third row, next to a short, dark, curvy woman who was at pains to ignore the tall, blond viking of a giant on her other side. Similar dynamics played out around her. They had obviously been together long enough to develop cliques, but not long enough for feuds.

Jessica let her scowl embrace them all for a few seconds, and then smiled. That seemed to unsettle them even more.

She found
Jouster
, Senior Flight Centurion Milos Pavlovic, the Flight Commander, seated off–center in the second row, about three meters away. He certainly looked the part of a hot–shot pilot and erstwhile ladies’ man. Brown hair, blue eyes, lantern jaw. Exuded a raw sexuality. Noble–born from one of the bluest of the blue–blood clans. A man born with a silver spoon in his mouth and all the advantages money and connections could bring.