Lord’s wife and family. Behind him, a lovely oil painting of RAN Devereux against an orbital sunrise, back before the First Lord, or his first command, were famous.
Jessica stopped in front of the desk and waited. Some Fleet Lords demanded a salute, but First Lord Kasum had always been more about content than form, even back when he had been the Command Centurion instructing new recruits on fleet tactics at Fleet Boarding School, teaching a raw Scholarship Student how to maneuver in six axes of motion.
And he has not changed much in those eighteen years.
The hair was fully gray now. He was still thin as a rail, 1.83 meters tall and maybe 80 kilos soaking wet. The voice was the same rich bass, so incongruous coming from such an otherwise slender chest.
He fixed her with an appraising look for several seconds before turning his attention to her companion.
“Thank you, Marcelle,” he said simply with a smile.
“First Lord,” her steward murmured back.
Jessica couldn’t look, but she would have been willing to bet the woman beside her was blushing furiously right now.
This from a woman who occasionally got so rowdy drunk they got thrown out of dockside dive bars. But who turned into an absolute kitten around members of the Fifty Families that ruled the Republic of Aquitaine .
“Travere,” he continued, “I’m going to keep her here for a while. Kamil should be able to get you something to drink and a quiet spot to wait. Tell him I sent you, please.”
“Aye, sir.”
The door hissed shut a moment later.
Jessica studied her old instructor, her mentor, her guardian angel for several moments, but there were no clues to be had. His desk was completely bare save for an empty mug and a magnetic pen in its holder.
Finally, he smiled up at her and pointed at one of the chairs.
“Sit, Jessica.”
She did.
The silence stretched.
“It was interesting,” he finally began, “when I empaneled a Court for you. It had to be an even one, balanced between Fighting Lords and Noble Lords, but it also had to be a fair one. We are, after all, a Republic, not a democracy, so there is an expectation that the best will lead, out of a notion of service, rather than birthright.”
He paused to study her face. She gave nothing away. It was a speech she had heard from him before.
“First Fleet Lord Loncar, after all, had charged you with something very serious. The Noble Lords do not take well to having their orders questioned, especially not so…publically.”
Jessica kept her snarl to herself. Kasum was an ally, possibly even a friend, if she had had any of those at this point.
“I would expect to be punished, sir,” she finally said into the hanging breech, “for doing my job poorly. For allowing a commanding Fleet Lord to establish an Order of Battle so poorly thought out. Not speaking up, not stopping him, would qualify.”
Kasum waited, but she was done. This was his show. He nodded.
“So he put you on the right flank and ordered you to protect the carriers. Standard Fleet tactics, straight out of the manual, yes?”
“Correct,” she replied, venom and disdain creeping into her voice. “With an unscouted moon outside the left flank.”
“How many response maneuvers did you have plotted for your squadron, when the first Imperial fighters came around the horizon Jessica?”
She paused, not unsure of her answer, but unsure of her audience for the first time.
This man was one of the First Families. One of Them . How much could she safely tell him?
He nodded at her sudden discomfort, as if that alone answered the question. In a way, it had. He let the moment drag.
“Four,” Jessica finally said, “with seventeen possible variants depending on the size and makeup of the attack.”
She actually watched his eyes open wide.
It felt good to surprise him. She had rarely done it when she was a student.
He recovered in less than a blink.
“And if you had been in the position you practically demanded
Jessica stopped in front of the desk and waited. Some Fleet Lords demanded a salute, but First Lord Kasum had always been more about content than form, even back when he had been the Command Centurion instructing new recruits on fleet tactics at Fleet Boarding School, teaching a raw Scholarship Student how to maneuver in six axes of motion.
And he has not changed much in those eighteen years.
The hair was fully gray now. He was still thin as a rail, 1.83 meters tall and maybe 80 kilos soaking wet. The voice was the same rich bass, so incongruous coming from such an otherwise slender chest.
He fixed her with an appraising look for several seconds before turning his attention to her companion.
“Thank you, Marcelle,” he said simply with a smile.
“First Lord,” her steward murmured back.
Jessica couldn’t look, but she would have been willing to bet the woman beside her was blushing furiously right now.
This from a woman who occasionally got so rowdy drunk they got thrown out of dockside dive bars. But who turned into an absolute kitten around members of the Fifty Families that ruled the Republic of Aquitaine .
“Travere,” he continued, “I’m going to keep her here for a while. Kamil should be able to get you something to drink and a quiet spot to wait. Tell him I sent you, please.”
“Aye, sir.”
The door hissed shut a moment later.
Jessica studied her old instructor, her mentor, her guardian angel for several moments, but there were no clues to be had. His desk was completely bare save for an empty mug and a magnetic pen in its holder.
Finally, he smiled up at her and pointed at one of the chairs.
“Sit, Jessica.”
She did.
The silence stretched.
“It was interesting,” he finally began, “when I empaneled a Court for you. It had to be an even one, balanced between Fighting Lords and Noble Lords, but it also had to be a fair one. We are, after all, a Republic, not a democracy, so there is an expectation that the best will lead, out of a notion of service, rather than birthright.”
He paused to study her face. She gave nothing away. It was a speech she had heard from him before.
“First Fleet Lord Loncar, after all, had charged you with something very serious. The Noble Lords do not take well to having their orders questioned, especially not so…publically.”
Jessica kept her snarl to herself. Kasum was an ally, possibly even a friend, if she had had any of those at this point.
“I would expect to be punished, sir,” she finally said into the hanging breech, “for doing my job poorly. For allowing a commanding Fleet Lord to establish an Order of Battle so poorly thought out. Not speaking up, not stopping him, would qualify.”
Kasum waited, but she was done. This was his show. He nodded.
“So he put you on the right flank and ordered you to protect the carriers. Standard Fleet tactics, straight out of the manual, yes?”
“Correct,” she replied, venom and disdain creeping into her voice. “With an unscouted moon outside the left flank.”
“How many response maneuvers did you have plotted for your squadron, when the first Imperial fighters came around the horizon Jessica?”
She paused, not unsure of her answer, but unsure of her audience for the first time.
This man was one of the First Families. One of Them . How much could she safely tell him?
He nodded at her sudden discomfort, as if that alone answered the question. In a way, it had. He let the moment drag.
“Four,” Jessica finally said, “with seventeen possible variants depending on the size and makeup of the attack.”
She actually watched his eyes open wide.
It felt good to surprise him. She had rarely done it when she was a student.
He recovered in less than a blink.
“And if you had been in the position you practically demanded
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