1 The War Room #3
This was what I understood, the drinks in everyone’s hands notwithstanding. I clicked my heels together and straightened my spine. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Operation Gift Horse is our last desperate attempt to bring this war to a conclusion via a negotiated peace before the complete collapse of our armed forces,” Olgolny continued.
A laudable goal. Peace would give both me and the Royal Commonwealth a chance to survive the year, but I didn’t see how it could be possible. “Pardon me, but I thought all our peace envoys were turned back with demands for unconditional surrender. What makes Operation Gift Horse different?”
“If you are unconvinced of the operation’s value, you’re welcome to return to the star front,” Marshal Dhahabu said.
I quickly shook my head. “Any hope’s better than none. After New Melbourne, I can’t see how we can win this war by force of arms, and one more subaltern won’t stop the Imperial armies.”
“Well something has,” Marshal Dhahabu, suddenly all business, said. “Eighty-four standard hours ago, Imperial forces were advancing on all fronts, a general assault following New Melbourne’s collapse. Eighty-three hours ago, all Imperial armies halted.”
“In the Novo Australis sector?” I asked.
“In every sector,” High Marshal Dhahabu replied. “All armies, on all worlds, in every star system. Commonwealth, Despotate, Federation, League, doesn’t matter who they were fighting, the Imps stopped advancing. Dug in. Started holding ground.”
High Marshal Fedha took over. “Ten hours later, the Royal Palace received a message over a clandestine Imperial-Commonwealth diplomatic channel which has been silent since before the war. That message contained this.” Rotating his arm, he pressed a key on his chrono, and a holographic message sprung into the air between us. Silently, I read:
You are cordially invited to celebrate the 12th Anniversary of our dread sovereign’s rule.
Royal accommodations shall be provided for you and your retinue.
Celebratory events shall precede and follow the main event, beginning with an opening ball.
“We’ve confirmed with our allies – they’ve all received these as well,” Marshal Fedha said.
“The Empire invited all major unwed heirs on our side of the war to this jubilee, including five major Noble Federation houses, three Despotate lords commander, several League princes and archduchesses, and our very own Duke of Lynwyzc, fourth in line to the throne.”
“What does this mean?” I asked, thoroughly confused.
The grand marshal spoke up. “Considering that the Emperor will also be there, we hope this is a clandestine offer of peace.”
The marshals fell silent, giving me a moment to process that information. I was thunderstruck. “With all due respect, I think I could use another drink.”
Marshal Dhahabu smiled. “I’ll get one for you. Eire whiskey on ice?” I nodded, and the high marshal walked to the bar.
“For the last seventy-three hours, we’ve been assembling the best diplomatic team we can find. We don’t know what the Emperor wants, but if this is a secret peace conference, we will be ready,” Marshal Fedha said.
I accepted the drink from Marshal Dhahabu and took a hearty sip, stunned by the idea that I might survive this war yet. “This is nothing short of miraculous. However, I still fail to see how I fit in.”
“What do you know about the new Emperor?” Marshal Dhahabu asked.
“Very little. He came to power in a violent coup, or defeated one following his rise to power, or won a civil war following the old emperor’s death, about twelve years ago any which way.
” Just after Astrid had left me. She’d never written after the troubles.
If she hadn’t died then, she must have perished in the war.
“Then he launched the blitz against us. We’ve been fighting since. ”
Grand Marshal Olgolny stepped forwards. “Due to your unique experience with the Imperial nobility and the former Baroness Astrid, we wish to include you in our diplomatic envoy.”
Does that mean Astrid’s alive? A brief flare of joy quickly guttered and died in my chest. If Astrid had survived, she clearly had abandoned all attachment to me.
“I’m flattered you think I could contribute,” I said, “but I’m a supply officer.
I have no diplomatic training. What would I do at an interstellar court function? ”
For the first time since I had entered the room, there was a noise from the corner, a slight ‘hem-hem.’ Immediately, all three marshals turned to face the corner, and I tried to freeze into a statue.
The Queen leaned forwards in her chair and, her shining eyes staring merrily into mine, said, “Considering who the new Emperor is, Captain Boylan, you ideally would help end the war.”
A knot of worry began squirming in my gut, but I managed to martial up the courage to ask, “Who is the new Emperor?”
The Queen smiled. “Iyulya Romula Augusta Astridur.”
I managed not to stagger, managed to keep hold of my drink, my mind consumed by the pre-war fantasy which had sustained me through countless campaigns.
Astrid.
She lived.