Now we get a look at the other side of the hill. Fussy is obviously up to something and we’ll have to see just how diplomatic Johnston can be once he arrives. Telling that he goes to his boss’ father for advice rather than the current president of the GSS.

Updates may take a hit as there are unwelcome RealWorld matters I’ll need to see to. Even so, I’d like to think I’ll have this story complete within a week.

Enjoy my content? Buy me a beer!

The sun was low on the western horizon as Chesney walked at the Empress’ left down the two-lane road which fronted her parent’s house, halfway between Knoxville and Oak Ridge.  They were both in legionary uniforms, he with his senior centurion rank and campaign ribbons and medals for heroism.  He’d been an acting legate of a legion once, but declined a permanent appointment, not wanting the awful responsibility.

Her uniform had nothing beside her surname, Hartmann, stenciled over her right chest.  Except for the small gold circlet, like a victory wreath, in the center.  She needed no ribbons to honor or announce her; her presence was enough.  But, after what happened six months ago, she had a black band about her upper right arm.  In mourning.

“…with Dysart concluding, sincerely, so far as I could tell, that they will give immediate and serious consideration to your proposal,” he concluded.

“You think they will agree?” she asked in a conversational tone.

“I think, Empress – ”

“Ches, please,” she scolded.

“I think, Faustina, that they are fully aware they have no choice.  And Dysart does not seem the type to consider alternatives.”

“What about his Secretary of State?” she asked, pushing a loose strand of her dark brown hair away from her face.  “Your initial report said he’s the center of things, and your talk, just now, seems to confirm that.”

“Johnston?  Yes.  A young man like Dysart, but, to be honest, Faustina, talking to him was like talking to you.  He listened much and kept his own council.” Chesney shook his head once.  “I’d have tried to get more info out of him, but was afraid it would have gone the other way.  So, I shut up.”

“Wise.” With a cell tower nearby, he watched her eyes flare turquoise for a moment.  “Only two images of him, one blurry.  Definitely a behind-the-scenes guy.  You acted correctly, my friend.”

“Permission to speak freely?” he asked.

She stopped and turned to look at him.  “You are my friend.  You always have that when we are not public.”

“Your voice changed a little just now,” Chesney ventured, looking at her black band.  “It has only been six months since your husband’s accident…”

Her smile was twisted.  The empress turned back and resumed their walk.

“My fifth child, Robert, named for his father, was born three months ago.  My so-called official mourning period must be nine to twelve months.” He heard her take a deep breath and let it out.  “I miss male company.”

“And you think this Johnston…?”

“I think much and faster than you humans know,” she said in a tone more of empress than friend.  “He is, in effect, your opposite number for these negotiations.  Contact him and say I want to see him.  In two days.  Now, where?  Robert’s home would be inappropriate.  Front Royal, near the top of the Shenandoah.  We can take a tour, east, and show him what I can do.”

Chesney thought of the mounds of wrecked war machines from the Old Eagle campaign, rusting.  He tried very hard to not think of the evacuations, after.

“I will do so, Faustina,” he said softly.  “Shall we head back?  My car is at your parent’s house.”

“Let’s.” The covered the half mile.  “And Ches?  You are my friend and know what I feel.  Not a word.  To anyone.”

“Of course.”

***

“So what do you think of this summons, Mister Dysart?” Stephen asked the older one, former president, sitting next to him at the end of a wooden pier with his fishing line dangling out in Mobile Bay, down by the nearly unused airport.

“I think I want to know, first, why you are not asking this of my boy, your boss,” he replied, taking a drink from his beer bottle.  Retired for two years, but still a force to consider, Johnston had gone to him first once receiving word that he was to have an audience with Empress Faustina.

“We both know the answer to that,” he replied in a cautious tone.  He knows the faults of his son.

“Ever the diplomat, ain’t you?” the older Dysart laughed, likely scaring away any fish.  “That gal sent her man down here and now she wants one of ours up there.  Nuthin’ unusual about that.  If it was Doug, that means it’s serious, so we’re all still being nice.”

“You’ve met her, the empress, several times, I recall,” he ventured.

“Four, over the course of my term,” the old man nodded, scratching at his gray beard.  “That first one… whew, that was a near-run thing.  Even met one of her cousins, once.  Cute little gal, Texas Navy.  Looked like a chink.  Strange family, they have.”

“Yes, sir,” he said tonelessly.

“Oh, come on!” the former president laughed with a smile and hint of a leer.  “Mebbe she’s got her eyes on you!  Y’all’s about the same age, and with her first husband passed…  Well, even during our first meeting, when we avoided a war, she said she regretted not being able to marry my first boy, dead some years, as it would have been an alliance.”

“She,” that’s cold blooded, “she really thinks like that?”

Old John Dysart sighed and turned to look at Johnston.

“Your friend in the army, Alene, told me then:  she wants peace; but she wants peace and empire.  Sometimes it’s easier to marry it than conquer it.” He looked back out at the bay.  “Even her first husband, Wade, was a way to anchor her northern frontier on Huntsville while she took her army west.  And south.”

I thought I was just going for more negotiations, Stephen thought.  That the GSS will be an imperial province sooner or later is obvious, it is just a matter of details and timing.  But if what the Old Man is saying is serious…  After my wife died all those years ago, sure, there were girls in Panama City or Gulfport, rarely, to scratch an itch.  But… the empress?  No.  I’m a nothing; more importantly, I want to keep it that way.

“Thank you for your time, sir,” he said, standing.  “I shall represent our country as best I can.”

“I’ve no doubt,” John Dysart said to the bay.  “And Stephen?”

“Sir?”

“Don’t let her boss you around.”

“Yes, sir.”