My name is Jason Montagne Vekna, although I’m not sure if my new wife agrees with that or thinks my new last name should be Zosime. It’s a long story. I never really cared for the 'Vekna' part, so it wouldn’t be any skin off my nose to switch it out but it might cause problems back on the home world, and we had plenty of those right now. So I was deliberately not asking her opinion.
Anyway, I’m currently the Admiral of the ever-so-proudly named Confederation Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, or MSP as I like to call it. Of course, I’m only an Honorary Admiral in my home world’s SDF or System Defense Force, and was forwarded to be the Acting Admiral of the MSP. But I try not to tell anyone about that little technicality.
One week ago, the Imperial Admiral in command of the MSP resigned on orders from his Triumvir, and the Empire as a whole abandoned the eight Confederation Sectors comprising what we natives like to call 'The Spine,' or 'The Spineward Sectors.'
Before becoming the official figurehead of the MSP nine months ago, I was a minor member of a nearly irrelevant Provincial Dynasty. The Royal Family on my home world answered to the Caprian Parliament, not the other way around, and the Parliament held our purse strings. So generally, we acted as some sort of glorified galactic butlers, wining and dining anyone Parliament needed to impress or fob off in an appropriately decedent style.
Before leaving, Rear Admiral Arnold Janeski of the Imperial Rim fleet turned command over to me and I proceeded to…well, I picked up a pirate ship or three - again, a long story.
I also saved a beautiful native woman from horrible space-faring Bugs. Unfortunately, I was busy ogling her half-naked neighbor and there was a cultural misunderstanding. She thought that by giving her a sword with which to cut herself and the rest of the Bug prisoners free (coincidentally, including her busty neighbor) that I was proposing some form of shotgun marriage wherein if she didn’t take my sword and accept my offer of marriage, she and everyone else would die a gruesome death.
I, on the other hand, had no clue about this and was only trying to do the heroic thing. In other words, I had given her my only weapon and, as a result, was being slowly overwhelmed by ravenous insects. The very same ones that were trying to eat us all alive, regardless of potential or real wardrobe malfunctions.
It's safe to say that as far as romantic meetings go, it was hate at first sight. She wanted me dead, and as far as I was concerned, she had let other people die and even tried to kill me by deliberately not lifting a finger to help anyone, all after I gave her my only sword.
A series of further misunderstandings followed, but when I found out that a quarter of a million settlers I had rescued couldn’t land on her planet without local permission, and couldn’t stay in orbit without dying of suffocation…well, let's just say I decided to go through with the marriage anyway.
By this point, we were both generally aware of the situation, and still feeling things (if not each other) out. She was no longer trying to kill me, at least. Instead, she was now determined that I survive long enough to ‘fulfill my obligations,’ which I took to mean I needed to save the entire population of her world from being eaten by semi-intelligent (and officially non-sentient, according to the Empire's propaganda machine) space-faring Bugs in slow-drive ships.
After that, I assumed she planned to dump me like a bad habit. I was just hoping it happened before she met my mother so I could sweep the whole thing under the rug. As it was, she had recruited around eighteen hundred super-sized native warriors to my 'banner,’ although they sure seemed to listen to her a lot more than me, and she was determined to stick to my side like glue at this point.
In the meantime, I had a Fleet consisting of one ship because, as far as I knew, in the two weeks since everything else had fallen apart, the fleet had fallen apart too and returned home, each ship determined to protect its own home world rather than uphold its obligations to the Confederacy's charter of mutual defense. This mass egress left no one to prevent piracy, or protect merchants and other civilian ships. Like the ones carrying the quarter of a million settlers we had rescued from pirates.
Chapter 2: A Warped View
I was sitting on my bridge waiting as the time officially counted down to zero. This was the last point transfer, the final hyperspace jump to faster than light before we officially returned to civilized space.
To say I was nervous was an understatement. I was petrified, which was a good thing because I couldn’t let any of the half-dozen interest groups on my Flagship sense weakness because as far as I knew, this was the only ship I had, other than a few small warships protecting my new wife’s world, which we knew as Tracto VI.
I looked over at my First Officer, Lieutenant Raphael Tremblay. He was busy scrutinizing a bunch of old Royalists who were former members of my native Capria's System Defense Force and current members of my 'Confederation Fleet,' a fleet comprised right now of one Caprian Dreadnaught class Battleship. Confused yet? I know I was.
He was one of the ship’s former junior Intelligence Officers. I couldn’t find anyone to make Captain in my stead, and I wasn’t about to put a Parliamentary man in command of my ship, so he became the First Officer, and I was currently holding down the Admiral and Captain hats with both hands. Tremblay thought we should make like a lightning bolt and head straight home for Capria, abandoning our duties to the Confederation, now that the Confederated Empire had been functionally dissolved. But while it was dissolved in The Spine, the Empire was still very much present in the rest of Human Space, as far as we knew.
I, suspecting Parliament would be more likely to give me a chop to the neck than a pat on the head, was a little less gung-ho for the 'return to Capria, and do it right this instant' plan.
Around the bridge was Helmsman DuPont, a man I’d had to threaten with death in order to save the settlers those pirates were attacking. We were unarmed at the time, so I guess I can’t blame him too much. Ramming is normally a very fatal event, so it's generally reserved for overly dramatic holo-vids.
I’d never been to a military academy, and all my training was on the job, so ramming had seemed reasonable at the time. But then, like a lot of things in life, it had some unexpected consequences.
The Navigator was present for this jump, sweating bullets, as usual. Our Science Officer, a civilian named Jones, and the whole host of the First Shift bridge crew were present for this particular jump.
I had deliberately set the time for our point transfer into the new system so that First Shift would be on duty. Second and Third shifts used to be ghost shifts, but with the help of a serious recruitment effort initiated by my loving wife (who I sometimes thought of as a pit viper in human form when she was mad at me, or my blonde ice maiden when she was just disapproving), I had added my own personal touch and recruited some of my fellow Caprians who had been on one of the settlement ships we rescued. So now those shifts were no longer empty, but almost fully staffed.
Her moves had provided me with a horde of enthusiastic, but relatively untrained Lancers and crew, but I liked to think that my recruiting drive, while not netting as many bodies, had more than made up for a lack of quantity by the quality of so many former members of the Caprian military.
You see, despite being seconded to the Confederation Fleet (at least until Parliament got its act together and tried to recall us, now that everything was falling apart), this ship was Caprian built and, for the most part, Caprian crewed. Sure, there were several thousand natives of Tracto VI, the primitive world my lovely bride hails from, and even a few Promethean settlers looking to get some pirate blood in retribution for all of their dead relatives, but this ship was still crewed three fourths by Caprians.
Anyway, I had gotten comfortable with First Shift, and wasn’t yet with Second or Third, especially with all that grey-headed wisdom watching me every second for the slightest mistake. I don't enjoy scrutiny. After all, I’m the Admiral. Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around, me watching them?
So, First Shift had the con when the timer hit zero and space warped around us.
Chapter 3: Not So Easy
The Lucky Clover point transferred into a system named Easy Haven. It was the home of an old-style Confederation Star Base, Wolf 9.
For some reason or another, it was one of the few original Confederation naval bases in the sector that hadn’t been scrapped or upgraded beyond recognition by the previously combined Confederated Imperial Fleet.
I had taken some time to look the place up on our trip from Tracto to Easy Haven. Fifty years is a long time for a base to go without a serious upgrade, but to the best of my knowledge it was still an active fleet base. It was home to a squadron of older Confederation Corvettes stationed out of it, present more for ceremonial duties than anything else.
This original, unmodified Confederation-issue part was critically important, because the Imperial Fleet had orders to destroy all of their equipment on the way out of the Spineward Sectors.
“Extending baffling beyond transfer area and firing main engine,” declared Helmsman DuPont.
“What’s the Point Resistance?” demanded Lieutenant Tremblay.
“Engine at 20% of maximum,” said the Helmsman. “We still have a lock on the ship.”
“Shields properly modulated for a Sump Slide,” declared the man at shields.
“This should be an easy one,” said Science Officer Jones. “Resistance is really quite minimal when you compare it to many of our previous transfers.” Jones had a natural ability to keep his voice level and calm in even the most insane situations. I actually found myself envying him a couple of times.
I was just happy there were no sudden lurches, jerks, crashes or slams this time, unlike many of our previous jumps. Ever since the former Caprian military crew had joined the ship, each point transfer had gone smoother and smoother, until it almost felt like the ship the Imperials had originally handed over to me.
“I want figures, Science Officer,” the First Officer said exasperatedly. “How many times have I asked for our Point Resistance and you’ve given me a feeling or an interpretation?”
“Maybe you need a new Science Officer, then,” snapped the other man. “I’m a Civilian with the University of Capria, here to study the cost/benefit of slave-rigging versus not slave-rigging this ship. I'm not here to act as some sort of military automaton.”
“Just the facts, man,” retorted the First Officer, “or is that too much for your scientific brain to process?”
“Alright, cut the chatter you two,” I said, hoping to keep the two senior officers from each other's throats. Inwardly, I enjoyed watching my bridge crew keep Tremblay on his toes, but I needed them focused at the moment. “Science Officer, prepare yourself so that next time you give us a proper report. Tremblay, focus on the task at hand,” I said, waving at the main screen, which was slowly being populated with system traffic.
“Engines at 30% of maximum,” reported the Helmsman. “Lighting up both secondaries now.”
“Shield strength at 98% and holding,” reported the shield operator. “Shield regeneration is keeping up with the sump drain. We could stay here for days,” he remarked.
“Belay that chatter,” sneered Tremblay, “Only a fool would stay in an Inertial Sump left behind by a hyperspace point transfer if he didn’t have to.”
“Engines two and three are lit. We’ve doubled our thrust… and there she goes,” reported DuPont. “We’ve broken the sump and are free to proceed throughout the system. Caprian Space Lines would like to thank you for choosing us this trip-”
“Cut that out,” I laughed before Officer Tremblay had a chance to lambast the helmsman. “Just because we’re back in civilized space doesn’t mean we’re home free yet. Keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.”
“Report,” Tremblay demanded after a pause. “How’s the pirate cruiser doing over there? Did they come through the Inertial Sump without any damage?”
“She was included in our shield coverage,” reported one of the Sensor Operators. “The temporary shield relays Engineering set on their hull worked like a charm.”
“Not even a hint of the drain we experienced to our shields generators with the previous jumps,” agreed the shield operator with a grin.
While the rest of the Bridge Crew went about their duties with a smile on their lips, I watched the main view screen and worried.
First, I worried because there wasn’t anything on the screen. Then I worried because there was too much. In the two weeks since I had taken actual command of the ship, we had never been in a system with this kind of traffic.
In my head, I knew the amount of traffic was normal for this system. This wasn't a thriving core world with hundreds, or even thousands of ships present. Even still, the two dozen and counting contacts on the screen were enough to make me want to bite my nails.
“That’s odd,” said one of the Sensor Operators.
“Less feelings and more facts, Sensors,” snapped Lieutenant Tremblay, striding over to the man’s sensor console. “The other Officers of the Watch don’t have this kind of problem on Second and Third shifts,” he growled. “First shift is first because it’s the best one on the ship. The Admiral and I trust you to do your jobs in a professional manner. Don’t let us down, or I assure you the cushy First Shift position might very well go to Third instead. Third Shift doesn’t have these kinds of problems.”
“Sorry, Sir,” muttered the sensor operator. Then the technician raised his voice, “What I meant to say is I’ve isolated the readings from two of the ships further in the system. They both match the profile of a Hydra Class Medium Cruiser.”
“That’s Promethean build,” said Tremblay. “What are the odds of two Hydras showing up at the only fleet base we know is still intact,” he asked dryly.
I shared a look with the First Officer. In other matters we might be sharply divided, but on this one it was clear we saw eye to eye.
Our suspicions were confirmed a few moments later.
“The computer’s coming back with a match. Those ships match the profile of the Prometheus Fire and Pride of Prometheus. It’s the same two ships that stole our prize ship and abducted our away team, Admiral,” shouted the sensor operator.
“Settle down, Sensor Tech,” said the First Officer.
“But, Sir!” said the man at sensors. “We had to ram those pirates because they disobeyed the Admiral and ran away when we needed them.” The sensor man sounded genuinely outraged. If everyone else on the ship felt the same way… well, that was good for their Admiral (me), but very unlucky for that pair of ships.
I turned deliberately to my First Officer, “Mr. Tremblay, confirm the identification of those two Medium Cruisers without tipping our hand, please,” I said, raising a hand and added, “Assuming that’s possible. Then, if you would, please inform the Confederation Reservists on the former Pirate Cruiser that we’re going to have to cut them loose a little sooner than expected.”
I turned in the direction of the outraged sensor man and saw smiles on the face of the Bridge Crew.
“Assuming that it's the same pair that left us in the lurch, and in so doing abandoned a ship full of their own settlers to the tender mercy of pirates, all in favor of stealing a captured prize rightfully belonging to all of us in here. Then I’ll tell you what, my boys,” I gave a shark-like grin. “That pair of rogues is about to get some very well deserved payback. Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet Style, courtesy of our very own Lucky Clover!”
The bridge crew roared its approval at this course of action. The Helmsman soon plotted a course and after what could have only been a handful of seconds, the Clover was off.
“They’re squawking Promethean transponder codes as if they don’t have a care in the world,” confirmed the External Communication’s Tech. “It’s the Fire and Pride.”
“Thanks, Ex-Com,” said the First Officer as our Battleship accelerated, turning directly toward the pair of treacherous vessels.
“Sir, we’re being hailed by the Star Base,” said an Ex-Com Tech.
“Put it on the main screen and let's hear it,” I instructed playfully.
“Unidentified Battleship, turn on your identification beacon immediately or System Command will be forced to designate you a Rogue vessel and presumed hostile,” said a middle-aged man in a fresh looking Confederation style uniform. “System Command out.”
I looked over at Lieutenant Tremblay.
The First Officer shrugged. “You told us not to give away our intentions to the Medium Cruisers. If they look at the backlogs, they’ll see we were squawking the Lucky Clover’s ship ID before canceling the transmission,” he said.
I rolled my eyes, stifling a groan. Clearly, my silent running idea was already a farce. “I assume that with modern computer systems System Command will automatically know our ship’s ID from the first signal they received. It shouldn’t matter that we’ve gone silent,” I said irritably.
“Modern distributed intelligence systems have re-incorporated that feature,” said the first officer. “Unlike earlier, more AI-paranoid systems.”
“Then why…” I trailed off questioningly.
“The Confederation always did have more in common with the Caprian philosophy when it comes to dealing with DI computer systems,” said Tremblay.
I raised a brow.
“The more hobbled, the better. And the less chance you’ll develop a rogue AI,” the First Officer stated matter-of-factly. “The Imperials never quite learned the same lesson our peoples did. The Empire’s always been much more willing to push the edges of what’s possible. It probably has something to do with the fact that in comparison, while under AI rule their peoples did rather well, others like our own Caprian forbearers suffered tremendously, or even underwent genocidal purges as soon as we’d outlived our usefulness to our AI masters.”
“The old dreaded Cost/Benefit ratio," I said with a manufactured shudder and false bearing of dread.
“We laugh now,” admonished Tremblay with a reluctant smile of his own, “but back during the AI wars, mothers would scare their children into taking their naps with dire warnings that if they were bad, the AI would institute a Cost/Benefit analysis on them, and if they fell below the acceptable Ratio, they’d be taken away. Never to be seen again.”
“Scary stuff,” I muttered. “I think I’d rather live with a clunky DI system than risk a return to those days.”
The First Officer indicated the main screen. “Enough of the history lesson, perhaps,” he said, redirecting my attention back to the matter at hand.
“Right,” I said abruptly. Turning to the Ex-Com operator, I said, “Put me through. But make sure to use the encryption Lieutenant Commander McCruise thoughtfully provided to us. Reluctant as she might have been to do so,” I added with a smile.
When the Tech told me we were live, I schooled my still somewhat burned and scar-faced features into a polite mask. A few days transit time back to civilized space had allowed for the medical staff to work some further magic on my face, but they said that barring a full workup and extended stay in the ship’s infirmary, I was going to sport the evidence of that particular adventure (rescuing the native prisoners from Bugs) for the rest of my life.
Like any modern day individual, I fully intended to get my face fixed and put back to normal…eventually. For the meantime though, having a battle-scarred face seemed to help out with both the natives and the rest of the crew. I might keep it, if just for a little while longer.
“System Command, this is Admiral Jason Montagne, Commanding Officer of MPF Lucky Clover, Flagship of the Confederation Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet. Or I suppose we might now be the MPF-1, assuming the Assembly, in its wisdom, has already decided to designate a second fleet,” I said, speaking slightly faster than I wanted to, so I took a deep, calming breath to steady my nerves. Realizing I had taken too long of a pause, I settled back in the Admiral's Throne to wait for the response. Because of the distance between our Battleship and the Star Base, there would be a gap of several minutes between the time they received the transmission and had a chance to reply.
With nothing better to do but look at the man and study his features, I sat there and observed. Other than being middle-aged, the next thing that struck me about him was that his skin color was much whiter than the usually brown-skinned Caprians of the Lucky Clover.
Not quite as pale skinned as an Imperial, or a Tracto-an like the native warriors on my ship training to be Lancers, he still looked like his skin would burn under the rays of a medium primary sun. He had black hair and a sharp, pointed nose, once again putting him at odds with the generally flat nosed Caprians, and a look about him that said as certain as duralloy, this man was a serious professional.
“Admiral Who…? What Fleet?” the middle aged man paused to take a deep breath. “How did you get this encryption key,” demanded the Confederation Officer.
“Admiral Montagne of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, and you are…” I gestured toward the man on the screen then continued, “anyway, we got the Key from one Lieutenant Commander Synthia McCruise,” then I realized how that might sound. “Don’t worry, the crews of your two Corvettes are fine. Well,” I hesitated, “mostly fine, anyway. They had a little run in with a squadron of pirates who called themselves the Bloody Piranha’s or some such nonsense, I think. Anyway, we showed up to save the day and put an end to that little reign of pirate terror. So you can talk with her if you want,” I put on my best winning smile, the one I had practiced for the cameras ever since primary school. “She’s in the Heavy Cruiser strapped to our hull.”
A pause.
The other man’s eyes popped before his brow lowered and he started to scowl before his face settled back into its professional mien.
“Colin LeGodat,” the other man said shortly, omitting his rank and organization. “And yes, put Synthia on the Com,” he shook his head. “She lost both Corvettes and is riding back in a Heavy Cruiser,” he marveled. “This, I have to hear.”
The other man paused, “I suppose your strange profile makes sense now that I realize what we’re seeing is really two separate ships instead of just one big blob,” he said.
“Oh no,” I said when it was my turn to reply, “the two Corvettes were heavily damaged, but as far as I know are still mostly in one piece. The Heavy Cruiser issue is another one entirely,” I was going to say more, then reconsidered, “I’ll let her talk with you and explain the situation first.”
“You do that,” said the Fleet Officer, Colin LeGodat.
Turning my head toward a nearby bank of bridge stations to hide my rolling eyes, I looked over at the Communication section. I made a circling gesture with my one good hand, “Patch him through before we cut the trunk lines,” I said, trying to sound as much like a real Admiral as possible.
Several minutes later, a hard-faced Colin LeGodat was back on the screen. Looking at that face, I couldn’t imagine anyone ever mistaking the man for anything other than a Fleet Officer.
“Assuming she hasn’t been coerced somehow,” he said, giving me a penetrating look, “the Lieutenant Commander had quite the wild tale to tell. Full of fanciful accounts of ramming and cold space rescues,” he said, “She also spoke of a potential ‘deal’ whereby you…” he paused and pursed his lips, “meaning the MSP, want to transfer to us an ancient and very run-down Heavy Cruiser, in exchange for two battle damaged but otherwise very well maintained Corvettes,” he looked like he’d bitten into something sour, “One which has no independent star-drive capability at the moment.”
“That about sums it up,” I said cheerfully. Hopefully we could avoid the full list of penetrating questions until after the agreement had been made.
“Let's table that discussion for the moment,” said LeGodat, “You claim to be the Flagship of a real honest-to-Murphy, may the space gods destroy me if I lie, active Confederation Fleet Formation,” his eyes pinned me to my chair.
Feeling the weight of all the previous half-lies and self-justifications, I suppressed a gulp and, not entirely trusting my voice, gave my best regal nod. A nod gave me the perfect excuse to break my gaze with those all-too-knowing eyes.
When I looked back up and waited for the reply, the other Fleet Officer nodded slowly.
“My sensor technicians, in addition to confirming your outrageous story of transporting a Heavy Cruiser on the back of a Battleship through multiple point transfers, also say you are heading in the direction of two Medium Cruisers, the Promethean SDF Cruiser Promethean Fire and SDF Cruiser Pride of Prometheus. As System Commander, I must officially ask if that’s so and, if so, I must inquire as to your purpose,” he said in the kind of voice that made a lie out of his ‘request’.
I paused to think, my eyes moving furiously until I thought I had come up with the proper response.
Straightening, I looked right at the main screen pick up. “Your Sensor section is correct. I am indeed taking my Dreadnaught class Battleship over to see the Prometheans and have a... ‘discussion’ with the Captains of those two cruisers,” I said, putting the ring of authority into my voice.
“Why, and for what purpose,” repeated the Fleet Officer, momentarily taken aback by the authority in my tone, “I’ll brook no settling of provincial disputes here in Easy Haven,” he said harshly.
I raised an eyebrow at his tone and looked down my nose at the Fleet Officer, “This is no provincial dispute, but rather a matter of either mutiny and treason or rank piracy against the Confederation. And you would do well to moderate your tone when speaking with an Admiral appointed to command of a Confederation Fleet, Mr. LeGodat,” I said sharply. I hated the pause in conversation. It made maintaining composure even more difficult than usual, but I worked hard to keep the air of authority I had worked so hard to project.
The Fleet Officer quirked an eye. “How can one not be sure whether it's mutiny or piracy, Admiral…Montagne, was it?” he inquired.
“Ah,” I said, ignoring his last snipe, “a number of the ships in the MSP are at-will members and technically have the ability to terminate their memberships in our fleet at the instruction of their respective provincial governments. The Promethean Cruisers are part of this agreement. However, it is unclear if their planetary government authorized a removal from the fleet, thus removing their actions from the realm of treason and into the arena of piracy.” Again, an intolerable pause as I waited for his reply.
“How can removing their ships from your fleet be considered piracy,” said Fleet Officer LeGodat with a sharp look. “If, as you say, they have the right to quit?”
“Oh, the piracy charges aren’t related to the Medium Cruisers, they're in regards to a captured pirate conversion. The Prometheans were supposed to jump to the assistance of your two Corvettes, along with my Flagship. Instead, they and our captured merchant conversion mysteriously disappeared en route to AZT89443.”
“Ah,” said LeGodat, his features shifting slightly, “things start to become clearer.”
“As you can imagine, even if Captain Stood and the Promethean Cruisers were completely entitled to voluntarily remove themselves from my fleet, after I’d issued them otherwise legal orders to rendezvous with the Lucky Clover at AZT89443, they were the last ones to put eyes on a merchant conversion with an away team from my ship. On top of that, the merchant conversion belonged to either the MPF or the ship which captured her which is, again, my very own Lucky Clover. If they're not part of the MPF…”
“In that case, System Command is willing to stand by while you deal with your wayward ships,” the Fleet Officer said, then added, “as long as the Unified Code of Military Regulations are followed, of course.”
“No longer being part of the Unified Military Authority, the MPF has reverted to the most recent Confederation regulations regarding such matters instead, but your point is well taken,” I nodded in acknowledgment of his concerns. “If they submit themselves to our inspection without undue protest or resistance, they will be accorded every right under the laws of cold space. Part of my fleet or not, if they choose to resist Confederate authority during this crisis, after being suspected of treason, piracy and mutiny, any force necessary will be used to bring them to justice,” I said, my tone and expression unyielding.
Fleet Officer LeGodat nodded slowly and then seemed to come to some sort of decision. He nodded decisively. “In that case, Admiral,” he said, a new level of respect for me in his voice, “as Acting Commander of the Easy Haven Star Base - Wolf 9 and 209th Confederation Active Reserve Light Squadron, I formally notify you of an act of potential piracy occurring within the Easy Haven System itself.”
My eyes widened.
“I also appeal to you, as a fellow Confederation officer and only Flag Ranked Officer in the system, to investigate the matter for your final determination,” said the Officer LeGodat.
“I guess it's my turn to ask why it is only potential piracy, and for more particulars on the exact situation,” I said with a tight grin. Beside me, I could see the Lieutenant Tremblay close his eyes and place a hand on his forehead. My First Officer could be so dramatic at times.
“An Imperial Medium Cruiser commanded by one Marcus Cornwallis, an Imperial Commander in the Confederated Navy and the nephew of Imperial Senator and Rear Admiral, Charles Cornwallis-” for some reason I couldn’t understand, the Fleet Officer in command of the system defenses stopped talking and searched my face instead.
As the Confederation active reservist spoke, the First Officer had been slowly shaking his head, but at the name of Charles Cornwallis, his look turned to horror and he rapidly shook his head at me, his face full of what could only be described as panic.
“I assume Commander Cornwallis has been sponsored into the Imperial Fleet by Senator and Admiral Cornwallis,” I asked stiffly, ignoring Tremblay and his antics.
“I’m sorry, Sir, but I feel I must ask. Do you know either the Commander or his Uncle the Senator,” asked the Acting System Commander of Easy Haven.
“I have not yet had that pleasure. Why do you ask,” I queried, trying to be polite but feeling a familiar sensation boiling in the pit of my stomach.
“Just now, your expression,” said Officer LeGodat.
Officer Tremblay broke in, “Sir, I must advise against any direct interaction between yourself and the Commander. Perhaps it's best for everyone involved if we find out the value of what’s being requisitioned before we move to labeling it piracy,” the First Officer said, more than a hint of desperation in his voice.
“Is there something going on here that I should be made aware of,” asked the acting System Commander.
“A small spot of history well over fifty years old, involving this Imperial Officer's Uncle, Charles Cornwallis and the Royal family on my home-world of Capria. But it all happened long before I was born,” I said, trying to laugh it off, “and is nothing you should worry about. I doubt it will impact the interactions between myself and the Commander, if he even knows that it happened in the first place.”
“Although you say it's nothing and I shouldn’t worry about it, I hope you’ll forgive me if I do so anyways,” said the Officer LeGodat, looking worried.
I shrugged and glanced over at Tremblay. “There’s no reason we shouldn’t take a look into the matter before dismissing it out of hand as proper, or deciding to take action. There’s no need for a rush to judgment here,” I said, struggling to project a jolly tone.
From the looks on the faces of my First Officer and the System Commander, I had failed to effectively project such a demeanor.
It turned out the Imperial Commander had stayed behind to escort a pair of semi-giant Constructor Ships, half the size of a settlement ship. Obviously, a Constructor was huge. A baby mammoth in comparison to the fully grown Settler ships, it was still many times the size of the Lucky Clover. There seemed some dispute about the legality of this action, but no one in Easy Haven had been willing (or equipped) to contest it.
Then the Imperial Commander had spotted several home-grown Spineward Sector-built Constructor ships waiting for a proper escort to their final destination. With only a limited number of resources, the System Commander had sent the only escort he could spare with the giant settlement ships first. When Lieutenant Synthia McCruise and her pair of Corvettes returned to Easy Haven, the other two Corvettes in his Squadron were supposed to escort the Constructors to their final destination.
After spotting the ships, Commander Cornwallis had interpreted his mandate from the Triumvirate (to deny or destroy any Imperial military or strategic assets) to include the computer banks on the Constructor ships, loaded with technological innovations made in the fifty years since the Union Treaty.
All this despite the fact that the ships were locally built by local Sector Corporations that had nothing to do directly with the Empire or its military.
The Commander felt that, in his opinion, the tech base these ships represented was of significant strategic importance, and as such they could either join his convoy headed back to the Empire and seek re-numeration or relief when they arrived there (an unlikely prospect with an Empire embroiled in a war so hot they had to withdraw from the eight sectors comprising the Spine in the first place) or else abandon their Constructor ships so he could destroy them.
Surprisingly, I agreed with the Commander on one thing. These Constructor ships did, in fact, represent a strategic asset of grave importance to the development of the Spine in general, and this sector in particular.
The rest of his position was just a power play to try and make himself look good, for coming home tardy. Like an apple for the teacher in exchange for turning in late homework. As far as System Command could tell, Cornwallis' ship represented the last Imperial Warship in this Sector, and probably the whole Spine.
“How did three entire Constructor Ships find their way to Easy Haven?” I asked, “One would be rare enough, but I’ve never heard of three in any one system at the same time.”
The System commander looked slightly embarrassed. “Everything we’ve heard from our intelligence sources,” I cocked an eyebrow and he had the grace to look embarrassed, “er, recently arriving merchant ships,” he amended.
I smiled as he sputtered to a stop.
“At any rate,” said the Commander, recovering his composure. “As far as we can tell, this is the only military installation the Imperials didn’t blow up on their way out the door. At every main base and orbital fortress, such as Draconis 3, Alpha-Proxima, even Beta-Regula they just evacuated the work force before setting off scuttling charges.”
“Amazing,” I said, and that’s because it truly was. The Empire wasn’t going to risk anyone or anything they had ever been involved with being turned around and used against them later. The level of pure paranoia evidenced by this gesture was stunning. Well, stunning for anyone not named Montagne.
The System Commander nodded. “We figure the only reason they didn’t do the same here is because Wolf-9 had never been upgraded, and the fact that there was an old-style Confederation reserve squadron based out of here was just a lucky oversight. Technically, Wolf-9 isn’t even an active naval base anymore. Half the place is in mothballs, the other half on standby,” he said sadly. “We’re a bunch of old reservists who never officially transferred into the Imperial Fleet.”
He met my eyes levelly. “I think that as far as the local Sector Commanders were concerned, this old fleet base was a relic left over from the Confederation’s glory days, and the Light Squadron presence here was something they were either unaware of, or completely forgot. We’re mostly just here for parades and photo-ops. Assemblymen looking to remind voters of the good old days before the Empire took us to war seek us out on a kind of nostalgic pilgrimage,” the Acting System Commander said bitterly. “We even pulled our little Corvettes out of mothballs and refurbished them ourselves, because there just wasn’t the kind of funding or support necessary for a bunch of parade ground warriors playing to the tune of a few of local politicians.”
“I think it's safe to say that the members of your squadron are anything but a bunch of parade ground warriors now,” I said fiercely. “The pair escorting those settlers sure gave the pirates one heck of a fight before we showed up.” Now was the time for some bridge-building, I thought. I couldn't imagine just how much work went into restoring those ships to active duty, based on LeGodat's description of their resources. A pat on the back was the least I could offer the man. I allowed a pause of a few seconds for him to reply, then prompted, “but that still doesn’t explain all the Constructor-Ships,” I continued curiously.
“Thank you for that, Sir,” he said with a curt nod. Now we were getting somewhere. The System Commander continued, “Sorry, my mind wandered. That’s pretty simple. The Corporations that own them thought the local planetary governments were eyeing them a little too closely and decided to head for the only place in the Sector with a still-active military presence,” he said.
“Other than a few local SDF Fleet elements,” I added, and allowed for another pause for LeGodat to reply, then continued. “Right, well it sounds like a clear-cut case of an overeager Imperial Officer straying across the line,” I said firmly. “I’ll just wander on over his way and see if we can’t work something out.”
“Since those were the very same elements they were most concerned about, I don’t think they factored too largely into their calculations,” acting System Commander LeGodat chuckled, then turned serious after hearing my intention to parley with the Imperial Commander. “Reason has already been tried,” LeGodat said flatly. “I pray a new face and a different approach end better for you than it did for us.” The System Commander's face hardened and his voice turned cold, "Commander Cornwallis threatened to blow my ‘outdated space junk’ out of the sky if any of my Corvettes got within so much as twice the distance of our weapons range. After which, he’d blast the Constructors to pieces,” growled the Fleet Reservist.
“Well, let's see if he’s just as willing to duke it out with something a lot closer to his weight class,” I said with a lopsided grin, “The last time I checked, an Imperial Medium Cruiser might have us on the tech-side, but one of these old Dreadnaught class Battleships is bigger, stronger and outweighs her by a significant margin.”
“Good luck,” said LeGodat, signing out.
I turned to the bridge staff, “Find me that Imperial Cruiser,” I barked. “It’s the one right beside a bunch of gigantic Constructors, you really can’t miss it,” I finished helpfully.
The Sensor staff redoubled their efforts. Apparently, being on the hunt was quite a lot more fun than anything else we had done to this point. Soon, the much smaller Medium Cruiser appeared on the main screen beside five enormous Constructors.
Clearly, the bridge crew needed more training, I thought before leaning toward the First Officer.
“How do we stack up against that Imperial Ship,” I asked quietly, careful to keep our conversation private.
The First Officer flashed a grin. “The man that never bluffs, eh,” he said sarcastically.
“We’re bigger and tougher, I know that. I just need to know by how much,” I said irritably.
“We’ve got a slight advantage in throw weight. Very slight, say maybe 10%, but she’s faster and more maneuverable. If she can keep the range open, we go from a 10% advantage to about a 20-30% disadvantage, when a third of our firepower simply won’t reach her,” said Tremblay, his eyes snapping up, left and right as he went through the mental gymnastics comparing the two vessel's statistics.
“Not good,” I mused.
“We’ve got better shields and armor,” continued the First Officer, “our shield generators might be old, but if so they’re still beasts, say a 20% advantage there. The hull is really where we come in strong. This old lady was built to take a beating and keep dishing it out. We should have a 50-52% edge in the 'ability to taking a beating' department, over a standard Imperial Strike class Cruiser,” he finished.
“Should have,” I repeated, ever-hateful of those inevitable addendums.
“The Imperials have the have the best, most well-funded scientists in the entire Confederated Empire working on their military projects. They come up with new cutting edge stuff all the time. Who knows if they’ve already come out with some new weapon, armor or shield upgrade no SDF officer like me’s even heard of,” shrugged the former Intelligence Officer.
"Oh, come now, Mr. Tremblay, you sell yourself short. You were also this ship's primary Intelligence Officer prior to Imperial withdrawal. I'm sure there is no person in this fleet more capable of assessing their tactical capabilities," I said with a calm look and steepled fingers. “So your best guess, please.” I prompted. I loved putting Tremblay on the spot, since it was much better than floundering around all on my own.
Tremblay folded his arms and turned slightly toward the main screen. “We can take her in a straight-up fight, even if she works to keep the range advantage in her favor,” said the First Officer, “unless she gets lucky of course, or does the smart thing and runs away,” he added. “There’s just no way we could catch her.”
“How would the Constructor’s do,” I asked slowly. “If we slugged it out, that is?”
“Most likely scenario,” Tremblay asked guardedly.
“Hit me with it,” I said.
“They get pummeled,” he said evenly, “Maybe one or two are repairable over time, but the Imperial can disable them all quickly and then blast them to pieces while he’s still busy pecking away at us. With his speed and maneuverability advantage he could probably get to most of the Constructors during the fight, even if we were present, if that was his priority,” said Tremblay.
“Then we can’t give him that opportunity,” I said firmly, pursing my lips.
“Yes, Admiral,” Tremblay said. He didn’t roll his eyes, but the sentiment was present.
“Assemble the command staff. It's time to figure out how to handle this mess. We’ve got three Medium Cruisers to deal with,” I said firmly.
“Surely you can’t mean to go after the Prometheans and the Imperials at the same time,” protested the former Intelligence Officer, sounding more than a bit incredulous.
“There’s no way I’m letting those spineless Prometheans off the hook, if there’s any way to swing it,” I said in a regally imperious tone.
“Sir, with all due respect, there’s no way we can handle three Medium Cruisers all at the same time. They’d peck us to death, cripple our engines and then do whatever the Hades they were going to do anyway, all while we drifted helpless and watched!” The First Officer apparently wasn't a fan of this strategy.
“Then we’ll just have to figure out how to deal with them all at the same time,” I said smoothly. “Don’t worry, I have an idea.”
“Sweet Murphy save us,” Tremblay said under his breath.
I clapped him on the shoulder. “Have a little faith, Mr. Tremblay.”
Chapter 4: Strategy Session
My original plan was to hide behind the pirate cruiser until we reached the Prometheans. We’d deal with them first, and then head for the Imperial Cruiser.
The ‘Command Team’ shot that down within seconds.
“There’s no way they haven’t already seen us, Sir,” said Tremblay, happy to see the first, most crucial part of my cunning plan go down in flames within the first two seconds of the conference. “But even assuming they’re idiots, there’s still no way they don’t spot us hiding behind it. First, we’re bigger than the pirate cruiser, second there are two of them, so we can’t keep the ship between us and both of them the whole way in. It's one or the other, and whoever sees us will tell its partner,” he finished, sounding quite satisfied with himself.
One by one, they all agreed with him. I looked around. Akantha, my ever-supportive wife, was quite happy to see me fall on my face. She’d been quietly furious with me the whole trip from the Tracto system, but whenever I broached the subject she would say something like 'Oh, is there some reason for me to be angry?’ or she’d just deny it. But I knew she was upset.
Ever since the incident on the hull, the Chief Engineer showed up to our command meetings, which was a mixed blessing. The grey-haired Gunner was also present, along with whoever had the tactical station that shift. We had Gants from the Armory and the old Caprian officer in charge of training the Lancers, plus a Promethean and a native Tracto-an understudy to the Lancer Unit. Rounding out the team were Akantha and First Officer Tremblay, naturally.
Everyone shook their head at my plan, everyone except the grey-haired gunner. He stroked his beard and looked intrigued.
“You have something to add,” I said, looking to the only face not filled with derision for my apparently not-so-cunning plan.
“If we had any missiles, I’d say send the pirate cruiser anyway, while we headed off to deal with the Imperials,” he said, still stroking his beard. “I’d just lob a few ballistic missiles after them and when they reached closest approach, WHAM!” he said, slamming his hands together.
Several people started and Tremblay jumped.
I appreciated the sentiment, even if it was wholly inapplicable. I even opened my mouth to say so, but was beat to the punch.
“You’ve spent too much time standing in front of the ion cannons while they’re firing,” scoffed Chief Spalding. “We’ve no missiles, you ionized idjit,” and when the gunner opened his mouth, Spalding wagged his finger and hastily added, “Engineering can build anything needed, but not in this kind of time frame.”
The gunner closed his mouth, glanced over at the would-be Lancers, then shrugged. “Got no missiles,” he shrugged again, “we send gunners instead. Me and the boys aren’t afraid of a little cold space assignment. We’ll just hold onto the cruiser until we’re close, and then float on over to sort them out.”
A brief silence ensued, which quickly erupted into a storm of criticism, and the Gunner just sat back in his chair, laced his fingers behind his head and smiled.
“That’s a job for Lancers, not space-crazed Gunners,” exclaimed the Lancer Colonel. “And it's too dangerous!”
The Chief Engineer gaped like a fish before composing himself and jumping into the fray, “The Engineering department could do a better job of it. Leaping from ship to ship in zero-gee is a natural skill of ours. Why, a gunner can’t even hit his target half the time,” he said gamely. “How can you trust him to find his way in open space?”
The ever-eager Gants looked intrigued, “I know a few boys who might be interested in such a plan,” he offered cheerfully.
“Impossible,” snapped First Officer Tremblay. “This cruiser decoy fantasy has been off-base from the word jump. Anyone who supports it is either a fool or has a few screws loose in the head,” he glanced at the Chief Engineer with obvious disdain.
“That’s right,” exclaimed the Lancer Colonel, “jumping’s a fools plan,” he shot the gunner a look that said he was stupid for even suggesting it. Tremblay nodded his agreement. “Shuttles hidden behind the prize ship are the only way to get at them fast enough that they just can’t run away and zap you to pieces with their point defense,” continued the Colonel.
Tremblay looked betrayed. I couldn’t help an amazed smile from spreading across my face.
Then Akantha sealed the deal. “My people aren’t afraid to take a shuttle, or jump off the ship, if that’s what it takes to give us a chance to battle the oathbreakers,” she said, icy contempt for anyone who was afraid of the risks oozing from her voice.
It was nice to see her venom spat at someone else for a change, I thought.
Riding this wave of enthusiasm, we soon hammered out a tentative plan for dealing with the Imperial Cruiser as well. It wasn’t perfect, but I was more than happy to end the conference on a positive note.
Lieutenant Commander McCruise had much less enthusiasm for my plan than the Command Staff. That might have to do with the fact that she’d be riding in an unarmed ship (unarmed, that is, ever since Engineering stripped her weapons systems) on a ballistic course towards two very much still-functioning Medium Cruisers.
Still, she saw things my way eventually. Especially when I pointed out that by the time she got her engines in working order, they’d already be past the two targets; or at least close enough that seeing an otherwise dead ship floating past, suddenly light its engines was quite likely to generate a hostile response.
See, whoever said I was an autocrat was clearly mistaken. I represented the height of representative democracy where everyone gets a vote. Mine just counted for more than all the other ones combined, when you read the final tally, that’s all.
Chapter 5: Into the Fray!
Soon our plan was in motion and the pirate cruiser separated from our hull. Behind it was a small swarm of shuttles filled with newly minted Lancers; barely trained to walk in their power armor without falling down, hiding in its shadow and thirsty for blood. Who said putting a man that Parliament considered a Royalist Fanatic (like the Lancer Colonel) in command of a bunch of clueless but bloodthirsty natives was a bad idea?
As for myself, I was starting to have second thoughts. Particularly when word reached me that Akantha was on one of those shuttles.
I heard it was a feeding frenzy down there as Lancers argued over who should have the first chance at action. She must have gone down and gotten caught up in all the excitement. The longer I knew her, the more savage she seemed to become.
But there was no way to recall the shuttles without tipping our hand, so I was left with nothing but worry. I told myself it was only for the Settlers back on Tracto VI, the people who might lose their homes if she died. I even believed myself for once. But all of my rationalizations didn’t get rid of the small aching pit in my stomach at the sight of her going into a battle I would be helpless to join. Not unless things went very wrong and I finished with the Imperials first.
We’d actually timed things so that even though we had the farthest to go, the Lucky Clover would get within range of the Imperial Cruiser first. Hopefully, the whole system would be focused on the little drama playing out around the fleet of Constructor ships, buying crucial seconds for the small fleet of shuttles carrying my wife and nearly six hundred armed and angry (did I mention power-armored?) Lancers.
Because there had been so many volunteers, the Lancer Colonel had stationed another group of six hundred Lancers on the hull of the pirate ship, just in case reinforcements were needed somewhere along the way. In total, about half my Lancer force of twenty four hundred was deployed on this little side mission.
I still had about twelve hundred untrained Lancers, many of them former Promethean settlers who weren’t as enthusiastic about attacking their former countrymen. Even if those same countrymen had left their settler brothers and sisters to die in cold space.
I wouldn’t say the new Promethean Lancers were particularly forgiving about the situation, but I think the thought of facing a cousin, friend or someone you knew, just because they happened to serve under an awful captain, probably made them less eager to get out there and mix it up than they otherwise might have been.
Now there was nothing to do but wait. Did I mention that I hate waiting? Watching our ship creep closer and closer to the Imperial, and switching back and forth to watch the same thing happen with the Promethean Medium Cruisers, was maddening.
“We’re getting close enough to the Imperial that they are bound to notice-” Officer Tremblay started.
“We’re being hailed by the Imperial Strike Cruiser,” exclaimed the Ex-Com Tech. “They’re demanding we back off or they’ll blow the Constructors.”
“Put the Imperials on screen,” I instructed, ready for battle.
“You’re live, Admiral,” said the Ex-Com tech.
I straightened myself in the Throne. “Unidentified vessel, this is MPF Lucky Clover, Admiral Jason Montagne commanding. Identify yourself or be destroyed,” I said in my most imperious tone.
The First Officer’s head whipped around. “This isn’t part of the script,” he whispered hoarsely.
I smiled grimly, maintaining focus on the main screen's pickup point.
A tall, white-skinned man with well-bred Imperial features appeared on the screen. “Move that filthy old space bucket away from my ship or the Constructors get it,” said the man, “Imperial Commander Marcus Cornwallis, out.”
“Marcus Cornwallis, of the same Cornwallis’s as Rear Admiral Charles Cornwallis,” I demanded, deliberately hardening my face.
“I won’t warn you again,” said the Imperial Officer with cool professionalism.
“A man of the same family who bombarded my home world fifty years ago,” I continued, deliberately raising my voice, “in the process, killing my father and most of my extended family? That Cornwallis,” by this time, I was shouting at the screen.
The first crack appeared in the Imperial Commander’s features. “I don’t know what you are referring to, but let me assure you, familias inside the Empire do not direct the actions of its naval vessels.”
“So you admit it,” I exclaimed, finding myself dangerously close to the line between playing a character and becoming actually enraged. I suppose coming face-to-face with a member of the family directly responsible for my own's near-complete destruction was enough to blur certain lines.
The Imperial Commander looked nonplused, “Don’t you understand? Back off, or I’ll blow the Constructors to kingdom come,” he said smugly, as though speaking to a child.
“To Hades with the Constructors!” I was absolutely livid, and leapt out of my chair. “Helmsman,” I barked, turning to that section of the bridge, “set a course to put us between the Imperial Cruiser and the Constructor.” I then turned toward the tactical section.
“First Officer, instruct gunnery to fire as she bears. I want one broadside firing at the Imperials and another into the Constructors,” I roared, feeling the veins in my neck and forehead bulging.
Turning back to the Imperial Commander, who was looking at me like one would a crazy person, I sneered, “I’d rather see them destroyed than fall into the hands of a Cornwallis!”
“You’re insane,” exclaimed the Imperial Commander, turning to someone outside the main pick up. “Communications, get me System Command and tell that moron LeGodat to warn off this crazy person before I’m forced to destroy his ship,” said the Imperial Commander, speaking quickly and looking suddenly red faced.
“LeGodat and his simplistic, we-all-have-to-go-along-to-get-along protestations,” I scoffed, thinking this was the perfect time to throw some more wood on the fire. “I outrank the man and have taken control of all mobile Confederation Forces in Easy Haven, for the duration.”
“Demon Murphy take you for a fool,” snarled the Imperial Command, “I won’t let you ruin everything,” he said viciously.
The Imperial Commander turned to his bridge crew, “Light the engines and put us between the Constructors and this Rogue Warship,” he instructed.
The Ex-Com on my bridge chimed in, “Sir! System Command and the Imperials are both requesting we accept a conference call with LeGodat.”
“Oh, whatever,” I said, waving my hand in our patented royal dismissive way. “Put him on. I’m curious to know if he’s scrounged up any more vessels for my fleet yet.”
“You’re going to get us all killed,” said Tremblay, looking both pale and furious. Oh, how I love to see that man squirm.
“Death in the pursuit of Honor, is no death all,” I said, trying for my most pompous. Hanging around these bloodthirsty natives with their strange honor code was giving me some truly wild inspiration.
“Sir!” exclaimed Tremblay and LeGodat at the same time.
Seeing another person to carry the torch of reason, Tremblay stepped back they all looked at LeGodat.
The Imperial cut in. “Who is this stooge I see on my view screen, System Commander,” demanded the Imperial Commander. “Instruct him to vacate this area of space at once, or I will destroy more than just these Constructor ships,” threatened the young Cornwallis.
“A moment Commander, please,” begged the System Commander, turning away from the Imperial and toward myself. “What is this, Admiral," LeGodat demanded desperately, “you told me you would be restrained and when I questioned you after hearing the name of the Imperial Commander, you told me there was only some old, outdated family business from before you were born between you! You can’t do this!” The System Commander looked like a man powerless to stop a train wreck, yet desperate to try anyway.
I drew myself up into my most Princely and regal pose, “Commodore LeGodat, let me assure you, I have been the height of reason,” I said looking down my nose at the System Commander.
“It's just Lieutenant Commander, not Commodore,” said the Fleet Officer in charge of system command and the Corvette squadron, “and I’m sorry to have to say you’ve been anything but, Admiral.” LeGodat looked like a man caught between a rock and hard place, a slight sheen of sweat growing on his forehead.
“Listen, Commodore,” I repeated the title purposely.
“It's Commander,” exclaimed the Fleet Officer.
I shook my head, trying for my most condescending bearing. “It’s simply not proper for a ‘Lieutenant Commander’ to command a Star Base of this size and tactical importance. Commodore has a much nicer ring to it, wouldn’t you say? So I’ve promoted you,” I said grandly, accompanying this statement with a regal tilt of the head.
I then snapped my head around to face the Imperial Commander's image. “But neither is it proper for a member of the Caprian Blood Royal to let a Cornwallis slip through his fingers, not when the Imperial Commander has been caught red-handed in the act of piracy against the Confederacy!”
“I regret to have to inform you, Admiral,” said the System Commander, looking grey faced, “that if you engage the Imperial Strike Cruiser in combat, I will have no choice but to fulfill my mandate to protect this system and its inhabitants by firing on your vessel.”
The Imperial Commander looked like a man who’d just swallowed something bitter.
“You’ll do as you feel you have to, Commodore,” I said in a sympathetic voice. “In the meantime, every Imperial vessel that hasn’t pointed its nose to the hyper-limit and started a maximum burn will feel a taste of my wrath! Ex-Com, cut the transmission and redirect us to the Promethean Cruisers. Continue on the open frequency,” I instructed.
The entire bridge staff sat rigidly in their chairs, fingers and hands clenched tight.
“What was that, Admiral,” Tremblay began in despair. “You’ve not only cast us as the aggressors in this conflict, but you’ve implicated the home world, not to mention potentially the entire Confederacy as well!”
I ignored him and turned to the tactical section instead. I caught the eye of the grey-haired individual manning the main console.
“If we actually pass between the Imperials and the Constructors, and we’re within range of our weapons, instruct Gunnery to aim for non-critical areas and most importantly of all, they are instructed to miss their targets,” I said firmly.
The Tactical Officer pursed his lips and then nodded.
Officer Tremblay looked angry and surprised, “Was this whole thing a ruse then,” he demanded. “What’s the big plan now? Bluff them until it's time for us to turn around and run away with our tail firmly between our legs, having made ourselves the laughing stock of civilized space?” I could imagine him envisioning his career's former projected trajectory, now watching it go down in flames, and had to stifle a smile.
I shook my head. “You and your insistence that everything I do is a bluff, up until I actually go and do it,” I said warningly. "When will you learn, Mr. Tremblay? Now, on the other hand, threatening to fire on unarmed civilians? Unarmed Confederation Civilians? That was a legitimate ruse of warfare, not a bluff. Threatening to fire on and destroy an Imperial ship caught in the act of pirating Confederation vessels,” I slammed my good fist into the bent side of the Throne. "No. That was no bluff, Mr. Tremblay, that was a stated fact. If they don’t high-tail it out of here faster than we can catch them, that Strike Cruiser will soon know that they’ve been in a fight.”
I deliberately turned my face away from the First Officer and back to the main screen. “Ex-Com, the Prometheans please,” I said harshly.
The tech jumped, “Yes, Sir,” said the person manning the Ex-Com section. “You’re live now, Admiral.”
“Members of Confederation Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, Pride of Prometheus and Prometheus Fire, you are immediately instructed to heave to and prepare yourselves for inspection teams from the Confederation Flagship, MPF Lucky Clover,” I said harshly. “Resistance will be met with overwhelming force. Put your power generators into shutdown mode and do not attempt to spin up your hyperdrive systems. You are being detained on the suspicion of mutiny and piracy.” I glared unmoving at the screen for several moments, making sure they had the opportunity to see my ruined face in all its terrifying glory.
“Ex-Com, cut transmission,” I said when I felt an appropriate dose had been administered. I was really going now.
A saw a yeoman out of the corner of my eye. I leaned back in my chair and said "Yeoman, a spot of tea, if you'd be so kind. All of this reasonable communicating makes for an awfully dry throat." I couldn't help myself.
After the Tech indicated they were off the air, I leaned back and heaved a sigh of relief.
The signal, when it came back, was twofold.
A swarthy, medium-sized man neither fat nor slim, middle aged and with a haggard look to him appeared on the screen first. “The Medium Cruiser, Prometheus Fire, regrets to inform you that she has been voluntarily withdrawn from the Patrol Fleet, as per agreed upon protocol. The Fire stipulates that it has been, and continues to be, in compliance with all applicable Confederation and Confederated Empire statutes and ordinances. Costel Iorghu of Prometheus Fire out,” said what must have been the captain of the ship.
Then the transmission from Captain Stood came in. Grey hair slicked back and still as fat as ever, the older man jiggled as he slammed his hands down on the arms of his chair and leaned forward. “The Empire’s all but gone and the Confederation dead and buried. I think you have more pressing worries than us and what happened to your fancy little prize ship, right this moment,” he sneered before cutting the transmission.
I paused, uncertain for a moment. It was a good opportunity to take a sip of tea the yeoman had just delivered. “That went well,” I commented in an off-handed fashion.
On the main screen, a swarm of shuttles leapt from behind the drifting cruiser that was scheduled to be turned over to Wolf 9 and the 209th Light Squadron.
Turbo laser fire lashed out from the Pride of Prometheus, striking the still drifting wreck. The Pride raked the wreck with two volleys before realizing the threat wasn’t coming from drifting prize ship.
“Both Promethean Cruisers have started charging their star drives,” said a female sensor operator.
The Pride refocused her weapons and turned them on the shuttles, but she only got a few good hits in, destroying one shuttle and damaging two more before they were in close and landing on the hull.
For her part, The Fire maneuvered to escape the shuttles sent against her, but refrained from firing. Unfortunately for the Fire and her sister ship the Pride, she was an old Hammerhead design, a rugged vessel that had seen service as far back as the AI Wars and perhaps longer. Its rugged durability came with a serious trade-off in the engine department, making her slower than a modern ship her size and less maneuverable, too.
If you came at her head on, she was still a formidable, if aged foe. But when she didn’t fire and even turned away so that most of her heavy weapons couldn’t even bear on the shuttles, it was the same as tacitly admitting you were caught, without actually giving up. Such a maneuver would be gambling on the chance that your opponent would choose to focus on someone else, like your sister ship.
The Pride was still maneuvering for her best firing arc when the surviving shuttles landed on her hull. It took a little longer for the six craft sent after the Fire to catch up, but eventually they landed as well.
“Fire of Prometheus has cut power to her engines, and her hyper emissions are fading,” grinned one of the Sensor Operators. “She’s as good as surrendered, Sir.”
“Excellent, Sensor Tech,” I said, loosening the tight grip I had on the arms of the Admiral's Throne. I hadn't even noticed grabbing it, let alone so tightly.
There was a stir in part of the sensor section. “Admiral! The Imperial Strike Cruiser is coming about. She’s heading straight for us,” exclaimed one of the sensor techs.
“Poke the bear with a stick and watch what happens next,” the First Officer muttered darkly, his voice low enough that no one but me was likely to hear him.
“Exactly,” I said with a false sense of relish. If you're going to play a part, you might as well go all-in. The First Officer looked at me like he thought I was a crazed man. Apparently, I was doing well.
“We’re the bear and that Imperial is just an over-aggressive little mountain lion who doesn’t know what it's messing with,” I iterated, trying to project confidence for the rest of the Flag Bridge.
“If they continue on this course, the Imperials will meet us before we range on the Constructors,” reported Tactical.
“The man just blinked,” I said happily.
“Huh,” said the First Officer, clearly finding the idea that an untrained Royal could see something a trained officer like himself had missed to be preposterous.
“He doesn’t want to risk us firing on those Constructors. For a man who acts so very willing to blow those ships up to keep them out of our hands, he sure is going to a lot of trouble see to it ‘we’ don’t get a chance to destroy them,” I said with smug satisfaction. That satisfaction soon turned to a creeping feeling of dread as the Strike Cruiser came closer and closer.
I had considered the possibility of actually fighting the Strike Cruiser to be about 50/50. Looks like I had been unconsciously betting on the wrong 50. Either that, or I was pretty bad at figuring the odds.
“Wait for it,” the tactical officer said from his console.
For a second, I was confused. The icons on the screen hadn’t yet met. I was about to make a comment but didn’t get the chance.
“Wait for it,” yelled the Tactical Officer. “Gunnery, now,” he roared. “Port broadside fire as she bears. Forward gunners give it to her with both barrels.”
I watched entranced as the main screen was filled with streaks of light. I was surprised I wasn’t actually feeling anything. With the ramming maneuver, and obviously during the trip in the little Cutter, the evidence of combat could be felt through deck plating. Here, there was nothing. No recoil, no massive 'thwumps' or those other high-pitch weapon sounds I was so used to hearing in the holo-vids.
“Her turbolasers are ranging on us, Admiral,” exclaimed one of the sensor operators. “Ours are replying in turn. We’re still outside the range of our heavy laser cannons,” the man said excitedly.
“Shields are falling,” reported the Shield Operator. “We’re down to 50% on our forward shields.”
“She’s rotating,” roared the grey haired Tactical Officer. “Recommend we do the same, Sir.”
It took me a moment to realize the Tactical Officer was speaking to me.
“The batteries are getting kind of hot. Recommend we rotate to give the port broadside a chance to cool down,” the man at tactical said urgently.
“Do it, Helmsman,” I ordered, working hard to keep my tone steady.
Then the Imperials brought their other broadside to bear and continued coming in at an angle such that their main weaponry all found a target. I felt a small shudder and a series of automated warning sirens started going off.
“Shield penetration,” yelped the shield Operator. “We’re down to 20% on the shields. Spotting is occurring and some of their fire is getting through.”
Damage Control sounded off, “Hull compromised on deck five. The leakage has been stopped by the automated pressure sensors on the blast doors,” reported a man at damage control. “Dispatching a work party now.”
“How much damage to the enemy ship,” I asked, pounding my chair in excitement.
There was a pause. “Negligible so far, Sir” stated one of the tactical trainees after conferring with sensors. “We haven’t even made it through their shields yet.”
“I thought our shields were stronger,” I said in frustration.
“The Imperials have better fire control computers and more skilled gunners,” the officer at tactical said hoarsely. Fingers flying over the tactical console and eyes never leaving his screen. “They have more weapons able to fire at these longer ranges than we do. Our boys are doing the best they can.”
“Reroute power from the rear shielding array to the forward. Let's compensate for the extra damage we’re taking,” instructed Officer Tremblay. He was already at the shield console and I had never even noticed him move there.
“Shields stabilizing,” reported the Shields Operator.
“How’s our regen rate,” queried the Tactical Officer.
The shield operator listed a number that had the man swearing. “Sweet Murphy, the Chief Engineer told me we only had three of the five fusion generators the ship was issued with, but I forgot,” the man said, looking grim. “Must be getting old.”
Then the Lucky Clover’s starboard turbolaser batteries came to bear and a renewed series of lights flashed back and forth.
“She’s trying to maintain her distance,” exclaimed one of the sensor operators. “The Imperial's turning to keep the range open.”
“Get us as close as you can and keep us there, Helmsman,” I ordered before several opened mouths could urge me to do so.
“Yes, Admiral,” DuPont said with determination.
For several minutes the two ships pounded away on each other.
“It’s a good thing our barrels are too hot to fire more often,” reported the Tactical Officer. “With only our three old power generators, I’m afraid we couldn’t keep recharging the shields and fire one broadside full out. As it is, if we were facing more ships, we wouldn’t have the power to fire both broadsides at once, even if the shield recharge rate was cut entirely,” he growled in frustration.
The enemy vessel rotated again and a fresh barrage of turbo laser fire rained down on the Luck Clover.
“Shield strength falling rapidly,” wailed the shield operator.
“Re-route power from the rear shield array,” said the First Officer.
“There’s nothing to re-route,” said the Shield Operator frantically. Then the ship was rocked by series of blows.
“Decompression on decks one through three,” reported Damage Control.
“How bad is it,” snapped the First Officer.
There was a pause and several more blows caused the ship to shudder.
“It's minimal,” damage control reported in a loud, yet relieved tone.
“Roll the ship,” I ordered.
“We’re not yet at the end of the heat life of our barrel,” protested the Tactical Officer.
The Helmsman looked back at me and I nodded, indicating he should continue anyway.
Several more clangs occurred, then finally the roll was over and a fresh broadside was unleashing its fury.
“Enemy shields are spotting,” said a sensor operator pumping his fist. The Bridge gave a cheer in unison.
I gave them all a brave smile, but on the inside I was sure the other side was cheering about all the turbo-bolts that landed on the hull of the Lucky Clover, not about a little bit of shield spotting.
“Contact the Chief Engineer,” I said as soon as Tremblay regained control and the cheering died down. “Tell him I don’t care how he does it, but we need more power to the turbo-batteries,” I barked.
Something on the other side had to give, or our ship was going to be in a world of hurt.
Then a series of explosions rocked the ship and the lights flickered on the bridge. I didn’t know how much more of this my ship could take.
Chapter 6: The Paring Knife
He was the very model of an ancient, outdated Space Engineer.
Crewman Bostwell was trying to say something as the ship rocked worse than it ever had before and a power surge shot through Main Engineering.
Several crewmen's uniforms caught fire and they fell screaming from the catwalk.
Smoke started to pour from one of the three primary conduits running from Fusion Generator number 2. Main Engineering quickly started to fill with smoke. “Shut her down,” screamed Crewman Brence, pointing at the sparking and flaming fusion generator. “We have to shut it down and eject the fusion core!”
“No,” bellowed Chief Spalding. “Turn the vents on full blast and get that smoke out of here. Main Engineering isn’t surrendering yet!”
“But Chief, the internal breakers are all fused up and even if we could replace them without killing the men doing it, there’s a crack in the containment, there’s no way she’ll hold up under the strain!"
“Never,” roared the Chief Engineer. “If we lose a power core, the Clover’s as good as finished!”
“We may not have a choice, Sir,” yelled Brence, pointing to the burning generator.
“Chief!” yelled Bostwell, manning a monitoring station a few meters away.
“What,” screamed Spalding as he spun to face Bostwell, his hair even more wild and unruly than usual.
“The Bridge says the Admiral doesn’t care how you do it, they need more power and they need it now!” Bostwell relayed.
The Chief Engineer threw back his head and laughed. Wiping away the tears, he slapped Bostwell on the shoulder. “Tell them they’ll have their power in five minutes."
“Chief,” protested Brence, “this is insane! We need to dump the core and advise the Admiral to abandon ship if things are so desperate.”
Engineering was rocked again by a nearby impact.
Lieutenant Spalding slapped the nearest thing he’d had to a crew chief before Tracto VI squarely on the chest. Those know-it-all settlement types who couldn’t hack it in the SDF and showed up to complain about the state of his Engineering department might know more, but Brence had been there with him through thick and thin. Seeing Castwell die of his liquor addiction had also worked its wonders on the former no-good slacker.
“Engineering won’t abandon its post while one, single gunner is still manning his. You round up any man that isn’t running for it, get that fire put out and those breakers re-installed,” he barked at the crewman.
“Sir, it doesn’t matter. Even if we get the breakers back in order and the fire put out, it's too late! The core is going to blow, Chief,” repeated the crewman, panic in full control.
“You let me worry about the fusion core, laddy. You just make blasted sure that when the power starts flowin’ right, you funnel it where the Admiral needs it. Do you understand,” he barked, grabbing the other man by the back of the neck and glaring into his eyes for good measure.
The crewman met his gaze and paused for a moment. “No, Sir. I don’t,” said Brence finally.
“Good lad,” he said, patting him once on the cheek before slapping him away and giving him a boot in the rear to see on his way. Then he marched to the biggest machine shop on the ship and forced his way into a halfway repaired heavy load suit.
Stomping back into Main Engineering, he watched as the vents struggled, and ultimately failed to contain the smoke. Brence and a handful of men had climbed up onto the fusion generator and were trying to put out the fires with a series of small, portable fire extinguishers.
As he watched, one man was electrocuted and his blackened body was thrown half way across the decking, landing on the floor with a sickening crunch.
Seeing a runner high-tailing it off the deck, the old chief used his clumsy load suit to collar the man. Literally. He was trying for an arm, but the unwieldy suit grabbed hold of the fabric of the rating’s collar instead.
“I need you, lad,” laughed the Chief Engineer. “No more slacking for you!” He marched the two of them over to the plant with the damaged fusion core.
He pressed the still kicking and struggling crewman towards the manual door controls. “It’s a two man job, lad,” he said loudly and pressed the man against the controls he would need to operate.
“Stay here and start the opening sequence,” he instructed. “If you're thinking of running while my back is turned, know I’ll find you and toss you into the waste recycler just like they did to Jean Luc,” he warned direly.
He went back to grab a thin, meter-square section of hull metal, normally used for simple emergency patches. Upon returning, he clumsily worked the levers and the first door leading into the fusion core swung open.
“Ye’ve done yer duty, lad,” said the Chief Engineer. “You can finish running away if you like.”
“Yes sir,” said the wide-eyed engineering rating, glancing back and forth between the wildly grinning Chief Engineer and the opening leading into an unstable power core.
“Engineering is still the toughest blasted department on the ship, my young rating, and don’t you ever forget it. You tell the Chief Gunner I’ll see him in Hades,” howled the grinning Chief Engineer as he marched through the door. “Floating from ship to ship," he muttered as he manually closed the door behind him, "what a bunch of nonsense.”
He saw the rating was still nodding like a fool and he sighed. It was a sorry bunch of hands he’d be leaving the Engineering department in. A sorry bunch indeed. Turning slowly, he resolutely opened the second of three doors leading directly to the cracked fusion core. The book said there was no way a standard heavy load suit could survive the radiation bath of a cracked core. There was no way a man inside a load suit would survive long enough to fix anything, they said.
Well, whoever wrote that book was a liar. He’d looked at the specs himself and figured that a man in a heavy load suit, holding a properly sized section of outer-hull metal between himself and the main leak ought to have just enough time to make sure the fix was in before turning into a crispy critter and giving up the ghost.
Closing the second door, he turned and started the cycle to open the third and final door. It was all that was between him and an out-of-control power core. Holding the hull-metal shield in one hand and his trusty plasma torch in the other, he waded in to do battle with the Demon Murphy himself.
Chapter 7: The Second Wind
The Chief Gunner’s Mate on the ship didn’t question the sudden return of power. More power than they’d had the whole battle so far, in fact. Instead, he ordered a renewed barrage of turbo-bolts from the rest of the men and took careful aim at that infernally hard to damage Imperial Strike Cruiser.
Aiming for where he thought a spot in the shield was about to form, the Chief Gunner on the ship cut loose with the battery under his direct control. He didn’t need some fancily dressed Tactical Officer up on the bridge telling him what to do. This was a fight, not rocket surgery!
**********
The ship shook and rocked around me, and the power continued to flicker on the Flag Bridge. Damage control said there was a fire in Main Engineering and they’d heard nothing from Spalding ever since he said to give him five minutes.
That was six minutes ago, and the Imperial ship continued to pummel us dangerously close to the point of submission. The Lucky Clover had gotten in a few random blows here and there, but nothing to write home about.
Damage control was talking about needing to eject a fusion core before it exploded, taking the ship with it. But if they did that, there was no way we could stay in the fight with the Imperial Cruiser.
“I read a pair of CR70 old-style Corvettes coming up fast behind us,” yelled a Sensor Operator.
It looked like LeGodat was about to make good on his promise to join the Imperials. He was perfectly positioned to strafe us from the rear. After the engines were taken out, it wouldn’t matter about the fusion generator any more. We would be sitting ducks.
I was just about to order the core dumped and bitterly offer our surrender to Commander Cornwallis, when the Lucky Clover once again lived up to its name sake, with two spots of good fortune.
Without warning, the lights surged painfully bright.
“We’ve got full power back! More than we had before the fusion core went unstable,” exclaimed the Tactical Officer before thumping one of his trainees on the shoulder and speaking directives furiously into his microphone. “A hit,” he roared, pounding the trainee beside him on the shoulder so hard the younger man started to fall out of his seat.
“Her forward shields are wavering, and I’m getting erratic power readings from the Imperial Cruiser,” said a sensor operator, her voice rising above the fray.
“We hit something critical,” said the Tactical Officer, “Pour it on, lads,” he shouted into his mike, "make every shot count!"
“We’re gaining on them,” Helmsman DuPont said fiercely.
“The Corvettes are almost on us,” snapped the Tactical Officer.
“Only fire when fired upon,” I bellowed, just to be sure I was heard. “The longer they hold off, the better!”
“Admiral, recommend we slew our engines so it's harder for them to make any trick shots,” suggested Tremblay.
“Make it so, Helmsman,” I instructed, oblivious to whatever 'slewing the engines' actually entailed.
The Tactical Officer stopped barking orders into his receiver for a few seconds, long enough that I turned to him to see what had happened. His eyes were locked on his primary display, and he took a step back from his console with his hands slowly raising into the air. I had no idea what was going on, but was just about to order Tremblay to his station to assist with whatever the problem was, when he finally spoke. "Heavy Laser range in three..two..one. We've got them, send 'em to Hades, boys!"
A new barrage of fire erupted from the Lucky Clover, making every time we had fired before pale in comparison. The shields of the Imperial Cruiser, showing random openings before, now seemed ready to collapse under the crushing weight of our medium-range fire.
I may have imagined it, but the Corvettes seemed to hesitate, and instead of unloading their fire into the vulnerable rear of our ship, they swung wide around the old Battleship and streaked in for an attack run on the Imperials.
After we had fully cleared our Heavy Lasers, the Imperial ship’s shields managed to stabilize, and their engines were once again at full power. But by now, the damage had been done and the Lucky Clover was in close, able to bring all her firepower to bear. Miraculously, we even had enough power to fire it all this time.
I didn’t know how Engineering had managed it, but Spalding had worked another one of his miracles.
All that was left was to see if the poorly named 'Montagne Magic' was going to be enough to give my larger, much more outdated and moderately damaged provincial warship the ability to defeat a top of the line, faster and more maneuverable Imperial, one with nearly the same throw weight and only bearing light damage.
The Imperial was trying to get away, but things were going to get much closer before they started sliding apart again.
Roaring in for the kill were the pair of small Corvettes. They came in close and fired their lighter weapons at holes in the Strike Cruiser’s shields. The Imperial Cruiser defiantly fired back, sending one Corvette spinning from a pair of perfectly placed turbo-bolts. The other one streaked away from the much larger capital ship to avoid a similar crippling blow.
Then it was our turn. Under my feet, I could feel the deck shake and the ship heave, but all I could focus on was the air spilling out of the hull of the Imperial ship.
The heavy lasers might be old, outdated and clearly less powerful than the newer turbo-lasers and turbo-batteries, but there were a lot more of them, and what they lacked in range and power, they made up for in sheer, suffocating volume.
I could hear the Tactical Officer instructing the heavy laser gunners to focus on taking out the enemy weapon systems and turret placements, because they weren’t strong enough to penetrate the hull without a concentrated barrage on a relatively small area.
“We don’t have the training and proficiency for that kind of operation yet. We’ll do a lot better stripping her of her ability to do us further damage,” the man said, lecturing his trainees, even in the heart of battle.
There was an explosion that felt like something massive had snapped toward the front of our ship.
“What was that,” yelped Tremblay.
“Forward shields are down,” said the shield operator.
“They just completely destroyed our forward shield generator,” reported Damage Control. The crewman listened to something in his ear, “Report is: there’s nothing left but the mount. We’re going to need a brand new assembly when this is all over.”
“We’ll worry about that after we survive the battle,” rebuked the First Officer.
“Helmsman, rotate the ship so our least damaged side is facing them and take us in. Right down their throats,” I ordered, stealing a line from one of the more bombastic naval holo-vids.
The damaged Corvette had recovered enough to limp away from the battle, but the other one was still harrying the Strike Cruiser from its rear, swooping in and out. There was less defensive weaponry there, and the Corvette couldn't afford to gamble anywhere else.
Despite their best efforts, the Imperials kept receiving hits landing on and around their engines from that pesky little Corvette.
The Corvette seemed able to nimbly dodge or absorb the relatively low powered defensive fire on the rear facing. There was a lot of it, but it wasn’t very powerful compared to the Cruiser’s main weaponry, and the Corvette was a relatively small target.
Shrugging off blow after blow, the Dreadnaught class Battleship lived up to its namesake, and pounded its way right next to the Strike Cruiser.
The Strike Cruiser started to rotate, but it was moving much slower than before. It seemed the Corvette was having some kind of effect back there after all. Clearly, not all those shots had missed or been absorbed by armor.
“We’ve just about knocked out all her weapons on that side, while they’ve only killed about a third of ours,” the Tactical Officer reported with enthusiasm.
Then the Strike Cruiser was rocked by a series of small explosions and lost power once again. It was only for a few seconds, but the Imperial ship came back online with even less power than before.
Her gunnery seemed less coordinated as well.
That’s when I knew it was time. The Imperial was slower and less coordinated than ever before. The hits she’d taken were causing her more distress than the equivalent damage to the Clover. They’d already shown that if we gave them time, Imperial damage control teams could restore most of the lost function.
I wasn’t going to give them that time.
I turned to Lieutenant Tremblay. “Instruct the Lancers to suit up, if they aren’t already, and to get themselves out on the starboard hull and be ready to jump,” I said.
Then I turned to the Helmsman. “I don’t care how you do it, just get us in close to that damaged side of theirs, where our gunnery team has nearly knocked out their weaponry,” I ordered.
“There’s no way we can match ship velocity and spins in time to board. They'll be able to move away with plenty of time to spare. Any bucking cables or grappling hooks will be useless,” protested the Helmsman while doing as he’d been ordered.
“Didn’t you hear,” I said with a vicious grin, “we’re not going to board her. The Lancers are.” I knew I gave the helmsman a rictus of a smile, but I couldn’t help it. I was sending a bunch of untrained and overeager (but in the case of the natives, bloodthirsty as well) young men to take down an Imperial Strike Cruiser.
For a moment, I was struck with the knowledge that it was too much to ask of them. That was when I knew what I had to do.
“Tremblay, you have Con,” I declared, jumping out of the Admiral’s Throne and then pointed at the Tactical Officer, “he’s your new second in command until I come back,” I ordered.
“Where are you going,” exclaimed the First Officer, completely blindsided.
“Just let the Helmsman do his duty and pull away from that ship as soon as we’re across. There’s no need to wreck the ship once the Lancers are onboard,” I said, breaking into a jog toward the lift.
Activating my wrist com, I contacted Gants and instructed him to bring an extra suit to the nearest starboard airlock.
Chapter 8: Boarding Action
After meeting up with Gants (who was all enthusiasm, as usual), I slammed my way into the suit. I did manage to hurt my recently dismembered hand when I jostled it awkwardly in my rush, but before I knew it, I was cycling through the airlock and out onto the hull.
I was just as untrained as any of them, when it came to jumping from ship to ship. Thankfully, someone other than myself had been thinking of things, because I noticed that each small squad of men had been issued a portable thruster pack. It looked like the plan was for one man to hold the thruster while the other men dangled behind him, holding onto a safety line.
I hunched down and my visor automatically darkened as turbo-bolts lashed the hull of the Lucky Clover. Quickly, the other side of the Strike Cruiser was visible. There were only a few active turrets working, the rest were nothing more than blackened craters on their hull.
It was time, and in the case of his little Armory squad, Gants activated the portable thruster pack and they were off.
The Prometheans at least had a good idea of what to do. Not only were they from a high-tech civilization (at least when compared to the natives of Tracto), but they’d recently spent some time floating in space waiting for a rescue from the pirates. So they were motivated, and at least had some theoretical and practical knowledge to go with their lack of experience.
Unfortunately, not everyone aimed well and just over half my Lancers missed the Imperial Cruiser entirely, at least on the first pass.
Imperial point defense batteries flared to life as I watched, and my men started to light up like Christmas candles as they were shot down one by one.
The rest were motivated to get down on the hull anyway they could. Some made it, others weren’t so lucky. I knew the chances were small of being struck by one of those point defense systems, but the sheer, overwhelming terror was almost too much to bear.
Then, before I knew it, I was down on their hull and it was time to force our way into the Strike Cruiser.
The Armory crew, having been involved with one previous boarding action, remembered to bring a self-sealing boarding tube along with them.
I would have made a comment about at least remembering vital equipment the second time around, but looking at the various Lancer squads landing around us, I realized they were probably the only people in my original twelve hundred man boarding party to bring one along.
That meant our opening had to be successful. There was no choice, because there were no other boarding tubes. Anyone who survived the withering fire when they overshot and landed on the other side of the hull were just going to have to force an airlock or something.
No pressure, I reminded myself.
For a moment I just stopped and stared at my hands. Here I was, not three weeks ago a loyal subject of the Confederated Empire and useless to just about everyone, including myself. Now I was boarding an Imperial Warship with the intent of seizing her through bloody force, and all I could think about was to wonder and worry about how many Marine Jacks they had onboard.
Then Oleander jostled me so bad I almost lost contact with the hull and had to make a desperate grab at the security line I’d dropped to keep from floating out into space. I glared at the man, who had the grace to look sheepish and mouth a sorry. I had nearly been reduced to a helpless target for the remaining Imperial point defense.
But I smiled and shrugged at him, then opened a channel to Gants and told him Oleander was going to be the first one into the boarding tube and dropped inside the hull to greet the Imperials.
Gants gave me a worried look but did as I asked.
A boarding tube is a collapsible piece of tubing a little over a meter wide, consisting of a cutting end with drills, torches and other methods of cutting quickly through hull-plating, and a telescopic tube which could extend up to seven meters. Inside the collapsible section were two pieces of high-tech, incomprehensible (but fully functional) membranous material which could maintain an air seal, once the interior of the target vessel had been breached. Essentially, all one had to do was place the cutting end of the tube against the hull of the ship, and let the drills cut their way through the metal until it found pressure, at which point the seals would activate and Marines (or, in our case, Lancers) could jump into the tube and come out in whatever compartment had been breached.
Oleander was through first, as was ordered, followed by several other men and then it was my turn to drop through that tube and into what would prove to be the worst fight of my life yet.
At first it was easy going, a few unarmed Imperial crewmen who ran away. Then some men with blaster sidearms. I knew that unless they got in a series of lucky shots, there was nothing they could do against a man in power armor, but I ducked behind a door when I moved to return fire anyway. The last thing I needed was a lucky shot that put me and this clunky old suit out of the action.
I wish my old upgraded power suit had been available, but the helmet and suit attachments at the neck still needed work, and Spalding had been too busy getting a couple thousand of these battle-suits up and running to focus on it.
The corridor behind me swelled with armored figures. There must have been almost a hundred of us gathered around that insertion point, and I was starting to feel confident that we could do this.
That’s when the Jacks came out of the wall and showed us what a real Marine in first-rate power armor could do. And when I say come out of the wall, that’s literally what happened.
The first group burned a hole and took us in the side while the second had stood motionless with their camouflage. We obviously hadn’t even noticed and walked right past them. Gants, Murphy bless him, was the first to recognize the ambush for what it was.
"They're coming through the walls," he screamed, and dove to the far side of the corridor.
I later learned our suits had a feature to help us detect such stealthy intruders in our midst, but we didn’t know about it at the time and even if we had, we were dressed in grandpa’s old provincial version. The Jacks were in top of the line, state of the art Imperial fighting equipment. I seriously doubt we would have picked up anything recognizable even if we had known of that particular function. That's my position anyway, and I'm sticking to it.
Crouching down, first with fear and then with a reasoned desire to survive, I unslung my plasma rifle and looked for the opportunity to return fire. Snapping off a shot, I watched in dismay as a nearly invisible Imperial suit staggered and then shrugged it off.
"Focus your fire, men," I yelled over the suit's communication system. I really didn't know much about a coordinated boarding action, but keeping everyone focused and together seemed the most important part of any successful plan.
Looking at the Jacks, the difference between our forces was obvious. Where we had helmets with neck plates that stuck out like you would see on an old-fashioned suit of plate mail from a time when horseback jousting was the premier combat sport, they had a seamless, curved section of reinforced armor running from the edge of their shoulders to the top of their head. Far from being a weak spot, their head area was so heavily reinforced they could use the entire top section of their armor, including their heads, as battering rams.
The amount of firepower they were putting out was devastating and as I saw Lancers staggering and going down, I screamed into my mike and stood up. A lot of people behind me were being burned down or actively seeking cover, and in the confusion I couldn’t always tell which.
This realization filled me with rage and I pulled on the trigger, unleashing a stream of plasma bolts through the gaps in my men.
Looking into the main body of our attackers, I caught a good look at one of the exposed Imperials. It appeared where we had to carry blaster or plasma rifles, they had blasters tubes built into one arm and plasma tubes in the other. All they had to do was point and subtly push their wrist down to be rewarded with a kill.
While we had a motley assortment of carbon nano-steel boarding axes and vibro-blades, they carried force-blades and crystal axes made out of pure mono-Locsium.
Hits they would shrug off could put our men down, and sometimes we didn’t get up again.
I think if there had been more of them, they would have overwhelmed us with that first ambush. As it was, fewer than twenty Imperial Jacks killed over half of us, putting down a good fifty of my men, without losing single one of their own before withdrawing.
I missed the worst of the ambush by virtue of leading from the front. The Jacks hit the middle of our column while our scouts walked by, all fat and happy. I sat there cursing, swearing and taking the occasional pot shot as the Imperials did the damage they intended and then withdrew.
My battle suit was the same style of antiquated clunker as the rest of my men, so they had no idea there was anything different about me, which is probably why they didn’t actively try to take me out in the initial furor. I later learned the reason we had so many old-style battle suits for my Lancers was because Spalding had snuck them off several other ships that were headed for the breakers. As it was, I was both grateful we had the suits and furious at how poorly they stacked up to the Imperial’s gear.
A few of our more bloodthirsty natives responded to the attack by raising their vibro-weapons and charging after the Jacks. We found their bodies later. As far as we could tell, of the six men who charged off after the Jacks, only one managed to get his quarry before also dying.
It was a sad state of affairs when an undisciplined barbaric charge netted us our best win/loss ratio.
After that, I think my Tracto-an’s started to realize what these suits were capable of. Before, they’d just been treating them like superior versions of their own native armors. Seeing the Jacks in action, bouncing off walls and killing men left and right with bolts from their arms and blades and axes in their hands did not have the same intimidating effect on the Tracto-an’s it had on the rest of us. It actually seemed to inspire them.
My rambunctious Armory crew and the few Promethean’s amongst us huddled close together and covered our firing lines as we crept through the ship.
In comparison, the men who called me Warlord tried to do a little wall bouncing of their own and eagerly moved ahead to find combat with the enemy. They had no mercy for any of the unarmed ship’s crew they found. If the person wouldn’t surrender or, after surrendering tried to resist or escape, my Tracto-ans were more than happy to cut his or her head off.
In return, the Jacks savaged my forces.
There were a few more ambushes, which finally taught my warrior natives some caution. It seemed there was no honor in tripping an improvised mine and blowing yourself up, and thankfully the savage warriors caught on to that fact quickly enough.
But leaping into battle to get carved up two to one didn’t faze them in the least, and they were more than happy to replace any lost weapons with captured enemy gear. They even went so far as to hand off vibro-blades in exchange for mono-Locsium boarding axes and force-blades. They couldn’t figure out how to get the force blades to work (probably because they were genetically coded to one wielder), but they were such fearsome weapons that the natives prized them highly anyway, and made do with the mono-Locsium axes instead.
I was holding tightly to the Minos Blade, having lost my plasma rifle in one of the engagements. I realize another man might have changed the name of a blade that had been christened just in time to lose a battle for its new owner. But me, I considered the Minos Blade lucky. I had never lost a battle with it. Although, to tell the truth, I had come close twice. So far, any battle in which both the sword and I were involved in was a winner for at least one of us.
I think the Imperials discounted it as a broken vibro-blade that didn’t vibrate. However, the Minos Blade and I soon taught them differently. Slashing and rending for all I was worth, whenever a Jack came close enough, I managed to take a few of them apart before their certainly smug expressions, hidden by their helmets, changed to horror before they were snuffed out.
I think it was at this point that they penetrated our internal communications and sorted through enough confusion to realize I was some sort of leader. A team of five burned through the walls on either side of us and went for an ambush. Fortunately, we’d been properly paranoid and with all the natives running around searching for enemies, they couldn’t slip more than a small five man team deep within our lines to get at me.
As soon as we saw the red color to the walls that preceded an imminent explosion, I used my power armor-enhanced arms to take the Minos Blade and slam it through the duralloy wall beside me. I felt resistance and something tug on the blade, and then they were through the walls.
Following my lead, a couple of the Armory boys with vibro-blades tried to deal with the intruders hand to hand, while the rest leveled plasma rifles and cut loose.
Unlike the vibro-blades that were getting cut to pieces, my ‘dark sword of superstitious power’ (otherwise known as the Minos Sword), was standing up just fine to the Jack’s mono-Locsium boarding axes and force blades.
I, on the other hand was not, and that was just the problem. My other hand, that is. Even in my reinforced armor, my recently reattached hand just wasn’t up to all this activity, and right now I needed it desperately. Because the Jacks had more than twice the skill, and were encased in twice the battle-suit I was.
For his part, Oleander pulled the pins on a string of plasma grenades before he (and a couple Prometheans who had stuck close by) dove behind us to get away from the blast. I was lucky to avoid the worst of the explosion, as the body of a Jack I had impaled was positioned perfectly between myself and the super-heated cloud of plasma. The concussive force knocked me against the wall, but I was able to keep my feet and stay in the fight.
While I would never admit it out loud, I think Oleander’s danger-close thinking when he tossed a string of plasma grenades practically at our feet, actually paid off. Surprisingly enough, for the klutz that he is.
The Marine Jacks, having pushed us back and neatly decapitated two of my men, were thrown off their feet and coated in white hot plasma when the string of grenades exploded.
Their suits might be resistant, but the burning plasma sure slowed them down.
I used this to my advantage to put all of my two-handed, servo-assisted power behind the Minos Sword and thrust it into the visor of a fallen Imperial Marine Jack.
You can say it was unsportsmanlike, and as dishonorable an action as you care to throw around, but I was fighting for survival here. This was another Victory or Death scenario and so far, there had been a lot more death on my side than there had been victory. The sickening screech as my sword penetrated his suit and sank into the Jack’s head set off a string of uncontrolled twitching in the man under my boot.
I looked away and moved on, too busy to be sick to my stomach.
We pushed forward, my men and I, heading deep into the ship in search of the Bridge or Engine Room.
I suspect the reason the Jacks eventually decided to come at us in force wasn’t because we were in a terrible position. Oh, it certainly wasn’t good, but it wasn’t as bad as some of the series of corridors we had passed through recently. It must have been because we were getting close to something important.
This time was different, though. This time, they came in serious numbers, not the little raiding teams that had been so devastatingly effective so far, and the Jacks were supported by a number of heavily armed members of the crew.
Whatever else you want to say about the Imperials, you have to give them this. They were tough sons-of-guns. However, while my Caprian and Promethean men were probably willing to concede them the honor as the toughest men in the galaxy, the Tracto-ans felt a little differently.
The Caprian and Promethean reaction to an unexpected attack that decimated your numbers was to turtle up and try to hold. The Tracto-ans had a whole other way of thinking. When they were pressed, they pushed back. Hard. Where I and the men around me from the Armory team crouched down to return fire, the Tracto-ans charged.
Taking a page from the Marine Jacks, my natives in provincial armor bounced off walls, they dove and rolled, anything to close to grips with the enemy. When that didn’t work, they’d get together and two of them would cut through a wall almost as fast as a single Jack working by himself could, then they’d try to go around.
They even came up with the idea of using grenades to blow a hole in the ceiling, and then two men would launch a steady stream of their fellows up onto the next floor. At least, they would do so until the Jacks cut the throwers down. All of this was in an attempt to get over the Jacks so they could cut a new hole and land on top of, beside, or behind them.
It was all out, it was brutal and it was carnage. I think the Tracto-ans had less preconceived notions of what was and was not possible using power armor, and when they saw a Jack do something impossible, their response was to try to duplicate it. They didn’t stop to wonder if their old suit was up to the job or built for the task. There were some colossal failures, but unexpected successes as well.
However, the thing that held most in our favor was numbers. We were outnumbered by the unarmored crew. But they were nearly helpless against us unless they were sporting heavy weaponry. The Jacks had us outclassed, but there were fewer of them than I had expected.
So, despite brutal losses, my Lancers carried the day all the way to the Bridge of the Imperial Strike Cruiser.
We managed to blow open the doors to the Bridge using all the explosives we carried, along with whatever we could scrounge from the fallen Jacks. Marching into the Bridge in my armor, I was hit by a blaster bolt from a hand held weapon. I pretended to ignore it and planted my feet on the deck plating.
“Commander Marcus Cornwallis, in the name of the Confederation Fleet and its Government, I demand you surrender this ship and your person to my forces. You and your men will be taken before a High Justice, where you will be charged with the crime of cold space piracy and violating the sovereignty of Easy Haven, as well as the government of the Confederation in the Spine.” That was as far as I got before the commander decided to make his final stand.
“Charge,” screamed Commander Cornwallis, “let's get these provincial rubes,” he roared, unleashing a stream of blaster fire at my helmet.
I raised my bad hand to cover my face, and the next thing I knew the Imperial Commander had run himself through on my sword. I’m still not quite sure to this day if he did it on purpose, or if he was so caught up in putting down us 'provincial rubes' that he forgot to look where he was going.
Either way, he had some starch, this Imperial Commander. He dropped his blaster pistol and pulled himself up the Minos Sword using his hands, until he was close enough to spit in my visor. Which he promptly did before slumping wearily to the floor.
His First Officer, one Lieutenant Commander George Franklin, was much more amenable to my suggestion that enough blood had been spilled already and accepted my offer.
“I formally surrender the Imperial Strike Cruiser, Victorious Solar Flare, to…” he paused and looked at me, clearly wanting to know who I was.
“Admiral Jason Montagne of the Confederation Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet,” I said helpfully, then added. “And of the Tracto System Defense Force, of course,” I added, motioning toward some of the Tracto-an natives, who pumped their fists in the air in reply.
“I hereby surrender this Imperial ship to you, Admiral Montagne,” he said stiffly.
“Excellent. I accept your surrender,” I replied formally. “Now,” I said with a quirk of the lips, “let's get on the speaker and let everyone know it's time to stop killing each other. Your Jacks and my Lancers, especially. Don’t you agree?”
Not surprisingly, he agreed and we gave the necessary instructions over every com channel we could reach.
Then I, being no fool, called for a medic. The Commander was still breathing, and the last thing I needed was a dead Cornwallis on my hands.
The Confederation, or at least that part of it which was located in the Spine, was not at war with the Empire, and I was dead certain that any government replacing the Empire out here wouldn’t be very happy with an Admiral who decided to start such a conflict.
Seizing an Imperial ship for piracy was bad enough, even if the evidence seemed to be in our favor. But killing its Captain and a member of an influential senatorial family?
Far better to send him home in disgrace for over-reaching his authority, and in doing so losing his ship to a bunch of ‘provincial rubes,’ like myself.
“Who are you,” asked the Officer Franklin, “and where did you people come from? Most provincials turn and run at their first taste of real combat. I’ve never met anyone, Gorgon or Provincial, who’d board an Imperial ship with anything less than overwhelming force.”
I just gave him an enigmatic smile. I was tired of sounding my own horn and telling people exactly who I was. It was time for them to start finding that out for themselves.
“I’m just a Confederation Officer doing his duty,” I said.
Exactly what I thought that duty entailed, I didn’t say, because at that moment, I honestly wasn’t sure. I did know that whatever it turned out to be, it definitely involved stopping piracy wherever I found it. If that meant I got to stick it to the Empire and put a finger in the eye of a few certain Imperials along the way… well, that was more than just alright with me.
Chapter 9: Easy Haven and Environs
After the boarding action was completed and the Strike Cruiser secured, I had a thought that just wouldn't go away; it appeared that I was officially in command of an entire Solar System! My ship had just engaged in a knock-down, drag-out slugfest with a top of the line Imperial ship. Granted, we’d won only because we were bigger and got lucky. Skill and the technological edge had most definitely been against us, but size and an inability to realize when we were licked had pushed us over the hump of victory.
Right then, it didn’t matter what I was or was not in charge of. Everything seemed like I was looking at it through a window.
I was still in my bloody battle-suit when I marched onto the Flag Bridge. With a weary sigh, I plopped down in the Admiral’s Throne. The command chair. My chair.
“What’s been going on,” I sighed, slumping down in my chair. I knew I needed to focus on events outside the ship but all I could think about was when that Marine Jack had stood over me with a force blade and I knew I was about to meet my end. I wasn’t a military officer trained to deal with life and death. I’d been classically trained, and it's true that included swordplay, but even in that particular arena I wasn’t on the level of the Jacks. After surviving such a horrific engagement, I hoped I would never get the chance to be on their level.
I clenched my fist. I was supposed to be going to university this year, not commanding a Fleet in the name of a Confederacy that might not even exist at the moment, fighting hand-to-hand against Imperials.
“Do you want casualty estimates, or what’s been going on with System Command first,” asked First Officer Tremblay, looking a little pale at the sight of my bloody power armor.
For a second I was surprised that he was taken aback. This wasn’t the first time I’d come back to the ship covered in blood, but then I remembered that when I’d faced down the Bugs and the natives down on Tracto VI, I had arrived back to the ship unconscious and been taken directly to medical. He must not have seen me when I was still in battle-worn power armor.
“Casualties,” I said impatiently.
The First Officer nodded slowly. “The operation against the Promethean Hammerheads, the two old Medium Cruisers, was successful. Both ships were successfully taken by our ‘inspection’ forces. In the case of Prometheus Fire, other than an attempt to flee, they made no resistance to our inspection. The Pride of Prometheus, as you know, fired on our boarding shuttles and we sustained a number of casualties,” said Lieutenant Tremblay. Then he paused.
“Spit it out, man,” I urged, closing my eyes. Now that I was out of combat, my left hand was starting to ache and burn. The hand had recently been reattached and now it was damaged again, during the capturing of the Imperial Medium Cruiser. Needless to say, the pain was making me irritable.
“We lost one hundred and three men when the Pride’s point defense opened up on our shuttles, and another fifty when Promethean Marines attempted to resist the inspection team.
“Only fifty during the boarding,” I asked, my eyes opening.
“They had a small crew and their marine contingent was low. On top of that only half of them made it into their power armor before our Lancers reached them,” Tremblay made an expression of distaste at giving our men and women the antiquated title of Lancer.
For myself, I didn’t care any more. The men I’d been with on the Imperial ship could call themselves anything they wanted. I hadn’t been with the men and women taking the two cruisers belonging to our former fleet mates, the Promethean SDF, but they’d been the first to volunteer, so I couldn’t hold their light casualties against them.
“Our losses taking the Imperial Strike-Class Cruiser?” I asked when the pause had grown uncomfortable.
“Around two hundred were taken out by point defense lasers or when they missed their target and floated around to the other side of the ship. The rest successfully landed. Another three hundred and seventy five were killed or disabled in the fighting. Total losses were well over five hundred and fifty,” the First Officer said quietly.
“From an initial force of around twelve hundred men, just over half survived my suicide jump from vessel to vessel and successfully stormed the ship,” I said, leaning back in my chair and covering my face with my gauntleted hands, careful not to crush the still tender skin underneath.
“The Imperials,” I asked through metal fingers after I thought I had processed the losses I had incurred.
“The normal compliment of Marine Jacks for an Strike Class Medium Cruiser is around three hundred and fifty. However, there are twenty Jacks on each of the five Constructor ships. Of the two hundred and fifty Jacks inside the Imperial Ship at the time you boarded them, you killed or disabled over one hundred and fifty. Another hundred surrendered, and an estimated three to four hundred regular imperial crewmen were killed during the operation as well,” reported Tremblay, who actually sounded quite professional, for the moment. “It is estimated that nearly another hundred of our own crew died during the ship to ship engagement when we were slugging it out prior to the boarding. Leaving the list of surrendered personnel at two hundred marines, with half on the ship and half off. Plus an estimated fifteen hundred Imperial ship officers and regular crew."
“So they lost a hundred and fifty and we had nearly six hundred casualties,” I said bitterly. “With that kind of loss ratio, it’s a wonder we took the ship in the first place.”
“Imperial losses were closer to five hundred,” the First Officer said sternly.
“The additional losses were unarmored crew,” I grimaced, objecting to the correction.
The First Officer shrugged. “A third of our losses were incurred getting to the ship. Plus,” he said, raising a finger when I frowned at him, “it’s important to remember the Imperials are not known for losing ship engagements. This is quite an accomplishment,” he finished. I couldn't tell if he was being sincere or his usual sarcastic self.
“Tell that to the Gorgons,” I muttered, but after that I held my peace. It didn’t feel like it, but I knew capturing an Imperial warship was quite an accomplishment. Especially considering our men were relatively untrained in the use of their power armor, and the suits they did have were old and outdated.
“If I ever get the chance, I’m upgrading these piece of junk battle suits,” I said grimly after lowering my hands. “The Jacks took us apart.”
“You are the Admiral,” the First Officer Tremblay said pointedly. “Now about System Command,” he said by way of changing the subject.
“What about them,” I groaned.
“Lieutenant Commander LeGodat would like a word with you at your earliest convenience,” the First Officer said.
“I see,” I said, when nothing was further from the truth. “And what does the good Commodore desire of my august personage?” I was intrigued. “I thought he intended to shoot us down, at least up until his Corvettes tore into the Strike Cruiser and helped turn the tide of battle.”
“He’s a Lieutenant Commander, and I’m sure only he could tell you,” corrected Lieutenant Tremblay. “On the other hand, I don’t think it’s wise to keep System Command waiting any longer than necessary.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “However, when I say Commodore, that’s what I mean. Have Legal draw up the necessary commission.”
Tremblay looked like he wanted to argue but swallowed his tongue instead and simply nodded.
I took a deep breath and unconsciously straightened up my posture in the chair. “Put him on screen please.”
In less than a minute Fleet Officer Colin LeGodat showed up. Clearly he considered the call of prime importance.
LeGodat opened his mouth and then slowly closed it. His eyes searched my figure, taking in the bloody exterior of my armor. Fresh damage and scratches were obvious against the old, worn metal look of the power armor.
“I see you’ve been busy,” he said simply. “I had wondered why you weren’t taking my calls.”
I looked down at my own blood-splattered appearance. Outside of the armor, I was a brown-skinned young man on the short side of average height, with a flat nose and black hair, but right now my most notable feature was my scarred and healing face. In short, I was a typical Caprian. In comparison, the Fleet Reserve Officer looked neatly pressed in his new-style Confederation Uniform. He was quite the opposite at middle-aged, with white skin and a sharply pointed nose. He still looked the consummate professional.
“Yes, I’ve been busy,” I said flatly. Just looking at the other man made me feel inadequate, and I was in no mood for more banter.
Officer LeGodat nodded slowly.
“Anyway,” I said, giving myself a shake. “I heard you wanted to speak with me.”
“System Command,” he gave a hint of a self-mocking grin, “and by that I mean myself, since I’m the Commander, wants to know your intentions in this system now that you’ve apprehended the suspects and stopped the… piracy,” he said, his grin slowly fading until he looked grim and serious. I noted that the delay in our communication was significantly less now, praise Murphy.
I gave him a quizzical look and raised my hands to my sides, palms up. “Is there anything specific you’re worried about or would like to know?”
It was LeGodat’s turn to hesitate. His eyes narrowed and he looked straight at me. “I’d like to know your intentions towards the prisoners and their ship.”
I blinked twice before replying. “That ship now belongs to the Confederacy in the Spine, and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet,” I said matter-of-factly. “As for the Prisoners, I intend to have them shipped off to the nearest Sector Judge for trial,” I finished.
The System Commander slowly breathed a sigh, “Not as bad as I feared, at least.”
“I don’t follow you,” I frowned. Even having trained away my entire youth learning innuendo and the nuances of social engagements, I had no idea what he was getting at.
“What we’ve done here, taking an Imperial warship by force,” LeGodat shrugged helplessly, “nothing will make that go away. The best we can do is not compound the problem by executing the Imperial Crew for piracy.”
“Ah,” I said, finally seeing what he had been getting at. “I see your point.”
“I hope you understand that no government will thank you for adding a captured Imperial ship to the Confederation Fleet. The Imperials will take it as a personal affront and the Assembly, once it's reformed in the Spine, won’t be happy at provoking them by parading the ship around from system to system,” he said seriously.
“Are you saying you want to keep it here,” I asked dryly.
The Fleet Officer looked aghast. “I want that ship as far away from Easy Haven as possible,” he said earnestly.
I bit my lip. “I hate the thought of losing any ship, when we already have so few,” I muttered, then an idea came to me. My eyes narrowed and I flashed a smile. “What if my engineers found the Imperial Cruiser too damaged to be repaired and it was destroyed, never to be seen again,” I asked slyly, a seed beginning to sprout in my mind.
“Nothing will make things better. But that should at least head off the worst of the outrage and any impetus to ‘deny the Spine any technological or strategic assets’ by sending in a punitive expedition,” LeGodat said with measured relief.
“I’ll make the arrangements. So unless there’s anything else, Commodore…,” I prompted.
“That’s still Lieutenant Commander, Admiral,” protested the officer. “Not Commodore.”
“My Legal Department is drawing up a new commission as we speak,” I said firmly. “The commander of a star base, Corvette squadron and recently acquired Heavy Cruiser should have the rank to go along with the job.”
“I thought that was all an act, pretending to promote me in front of Commander Cornwallis in some kind of off-handed manner,” protested LeGodat.
“I was hoping it would add to my aura of noble insanity and rattle him enough to back off,” I said, permitting myself a smile, “and while I might have even gone so far as to fire on the Constructors, I wouldn’t have destroyed them. The threat against the Constructors was what I would consider an acceptable ruse of warfare. The rest of it…” I trailed off, “I like to think of myself as a man who keeps his word.”
“I have to admit, I wasn’t sure how much of all that was an act and how much of it wasn’t,” said the System Commander. “There’s no need to make me a Commodore just because you needed to rattle Commander Cornwallis.
I chuckled. “Well, for my part I’m still not sure how much of your threat to fire on my Flagship was a ruse. You seem to be in the business of picking winners and losers here in Easy Haven. If you’d come in on the side of the Imperials, like you originally threatened, it would have been curtains for us,” I said in a casual tone, but I locked my eyes with his pointedly.
He met my gaze steadfastly. “My first obligation to the Confederacy is the preservation of my Squadron and this Star Base,” LeGodat said firmly.
I noticed the way he very carefully didn’t say anything about his previous comments to destroy the Lucky Clover in front of the Imperial Commander. Well, as I’d learned for myself, sometimes you had to play it fast and loose with the rules in order to make it in a galaxy gone mad.
“Well regardless,” I said, acutely aware of how tender my facial scars had become, “the commission stands. Until the Confederation gets its act together, this base needs someone to handle things, and I have to believe that civilian merchant captains are going to be more impressed with Commodore LeGodat than with some Lieutenant Commander running things around here when they arrive in system.”
“They’d be more impressed with a few capital ships and a lot more firepower than they will a fancy new title,” said the newly-minted Commodore, shaking his head.
“We make do with what we have, the best way we know how,” I said with a shrug. “I’d like a real fleet to patrol this sector with. Instead, I’ve got one big obsolete Battleship to roam around with and a hand full of lighter units pinned down covering a previously unheard of system out on the Rim of human space that is under threat from an impending Bug invasion force.”
I paused, momentarily taken aback at just how many balls I currently had in the air. “We do what we can,” I finished harshly.
“Of course, Admiral,” said Commodore LeGodat. “Like every military commander throughout history, I just wish I had more in the way of working assets, either movable or fixed. As it is, I have a lot of mothballed equipment but no way to activate it and get it running again. Honestly, I’ve more than a few old ships and facilities in the bone yard, but no way to make them usable.”
“About that,” I said with a smile as another idea came to me. “I noticed right now we have a grand total of five Constructor ships in the system. After we get a few Imperial Marine Jacks off of those ships,” I said, waving my gauntleted fingers as if to shoo away a couple flies, “I have to think at the very least the three that were locally owned and operated would be willing to help out your ailing Star Base, in exchange for the service the Confederation Fleet and its personnel just rendered by saving them from Imperial Pirates. All they would need to do to repay this debt would be to spend a small amount of time fixing things up, say a couple of weeks or however long they were originally planning to hide out here in the first place. They would be doing their patriotic duty, repaying a debt they owed and, at the end of it all, you’d have much more in the way of usable facilities and equipment,” I said with a grin at my marvelous plan.
The Commodore frowned. “I don’t know. I mean what if they are unwilling to help? Do we force them? That seems a little too much like we’re bordering on the use of strong arm tactics, Admiral,” he said reluctantly. “Besides, what about the two ships the Imperials brought with them? They’re registered out of the 28th Provisional. Somehow, I don’t think those two are going to be very willing to help us out, even if they aren’t exactly Imperials born and bred to the purple.”
“You let me worry about the ships from the 28th provisional,” I said with a shark's smile. “Any of the crews that want to be repatriated to the Empire can do so right alongside our Imperial Prisoners. When we have the ships and time to spare, I’ll make sure the Constructors are escorted back to Sector 28.”
The newly-made Commodore looked very doubtful. “That might take awhile, unless you’re willing to make a detour through the part of the Confederacy still under active Empire patrols, the much larger and more developed part,” he said pointedly.
“Exactly,” I said, expanding my already predatory smile.
LeGodat gave me a searching look, “I’m not going to ask, because really, I honestly don’t want to know,” he said finally.
“Oh, don’t worry yourself,” I said, “I’ll handle things with the Constructors. You can play the beleaguered System Commander, helpless in the face of a belligerent, higher ranked commander, and go on ad nauseam about how if things were ordered your own way none of this would be happening, you are just a man trying to make the best of a bad situation,” I said, explaining my cunning plan. “Just tell them that the sooner they satisfy me and help send me on my way, the sooner things can get back to normal around here.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard, since it's essentially the truth, Admiral Montagne,” said Commodore LeGodat with an enigmatic look.
I quirked my lips. “Somehow, after that little firefight with the Imperial Cruiser, I don’t think that’s entirely true. I have to imagine that if you were completely opposed to any of my proposed actions, you’d find some way to throw a monkey in the wrench and Murphy up the whole situation beyond repair,” I said.
“I don’t know why the Admiral would think that, Sir,” Commodore LeGodat said with a slow smile.
“Perhaps because it's essentially the truth, Commodore LeGodat,” I said with an answering wink.
“I like the way you operate, Sir,” said the Commodore, his smile spreading even further. “But somehow, I don’t think Sector Command or the rump-Confederation Assembly, when it forms, will be too pleased when they find out what you’ve been up to.”
“They’ll just have to learn to live with it, at least until they can send someone out to replace me,” I said bluntly. “Until I’m not stuck out here all by my lonesome, I don’t see how there’s much they could do about it in the first place. To say nothing of the pirates and Bugs and all sorts of other threats I seem to be the only one around to deal with.”
“Things won’t always be this way, Sir,” warned the newly minted Commodore. “You keep going like this and I’d expect some push back. Being replaced is a real option if you torque off the government.”
“First off, there has to be a government so that it can be torqued with me, and then once there is, it has to catch me first,” I said playfully. I had a few ideas for dealing with a recalcitrant or belligerent government. The first being, do so well patrolling the Rim that they didn’t become belligerent in the first place. But if they were anything like the Caprian Parliament and quite simply didn’t want to see someone they didn’t firmly control gain any fame and/or military power…perhaps it was time to make a few contingency plans of my own.
After the Commodore signed off, I just sat in the Throne and thought. Then thought some more. Speaking with the new Commodore had helped bring into focus certain elements of the long game in which I’d been coasting until now. It's hard to make long-term plans in the complete absence of anything resembling concrete information and feedback. Yes, it had been a very interesting conversation indeed.
Chapter 10: Coping With Loss
“Officer Tremblay,” I said in a brisk tone. At least I was starting to sound like someone who was in charge, I thought to myself.
“Yes, Admiral,” said the former Intelligence Officer.
“Get me the Chief Engineer. I have a few questions for him." I needed to get some of those balls that were in the air rolling along on their way.
Tremblay hesitated. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he said with what might even be a hint of genuine remorse.
“What is it,” I asked, disarmed by one of the few displays of genuine emotion I had seen out of the man that hadn't been directed at me in some negative way.
“The Chief Engineer was one of over a thousand casualties we sustained during the fight. He’s in ship’s medical, listed as in extremely critical condition,” reported the First Officer.
“What?!” I blurted without thinking. “How?”
“It was during the fight when we lost power, Sir,” said the Lieutenant. “The number 2 fusion reactor was damaged, so while the rest of Engineering was busy working on fixing the breakers banks and power trunk lines, the Chief Engineer went inside the fusion reactor to fix a cracked core.”
“Sweet Murphy protect him,” I said, slumping in the Admiral's Throne. I sat back stunned. “That must have been when I told him to get more power to the ship, no matter what the cost,” I said thinking out loud, and then a realization popped into my head. “I sent him to his death without a second thought for the risks he might be running.”
Feeling ill, I looked over at my First Officer.
“What are his chances,” I asked finally, feeling sick to my stomach. I wanted to throw up.
The First Officer shook his head. “One of the Engineering crew learned Spalding had gone in to fix the core alone and went in after him. He found the Chief and pulled him out of the reactor, then took him straight to medical. The Doctor isn’t sure if he’ll pull through. He’s recommending a transfer to a facility with top of the line medical equipment,” Tremblay said with a shake of his head.
“Is there even a top of the line facility in this system,” I asked thickly. “And get me that crewman’s name," I added before I might have the chance to forget, "he deserves a medal and a promotion.”
The First Officer looked at the flooring. “Everything in Easy Haven is either old or shut down. Most assets are a combination of the two,” he paused, “The crewman’s name is Brence and he’s currently in medical being treated for radiation poisoning,” then he continued the previous line of inquiry. “Honestly, at this point I don’t think that there’s anywhere in this system better than the Ship’s Infirmary to move the Chief Engineer to,” said Officer Tremblay.
I clenched my fists. `“Tell the Doctor to help the old man hold on as long as possible. I need to check on a few things first,” I said finally, feeling numb from head to toe.
“Yes, Sir,” said Tremblay.
“I’ll be in the ready room if anyone needs me,” I barked at nobody in particular. “I have a few calls to make.”
In the ready room I activated the console and selected outgoing ship to ship communications. After the communication section had designated a channel for me to use, I contacted the captured Imperial ship and linked in to speak with Gants from the Armory. He was a crewman trained as an engineering rating, and currently the closest thing the Lucky Clover had to a Master-at-Arms.
He was also one of the few people I realized I actually trusted.
“Yes, Admiral, what did you need?” asked an exhausted looking Gants. He was wearing power armor and in the holo pick-up I could see other armored figures moving in the background.
“Turn the job of transferring the prisoners off of the Imperial ship over to one of the Lancers,” I said, then suddenly had a vision of how one of the Tracto natives might decide to treat the Imperials. “Try for a Caprian or Promethean you trust,” I added hastily.
“Yes, Sir,” he said nodding curiously. “There’s a grey beard I know that seems a reliable sort, for an old Royalist,” he added, seemingly unaware that he was talking to an actual member of the blood Royal.
“Excellent,” I hurried in response. “After that, I want you to gather up a team of men you can trust. I need at least a hundred. Preferably Prometheans and Caprian Royalists, although if you need some Tracto-an’s to round out the numbers, that’s okay too. You can add anyone from the Armory team you trust, but no more than half the team,” at this point I glared at Gants and scowled, “and make sure Oleander isn’t involved, we don’t need another string of plasma grenades going off under our feet.”
“We would have been toast if not for the grenades,” protested Gants, “those Imperials had us dead to rights.”
I shook my head, feeling hot under the collar. “He had no way of knowing that when he set them off. He just reacted by pulling activator pins and dropping them under our feet while he scrambled away. Besides, I don’t like him and Akantha doesn’t trust him,” I said with finality.
“Alright, Sir. If that’s the way you want it. May I ask what I’m to do with all these men?” the Armory Chief asked curiously.
“Grab a shuttle and meet me over on one of the Constructor ships from Sector 28. I don’t care which. If I get there first I’ll feed you the coordinates, if you beat me there, then do the same. We need to get rid of those Imperial Jacks still on those ships. And I can’t go into it right now, but the Chief Engineer is hurt and hurt bad. This might be a way to help save him,” I said grimly.
“The Chief’s in a bad way? Oh Murphy no, say it isn’t so,” said Gants, looking grief-stricken. “I thought that ornery old goat ate depleted uranium for breakfast, was made of Duralloy and destined to outlive the lot of us. If this is for the Chief…” he paused and then nodded slowly, “I know just the boys to take with me, Sir. You can count on us,” so saying, he cut the frequency.
That mission accomplished, I put in another call to Commander LeGodat.
“Yes, Admiral?” the System Commander asked curiously.
“I need a place to put the Imperials. It's my intention to get them off those ships sooner rather than later,” I said coldly.
“Well we have some stationary facilities that might do in a pinch,” he said hesitating before reaching some sort of decision. “But your best bet is probably an old Dungeon ship left over from the hoary old days when the Confederation was still in its infancy, right before the end of the AI wars. It’ll need a little work, but if we’re going to be able to make use of these Constructor ships, we should be able to get the environmental systems up and running in just a few hours,” he said slowly.
“Alright, I’ll take your suggestion and run with it,” I nodded, satisfied with the Dungeon ship idea. It had a kind of poetic symmetry that I couldn't quite put my finger on at that moment.
“Officially that ship is in mothballs and currently unassigned,” said the Commodore. “Honestly, I don’t have the personnel to crew her right now. Even so, it might be best if that ship remained under Star Base Wolf-9 jurisdiction. For the time being at least…and afterwards as well, I suppose.”
I knew that in a roundabout way the Commodore was actually referring to the potential political situation with the Imperial prisoners. I wasn’t sure how much having the Imperials under the Easy Haven branch of the Confederation military changed things. But if it made the System Commander happy, then it was worth the time and risk.
“You provide the Captain and Officers, I’ll provide the general crew,” then I had a thought, “after you get the former pirate Heavy Cruiser we’ve swapped under control, I’d be happier if you sent officers from her. I know Lieutenant Commander Synthia McCruise and her people onboard that prize ship,” I said firmly. “My crew will trust them.”
“Synthia won’t be happy…but I’ll see what I can do,” the commodore said signing off.
I looked up the specs of Dungeon ship. The ship the Commodore had been talking about was a modified 175 meter Lictor-B Class Dungeon Ship, capable of holding 1250 in comfort and safety with only 50 wardens to manage the situation. It was extremely un-automated, as was the norm back during the AI wars.
Unfortunately for them, the Imperials numbered around 1700 plus a few casualties that might pull through. It’d be a tight squeeze, but I wasn’t feeling particularly charitable towards them at the moment. Besides the specs said you could squeeze as many as 2500 prisoners into the ship, if you were willing to risk overcrowding and a prison revolt.
I gave instructions for an Engineering party to be assembled to check the ship in person. Then dispatched another group of Lancers by shuttle from the captured Imperial ship. They were to officially take the Marine Jacks on one of the locally-owned Constructors prisoner, so the crew of the Constructor could move on to fixing up the old Lictor-B.
That ship needed to be put back in working order yesterday. Noticing it had been stripped of weaponry after I was able to review the tactical after-action report, I made sure to queue in an order for the Constructor to rectify that situation as soon as the ship was habitable.
Because my men were untrained and the ship needed a crew, not just wardens, I assigned two hundred men from the Lucky Clover’s crew, across all divisions so they’d have a mix of personnel.
Then it was time to run down to the Infirmary to lay eyes on my Chief Engineer.
***************
The infirmary was a mad house of strewn and sawed-off power armor. Inside were men. Injured and screaming men. Imperial Jacks and Confederation Lancers were being treated side by side.
It took a couple tries but I finally managed to get pointed in the right direction and found the grey haired doctor in charge of the medical department.
He was operating on one of my Lancers so I waited until he’d removed a bunch of shrapnel from the man’s abdomen before interrupting.
“Tank him,” said the Doctor, pulling away from his patient before turning to me.
The orderly assisting him tapped something on his slate and shook his head.
“Sorry Dr. Presbyter, all the regeneration tanks are full. We’d have to bump someone to put him in,” the orderly reported.
I realized I had forgotten the doctor's name. Someone who had treated me twice already merited more attention than that. I really needed to start doing a better job with this whole Admiral business, and a more systematic approach of learning people’s names and then remembering them might be the way to start.
Presbyter looked irritated. “Finish patching him up as best you can with standard surgical-heal, then,” he said shortly.
The Lancer was half out of it on painkillers, but at this last statement both the Medic and the Lancer looked alarmed.
“Me,” squeaked the medic looking like he had just swallowed something gross and inedible on some kind of a wild dare gone wrong.
“When an Admiral comes knocking, it behooves the Head of the Medical Department to find out what new emergency is about to beset us before a fresh flood of casualties stream into Medical. Besides, you’ve seen the operation performed often enough. As you can see,” he gestured around, “we are a little short of trained physicians at the moment,” said Presbyter, who then walked over to where I was standing.
“A little harsh perhaps,” I observed in what I hoped was a mild voice.
“Perhaps,” Doctor Presbyter said dismissively. “It's trial by fire down here, and he’s had the training. If he can’t handle it by himself, it's time find out now rather than later. We don’t have time to coddle anyone when hundreds of casualties are pouring through our doors.”
I nodded knowingly at the not-so-subtly implied rebuke. I understood the Doctor’s position, but since there wasn’t anything I, as Admiral, would do differently that could have changed the outcome, all I could do was suppress the urge to shrug helplessly or get upset and yell. As there were lots of casualties still flooding into Medical, I really had no choice but to let it go.
The Imperials needed stopping, the Clover had stopped them and done the best job of it we (or perhaps more accurately, I) had known how to do at the time. Despite the beating we’d taken, and the loss of so many Lancers and crew, this one had to go in the victory column. The losses were just an indication that I needed to step up my game. If we’d been facing another ship our own size, things almost certainly would have gone very differently.
“Tell me about the Chief Engineer, please,” I requested.
The Chief of Medical seemed to sag, his scowl disappearing. “Crewman Brence, who's also suffering from radiation poisoning, brought him in. I’m surprised the ornery old fool wasn’t already dead. Even so, the only reason he’s still technically alive is because right after his heart attack I took biological samples for culturing,” he shook his head sadly before continuing.
“Our technology may be a bit dated on this ship, but I still planned to shave some time off building him a new heart. Frankly, that’s the only reason he’s made it as long as he has. Fresh, uncontaminated samples, in some bulk thanks to the total amount of tissue we started with, have been added to his regeneration tank. We’re scrubbing and chelating him as fast as possible, but he took a massive prolonged dose,” he finished.
“What’s the prognosis,” I asked, dreading the answer.
“He’s not going to make it,” the Doctor said flatly. “We simply don’t have the kind of tools necessary to deal with this kind of extreme case. Barring access to top of the line Imperial medical facilities, the best thing we can do is cryogenically freeze him and pray someone somewhere can successfully revive him and simultaneously treat him for a massive dose of radiation poisoning.” The look on his face said clear as cold space what he thought the chances of that happening were.
“Assuming the facilities could be built or acquired, could you fix him,” I asked, trying to keep a demand out of my voice.
“There’s nothing in this system that could handle that kind of job,” the Doctor said dismissively. “By the time we could jump to another system, it would be too late. I’m afraid Chief Spalding is living on borrowed time, and even that’s about to run out.”
“If it were possible to build whatever facilities were needed to fix Spalding, anything you needed without limit, could you operate on him with any kind of chance of success,” I asked pointedly, hoping my tone would brook no further dismissal.
The grey haired man chewed his cheek and hesitated. “I could perform the operation,” said the Doctor said finally. “But the kind of equipment we’re going to need for this kind of massive tissue transplant and repair on the genetic level, not only is this an incredibly delicate operation, but it requires a level of computer assistance and processing power not allowed outside major Imperial facilities with strict controls. Essentially, we’d have to clone and replace most of the tissue in his entire body.”
“Would his chances of survival go up if you had everything you could possibly need and if it did, by how much would you say it improved?” I demanded.
“If I had everything I could possibly need…he’d possibly go from a 2-3% chance, up to as high as say 20-25%. It's hard to say without access to the actual facilities,” the Doctor said hesitantly. “So far, you are speaking as if this is a very real possibility.”
“How is your most qualified replacement,” I asked instead of replying. “Can he handle your job?”
Presbyter’s lips thinned. “Medical lost a lot of orderlies to Janeski and his Imperial recruiters, but as far as most of the actual physicians and surgeons, we stayed on board. Which is to say, my second is highly qualified,” he finished.
“What if I offered you a long-term assignment, creating a top of the line medical treatment and research facility? Everything would be state of the art and built to your specifications,” I said, the glimmerings of a plan that had been kicking around in my mind finally gelling into reality. Not only might it be possible to save myself, but more importantly, this could be Spalding's only real chance. If it worked, this would be a gambit that would go down in history as one of the greats. At least, in my humble opinion.
“I don’t see how that is possible,” he said frowning.
I just looked at him steadily, my features hard.
“But I suppose that was I given actual control of the staff and facilities…the founding and creation of such an institute would have to be considered the achievement of a lifetime,” he said reluctantly.
“You’ll do it, then,” I said agreeably.
“I don’t see where you intend to acquire such facilities, short of the sort of piracy I simply can’t be a part of, on ethical grounds if nothing else,” said Presbyter.
“It is my understanding that in addition to top of the line onboard medical facilities, that the two Imperial Constructors from Sector 28, so long as they have the blue prints and technological base, can build essentially anything if given the right materials and work force,” I offered, hoping I wouldn't have to go too far into things just yet.
“I suppose,” said the Doctor doubtfully.
“The ship’s crew is free to take their chances at anytime, but because of the risk of Imperial piracy, as a Confederation Admiral I cannot take the risk of them being captured. So in return for the use of the ship in the meantime, when our forces are built up enough, we will escort the Constructor back home to Sector 28,” I explained, revealing the opening moves of a plan which had only hours before come to me.
“I’m not sure that a Spineward Constructor would have a full Imperial database with the designs for top of the line medical facilities,” Doctor Presbyter mused.
“I think there was a reason an Imperial Strike Cruiser was escorting a pair of Constructors from the 28th Provisional Sector. A Sector founded by Imperial interests, including several prominent Senatorial Families. Besides which, even if everything we need isn’t in the database, there’s always whatever technological readouts are onboard the Cruiser itself,” I finished.
“It's a possibility, I suppose,” mused the Doctor. “Although morally questionable. Taking advantage of a stranded Constructor and its crew like this...” he frowned.
“Well,” I began, meeting the searching eyes of the Caprian Doctor, “I’d say blowing up every single military base and technological asset the Empire was ever remotely involved with, and then violating half a dozen treaties or more by withdrawing all support, to be more than morally questionable. To me, this looks like nothing more than a start at rebuilding what was stolen and destroyed before returning the Constructor, undamaged of course. But that could just be me,” I said dryly.
“Like I said: morally questionable,” said the Doctor with a severe look. Then he crumbled, “But not an opportunity I’m willing to pass up, given the circumstances.” He paused as if to say something more but released a heavy sigh instead.
“Good,” I exclaimed, suppressing the urge to rub my hands together.
“How soon do I have to get ready, and is there anything else you needed from me,” asked Doctor Presbyter.
“In point of fact,” I said, pulling out a data slate.
The Doctor looked at the slate and his eyes widened. “There’s no need to transfer all these men,” Presbyter said in surprise.
“Oh, but there is,” I said as though in a lecture. “Not only does the Constructor we’re transferring them to have superior, although smaller medical facilities, but there’s another reason.”
“And that would be,” demanded the Doctor.
I leaned in and, in a whisper, explained exactly why those particular wounded crewmen needed to be transferred to the Constructor.
“Of course, we’ll need some able-bodied volunteers, which is the next thing I will be seeing to,” I remarked casually. I leaned nonchalantly against the wall of the infirmary and watched as the Doctor cycled through a variety of emotions.
“If this works….” the Doctor ground to a halt.
“All legal, and within my powers as a Confederation Admiral,” I assured him. “I specifically checked on the way down here.”
The Doctor slowly nodded, then snapped his eyes up to meet mine. “Remember, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for the good of the Spine, the Confederation, and Capria,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I lied.
The Doctor held me with a hard look, then let it go, taking a deep breath. “I guess I’d better get going if this little scheme is to work,” Presbyter said with a reluctant look at the Infirmary. “I’ll need to issue a number of orders and transfers before I can physically go over to the Constructor.”
Just like that, he was off and I was left looking around the infirmary for a moment before giving myself a shake and heading deeper into medical. There was a certain Engineering rating I needed to thank personally before doing anything else.
“Hello, crewman,” I said, after finding my quarry. Before me was a grey faced man, hunched over in his sick bed. Attached to one arm was a medical auto-doc and to the other was an IV with multiple lines attached to it.
“Admiral, sir,” the crewman started, trying for a smile but failing and grabbing for a vomit bag instead. When the he was done with his business and had enough time to recover, he decided to try again.
“Crewman Brence is it?” I inquired.
“Yes, Admiral,” said Brence.
“I understand you helped save the number two fusion reactor, and then threw yourself into Murphy’s own portal to Hades to rescue Mr. Spalding,” I said firmly, not needing to fake how impressed I sounded.
“That’s right. I went in to get the Chief,” said the Crewman, then his face fell. “I guess I was too late to do any good. They say the Chief Engineer’s not going to make it.”
“There’s still hope for the Lieutenant,” I said slowly, not wanting to give false hope but needing to give some kind of reassurance in the face of such a forlorn look.
“If there’s anything I can do for the Chief,” the crewman began, then chuckled, probably at his own situation and the unlikelihood of being able to help anyone in his current condition. “I should have known better than to go in there.”
“Why’d you go in after the Chief Engineer if you knew it was so very dangerous,” I asked with genuine curiosity.
“The Chief is a hard one and he’s full of his own strange notions sometimes,” Brence coughed. “Still, he's the only one who ever believed in me enough to care whether I turned into a real Engineer, or just stayed a whiskey-seeking screw up,” he said.
My eyes widened at the news.
“Oh, I know he only did it because there was so few of us with the training. But the fact is he did it. Instead of just throwing his hands up over me and Castwell, he took out his plasma torch and demanded our best. With my record, I don’t think the new Chief Engineer, whoever he is, will give me the time of day. Probably bust me back down from acting crew chief to able-spacer,” Brence said morosely.
“He had his moments, the Chief Engineer,” I said fondly, cracking a smile before rubbing my jaw where the old man had essentially knocked me out on the bridge following the aborted ramming attempt.
“He deserved better than to die in a blasted fusion core,” swore Brence, his eyes hard and his hands clenching the puke bag tightly.
“I think if he doesn’t make it, then he died like he would have wanted,” I said solemnly. “He went out saving the ship from destruction by the Imperials.”
The crewman had a prolonged coughing fit.
“Could be you’re right,” he muttered. “Could be,” then he started coughing again.
I saw blood on crewman Brence's hand where he’d been covering the cough.
Impulsively, I decided to broaden the conspiracy.
“Maybe there is something you can do to help the Chief,” I said, a corner of my mouth rising slightly.
The crewman’s eyebrows shot up and he hunched over coughing again. “Anything for the Chief,” he said.
“If you’re in on this,” I sat down on the cot and leaned closer to the crewman, “then you’re all the way in. This is a long-term assignment. And there are no guarantees, but if we don’t try, there's almost no chance he pulls through,” I said somberly. Genuine emotion like this was a bit unfamiliar to me, to be honest. I usually had to fake it.
The crewman’s eyes popped. “You can count on me, Sir,” he said fervently.
“I need you to find me men from Engineering who can be counted on for a long-term assignment off the ship. It's like this...” I started.
When I was done explaining, the crewman looked at me like I was crazy but nodded anyway. “I can make you a list of men, Admiral,” said Brence, a new spark in his eye.
“Make sure you add yourself to that list, Chief Petty Officer,” I reminded him.
“I’m just an acting crew chief,” protested Brence.
“Not anymore, you aren’t,” I said with conviction, standing from the cot. “Besides, you deserve the best medical facilities I can find for you, and that’s on the Constructor.”
“Yes, Sir,” Brence said faintly.
I waited until the ship's newest Chief Petty Officer had made a list of men, and then uploaded it to my own personal data slate.
“I’ve got to run, but if I don’t see you again for a while, know that you have the respect of your Admiral,” I said genuinely. "Remember, if anyone asks what you're doing, you're going over to dismantle and transfer two of the fusion plants from the Victorious Solar Flare to the Lucky Clover," I added, pulling out a dataslate and hastily composing an order to that effect, complete with my signature.
With that, I left the infirmary, acutely aware that I had at least doubled the number of balls I was juggling over the last hour or so, and made my way straight to the shuttle bay.
***********
Gants from the Armory and his quickly assembled company of Lancers were waiting for me on one of the Constructors. As the shuttle landed in the Constructor’s massive landing bay, I decided exactly how I was going to put this to the men of this Constructor.
In the end, I decided to put it to them simply.
“Anyone who wants to return to the Empire, Imperial Citizen or not, is welcome to do so at this time. Transportation will be arranged," I said in that tight, rhythmic way one is taught to speak when in front of a bank of cameras. "If you decide to stay and not go to the Empire, be advised you may be consolidated with the technical staff and crew of the other Constructor from the 28th Provisional.”
I paused before continuing, not wanting to appear as though I was rushing things. “I want to be clear, this ship along with yourselves will all be returned to your home sector. However, because of the current instability in the region, it could be months or even years before a safe route of passage can be established. So weigh your decision closely.”
“Anyone who stays here will be expected to take orders and work for the betterment of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet. If you feel you can’t do that, then simply say so. It won’t be held against you in any way, and you can choose to stay in Easy Haven until this ship can be safely returned to the 28th Sector of the Confederation, or until you find independent passage home through Imperial space. Because of the recent hostilities between elements of the Imperial and Confederation Fleets, and for your own protection, we simply cannot transport you home through Imperial controlled space at this time,” I finished.
Then I had a recording of that same message pumped over to the other Constructor from the 28th Provisional.
Ultimately, I lost a little over a full Constructor crew worth of Imperial Citizens, sympathizers and others who simply didn’t want to take their chances assisting some jumped-up, rump Confederation Fleet out on the Rim.
I made sure to leave a handful of men in every department on the Constructor I was transferring so many of the medical cases to. With them as a cadre, they should be able to train the Engineering staff I’d had Brence assemble. I’d tried to pick anti-Imperial men from the Constructor crew whenever possible, but I only had scant information to go on.
The remainder of the two crews I consolidated on the other Constructor from the 28th Provisional Sector. At least one of the two ships would have a fully trained technical staff and a crew to run it.
Perhaps this way I could even try to train some of my own people in advanced technologies and construction techniques.
Work parties were scurrying around the system. From the Lucky Clover to the Imperial ship. From the Imperial ship to the Lictor-B class Dungeon ship. From the Constructors to the Easy Haven Star Base.
The two captured Hammerhead Medium Cruisers were also slowly towing the captured pirate cruiser back to the Star Base as well.
The worst damaged, of the two in system Corvettes, was also slowly making its way back to the main base for repairs.
Akantha tried to contact me several times, but I was too busy with the Constructor project to break free long enough to talk with her. This was likely to upset her, but what could I do? Any mistakes at this stage could be deadly.
As the Engineering staff from the Lucky Clover slowly assembled and the last of the Constructor staff were shipped over to the other Constructor or the Wolf-9 Star Base, I assembled the men in one of the massive bays in the ship.
I explained the mission to each of them. To a man, excepting the training cadre from the Constructor who’d already made their choice as far as I was concerned, they all agreed to the mission.
Then after a rousing speech about saving the Chief Engineer, the Fleet, and even the Spine as a whole, I instructed them to disperse throughout the ship.
Calling together the assembled Officers, I put the dilemma of the Imperial Strike Cruiser to them and asked for suggestions.
Surprisingly, they had one.
“We can get rid of the Medium Cruiser right easily, Admiral,” said one, a grey haired Caprian engineer. “Just set the star drive to cycle up and dump all the Imperial missiles on the Victorious Solar Flare out into cold space, in close proximity of course. Between the two of them, that ship’s as good as destroyed. The missiles will make an explosion any idiot can see with his own naked eyes, and we can say we used the star drive to get rid of any navigation hazards that might remain from a broken up ship, when the cruiser is sucked into hyperspace,” he said confidently.
“Is that even possible,” I asked incredulously.
“Have to time it just right so everything goes off as planned. But we can do a proper job of destroying that Imperial Cruiser for you,” he said with a grin. “Spalding’s shown us the way when it comes to hyperspace bubbles. We’ll just install the proper strange particle generators from this Constructor, to replace the damaged ones from the Empire,” he snapped his fingers, “and voila!”
“Alright, let's do it,” I said with an answering grin. I fought to keep the smile confident and carefree. Inside, my guts were twisting. There was no going back from this step. Getting rid of the Imperial Cruiser might be the best way to keep the Empire from sending a punitive expedition into the Spine to keep its technology out of provincial hands, that was true. But there was no handing the ship back and saying 'sorry about that, my mistake. You non-pirates are free to go home in your slightly roughed-up warship.' The consequences would be dire, under any circumstances.
I kept that smile on all the way back to the shuttle. Inside the shuttle, I let the smile disappear and replaced it with a grim look of determination. We’d been busy jumping from one fire to another. Reacting instead of acting in some kind of pre-planned, concerted manner. It was time for that to change. Hopefully these two Constructor ships, even if I only managed to hold onto them for a short while before they fell into the hands of others, would change that.
Back on the ship, I went to my quarters for a short nap, one that turned into a four hour long siesta. I was exhausted from everything, and the mounting stress wasn't even enough to keep my brain from shutting down for a few hours.
With a yawn, I woke up feeling only marginally better than when I had closed my eyes. I returned to the Flag Bridge wearing my old style Admiral’s uniform and my even older style helmet.
I knew the helmet made me look like a fool out of a cheap holo-vid, but it was the only thing that covered my ugly head. I had lost all the hair and most of the skin above my shoulders to a plasma grenade on the Bug ship rescuing the natives of Tracto VI. I had only survived because I'd been so buried under Bugs at the time that no one knew I was in there. The Bug carcasses absorbed the bulk of the blast, but I was still damaged by acidic Bug juices that poured down onto my exposed head.
Marching into the Flag Bridge, I missed half a step at the sight of the Lady Akantha, my wife.
Adonia Akantha Zosime was her full name and, as best I could tell, her appropriate title was Land Bride or Hold Mistress. I wasn’t quite sure if she was still a Land Bride or had become a Hold Mistress, or if she could be both at the same time. Her native culture was pretty confusing as far as I was concerned. During an incident where I went to rescue the Native prisoners on a Bug ship, I had given her a vibro-blade to cut herself and the others free with. Meanwhile, I had tried to hold off the swarm of Bugs coming to eat them all alive.
In her culture, apparently giving a sword to a girl of status was the same thing as proposing marriage. Under the circumstances, she’d taken me for the most vile of rogues, thinking I had offered her the equivalent of a shotgun marriage whereby if she refused, they’d all be eaten alive.
Of course, I had never even heard of her world, so who knew? To me it had looked like she was spitting on my noble gesture and was willing to let others die.
For her part, she’d wanted me dead, while she agonized over the decision. I didn’t know this at the time, but apparently she was some kind of local cheese when it came to native power structure down on the Tracto VI. To her, there was more to consider than the lives of a couple dozen Bug captives. She had a responsibility to thousands down on the surface.
As I said before, it was hate on first sight.
Since then, we’d come to understand some of the cultural differences and as far as I could tell she no longer wanted me dead. Still, I hadn’t tried to get out of this strange marriage arrangement, because of a small technical matter involving planetary piracy. If I landed the homeless Promethean settlers on her world without local permission, it was one of the highest forms of space piracy, for which there is only one possible punishment.
By now, however, she was determined I ‘must survive to fulfill your obligations,’ or in other words stop the impending Bug invasion from stripping her world of everything edible, including the human population.
For a while, I’d thought we were coming to some kind of understanding, but ever since she’d decided to stay on the ship with around eighteen hundred natives she’d recruited to be my ‘Lancers,’ she’d been distant and upset. I assumed it was being in a strange environment and so far from her home, so I had thought that a little space would actually be a good thing.
“Protector,” she said with an icy nod in my direction. “I have been trying to reach you for many hours.”
“Lady Akantha,” I said with a cough, then straightened and continued over to my Admiral’s Throne. It was really a command chair, but my Caprian predecessors had installed one so big and imposing it could hold me even when I was in my power armor. So I mentally thought of it as a Throne.
“I understand you’ve been busy defeating the Imperial Cruiser,” she said using Confederation Standard for the last two words instead of her mechanical translator. She was picking up more and more Standard all the time. It was really quite impressive.
“Both Citadel to Citadel and warrior to warrior, you bested them at every turn,” she said coolly.
At that moment with her Nordic white features, sharp nose and long blond hair, she looked like the ice maiden I tended to think of her as. At least, I thought of her that way when I wasn’t thinking worse things about her.
“It's small wonder you have no time for your Sword Bearer and her urgent reports of victory,” said my lethal Ice Maiden. I’d say ' little' instead of 'lethal,' but in reality she was nearly a foot taller than myself. I was on the shorter end of average, but still, I was from a civilized world with proper nutrition.
I knew there was no way to get out of this without getting in trouble, but I figured maybe I could butter her up a bit to soften the blow. Since she never seemed to listen to anything I said, I figured I might as well take some credit for not stopping her. Like I could have stopped her if I’d really wanted to.
“I am sorry if I’ve been remiss towards you,” I said in my most stiff and courtly voice, “if I have, it is only because I trusted you to handle the Mutinous Hammerhead Cruisers,” then not wanting to give her too many ideas I added, “in conjunction with the Lancer Colonel and his Company Captains of course.”
She seemed to soften slightly but her icy mask was still in place. I continued smoothly, trying to get some momentum, “First Officer Tremblay should have been able to handle anything that came up while I was seeing to the Prisoners and later securing the Constructors,” there, I’d managed to compliment both Akantha and Tremblay, my two most ardent critics, and both were present!
“Still,” she started after a moment’s consideration. Clearly she wasn’t going to let me off the hook for not getting back to her until she physically returned to the Lucky Clover.
I tried to think of something to put her off with. I needed to think like a native, yet make sure my explanation was consistent with leading her to understand proper civilized thinking.
“Honestly, Lady Akantha, as I tried to explain before you came here. The warfare and the battlefield with Battleships like the Lucky Clover are different from manning the city walls of Argos.” Judging her expression, this wasn’t getting through, so I decided to shamelessly play the sympathy card. “Besides which, I’ve been beside myself with grief over the loss of our Chief Engineer,” I finished.
The reaction was more than I’d been expecting.
Akantha turned pale and her lip began to quiver. “You’ve lost your Miracle Worker. You’ve lost Engineer Spalding,” she asked in a shaky voice. For the first time since I’d met her, she appeared next to tears. But, true to form, she kept the moisture as a glaze over her eyes, not allowing a single tear to roll down her cheek. “He was a good man, loyal and true. Even if he tried to deny his true nature as a Wizard,” she said sadly, reigning in her emotions somewhat.
Now I felt like the worst kind of heel. Both for this, and for what she was about to go through.
“The medical staff…our healers, haven’t yet given up hope. But they think they’ll need much more, ahh…powerful facilities, to have any chance of saving his life. Right now, they’ve put him in cryogenic suspension,” I said, and at her look of incomprehension continued from a different angle. “He’s been frozen to keep him from dying. This way there’s a chance to thaw him out and heal him when the right tools have been created.”
She looked so hopeful I could barely meet her eyes. The first time she looked to me for any kind of comfort, and it had to be over this. I'm a member of the Royal Family, so I learned how to lie before I learned how to talk, but this deception actually caused me a measure of distress with which I was unfamiliar.
“Then if you, with your familiarity of the healing magics of your people, have not given up hope, I cannot,” she declared. “I will continue to think of him as sick and ailing but not yet lost. I must admit, the idea of the Wizard Spalding frozen into a block of ice to later return is like something out of a childhood tale.”
“Right, well, now that you are here perhaps you could debrief me- that is, tell me how things went on the rebellious Promethean Cruisers,” I said, trying hard to move past that unfortunate exchange.
She looked quite willing to do so, but I then thought it might be best to have this conversation in the Admiral’s ready room.
“In here, perhaps,” I gestured to the room.
She hesitated and glanced at her pair of guards stationed with the usual two inside the blast doors of the Flag Bridge.
She seemed to reach some sort of internal decision and made a small gesture with her hand. I don’t know what she communicated, but the guards stayed put when she followed me into the ready room.
She sat stiff as a board in one of the visitor's chairs in front of the desk while I made my way around the desk and into the Admiral’s chair. It was hard to think of it as my chair. Admiral Janeski had sat in this chair and to my mind, even though this was a Caprian ship, that chair would always represent his Imperial Authority in some manner. I never felt really comfortable sitting in this chair. Which was probably why I didn’t use the ready room as much as perhaps I should.
“So,” I said into the growing silence, “About the Promethean Cruisers you captured.” She seemed to like my giving her credit for the capture of the two ships.
“The one commanded by Captain Costel Iorghu,” she said, pronouncing the man’s name awkwardly, “surrendered without more than token resistance. It fell easily to our Inspection Team,” she said with the satisfaction of a job well done, both with her performance and with her mastery of our language, I assumed.
I wasn’t sure from her demeanor if she really understood what an inspection team was for, but decided not to interrupt her.
“Emilian Stood, on the other hand,” she said with clear distaste, “shot at our shuttles and killed many before we closed to grips with him,” she said fiercely.
“Yes, we saw as much before the shuttles successfully landed on the hull,” I commented.
She looked startled and then irritated. “I made it over from Fire of Prometheus in time to take part in the storming of the Bridge. From what I heard and saw, the Marines on his ship were ill armed and unprepared for a foe as strong as my war-...pardon me,” she said sincerely, “I meant your war-band.”
“Not a problem,” I said waving away the issue. “I assume Captain Stood surrendered,” I asked, getting to the part I figured to enjoy most. The thought of that odious fat man with the jiggling jowls getting what he had coming to him filled me with satisfaction.
“Oh, he tried,” she said, coloring as she continued, “But he spoke in such an insulting manner that several of your war-band took exception and removed his head from his body, that he might speak such filth no more.”
My eyes felt like they popped out of my head. My prior satisfaction was eradicated utterly, like a man stepping into cleaning stall, expecting a hot shower only to receive an icy cold blast of water instead.
“What did he say that insulted the men so much,” I asked, then had a horrible suspicion. My Caprian and Promethean men weren’t likely to cut off someone’s head just because they were rude. The Tracto natives on the other hand…and if Akantha was present during the insulting.
She wouldn’t quite meet my eyes.
“He was rude and insulting to you, I presume,” I said finally.
She gave a nod and met my eyes again, not that I understood the situation.
I opened my mouth to say something about punishing the men and teaching them better, but slowly closed it again. This was obviously a delicate situation, so I needed to try on the kid gloves.
“Well, hopefully such matters can be handled more delicately next time,” I said slowly. “I’ll not have anyone insulting my wife and getting away with it.” What else could I do?
Her brows furrowed, so I quickly added, “Or Sword-Bearer, rather,” I used the native title for her part of our relationship. Our relationship was oddly feudal, and I wasn’t entirely sure what all these different titles implied.
Her brow cleared and she smiled. Seeing her genuinely happy for maybe the first time since I’d met her, I couldn’t help but smile back in return. For a moment, she seemed like a regular person.
Then she appeared to remember she was supposed to be mad at me and her face closed back to its usual icy mask.
My own smiled withered and I looked down at the console built into my desk.
I hunted around for a subject to bring back that smile. I admit it, I fell down a hole and met a woman I first thought was the next best thing to a snake. For a while, I’d thought of her as a pit viper, but seeing her just a few moments ago happy and smiling made me want to make her happy again. Just to see that smile once more.
I was disgusted with myself.
“I take it the ship was captured without too much damage or casualties,” I said just for something to say. I already knew casualties had been light.
For her part, she seemed happy to go on about the victorious seizure of the Hammerheads. “Oh, we lost another fifty taking the ship. Their crew and Marines fought and they died, but the battle was never in doubt,” she said with a satisfied smirk on her face.
“Excellent,” I said, more than a little bit chilled at the zeal she expressed.
“Of course,” she said doubtfully, “Captain Iorghu of the Fire ship said they never actually pirated the Merchant fighting ship that was supposed to come with you. He said the people on that ship were homesick and asked for an escort back to Capria.”
I closed my eyes and set my jaw.
She continued in a cool voice, “I didn’t believe him at first, but on the way back some of the men with skills in such things said they looked into the database, and he was probably telling the truth.”
My eyes opened and I just stared at her, working through the implications of what she had just said.
She shrugged as if to say she didn’t trust it, but people with knowledge more than her own were convinced.
This was just great. If true, it meant I had already experienced the first mutiny against my command. I was just fortunate no one on the ship had known about it at the time. Murphy knew what kind of tales the mutinous men onboard her were spreading around back home.
I had thought I’d have more time before Parliament was certain I was running around in actual command of one of their Battleships.
If the Promethean government had the authority to withdraw their ships from the MPF anytime they liked, that went double for the Caprian Parliament and the Lucky Clover.
I couldn’t continue this charade of being a real Admiral without this ship. On top of that, I wasn’t exactly sure how the Tracto-ans would react, but I was pretty certain that if I told them I no longer had a ship capable of stopping the Bugs from killing everyone on their world, there would be blood on the decks.
I found myself wondering just how many merchants had entered and left the Easy Haven system already since we’d entered the system. The sooner Capria’s Parliament heard I was back in the neighborhood and duking it out with the likes of Marcus Cornwallis and an Imperial Strike Cruiser… Well, let's just say the only thing that would motivate them more than me facing down an Imperial Cruiser and losing would be the thought of me kindling a feud with the Senatorial Cornwallis’s and starting a fight with the Empire by winning.
Suddenly, I felt a new emphasis on wrapping up my business here and heading back out system. I needed some kind of PR win to convince our still nascent Confederation Assembly that, when it reformed, it needed me out on the Rim more than it needed to please the anti-Royalists in Caprian Parliament.
“Well, that definitely puts a new spin on things. A new spin on things, indeed,” I said, staring at my interlaced fingers.
She just looked at me with a slightly puzzled expression. Then she shook her head and got to her feet.
I realized at that moment, this was the first time we’d actually been alone together in the entire time since we’d known each other. However, it was too late by the time I realized this and she was already out the door.
Wondering what kind of subtle signals I’d missed, and kicking myself for being a dunce, I stared at the door and thought dark thoughts about Fleets and Governments and, most of all, women.
I kept thinking fruitlessly about these things until the door to my ready room chimed and it was time to deal with some sort of post-battle reshuffling of ship’s personnel. My First Officer Raphael Tremblay strode in with the final casualty, damage and status reports to review.
I’m sure he thought it was the kind of thing that would bore me to tears and annoy me that he hadn’t handled it himself, but if so, he got quite the opposite reaction.
I spent as much time on the Bridge and working to put the ship back to rights as I could get away with before crashing in the Admiral’s ready room. A quick trip to my quarters, avoiding the sidelong glances of Third Shift, and I was able to get cleaned up and back on the Bridge for the handover from Third to First shift.
Then it was time for the destruction of the Imperial Strike Cruiser.
I was sitting on my Admiral’s Throne and barely able to sit still. I forced myself not to squirm through sheer force of will, and I reminded myself that all this would be over soon.
On the screen was an image of the Imperial Strike Cruiser, nearby was the New Dream, the Constructor from the 28th Provisional Sector with a number of my Engineers and wounded crew on board. Our crew on board the New Dream had been busy placing missiles for the better part of a day.
“New Dream is signaling the mine field is in place,” said the external communications operator.
“Remind them to notify us before they detonate the Imperial Cruiser,” said the First Officer.
“That’s odd,” said one of the sensor operators.
“Give me specifics, people,” growled the Tremblay.
“Sorry, Sir. What I mean is the Constructor, New Dream has activated its cold space engines and I’m getting some anomalous hyper field readings from the Victorious Solar Flare,” reported the operator.
“I’m reading it as well,” said another Sensor Operator, obvious tension in his voice.
I tensed. The last thing we needed was something to go wrong at this late stage.
“Get New Dream on the horn and ask them what the Murphy they think they’re playing with,” snapped the First Officer.
The Ex-Com Operator relayed the message. “Murphy’s demon imps!” He exclaimed. Then, before Tremblay could say anything, the com tech shunted the audio onto the Flag Bridge.
There was the sound of blaster fire in the background and someone screamed and there was a thud. This was followed by a short burst of blaster fire and then the sound of movement.
A computer simulated voice came on over the speaker system.
“Long live the Empire,” said the computerized voice.
“The Constructor is picking up speed,” exclaimed a female sensor operator.
“It looks like it's passing right through the missile swarm surrounding the Strike Cruiser… It's on a collision course with the Cruiser, Sir,” she said sounding horrified.
“I’m still getting strange hyper field readings, I’ve never seen anything like it before. It's like the field is fluctuating. Hyper fields aren’t supposed to move like that, even if a ship is moving under cold space engine power,” said a Sensor Operator sounding puzzled. “Which the Imperial Cruiser is not.”
“Keep hailing New Dream. Get me someone on the line over there!” barked First Officer Tremblay.
I felt my shoulders tighten reflexively. This would go down as my single, biggest blunder, I thought with growing fear.
“Helm, do we have time to get over there ourselves and pull her away from the Strike Cruiser,” demanded the First Officer.
The Helmsman looked at him like he was crazy. “Even if the Constructor stops right next to the Strike Cruiser-” started Helmsman DuPont.
“Missile swarm has just been set on automatic countdown,” interrupted the female sensor operator.
“Shut it down!” yelled the First Officer.
There was a flurry of activity from tactical.
“No can do, Lieutenant,” said the grey haired Tactical Officer in command of First shift Tactical. He looked a little pale.
“Murphy take us, what is going on,” yelled Tremblay.
Then over the open audio channel there was an explosion followed by a series of blaster bolts.
“Slow it down before we ram into the Solar-Flare,” barked a voice.
“Who is this,” demanded Tremblay.
“Sorry, Sir. Kind of busy right now,” said a voice tight with tension.
“The Constructor is slowing and she’s changed her course. She should just avoid the Imperial Cruiser,” said one of the Sensor Operators with enthusiasm.
“They’re going to be too late,” the Navigator said.
“No,” growled Tremblay, hitting his own leg with a clenched fist. "We haven't even transferred the fusion cores and the battle suits yet!"
I didn't remember ordering anything about battle suits. What was my First Officer getting at? I didn't have time to dwell on it, though.
“The strange hyper field readings have evened out, but the Imperial now has a larger than expected hyper bubble,” said the same Sensor Operator who’d been puzzled the entire time.
Then, almost as soon as the Constructor was right beside the Imperial Cruiser, the missile field detonated.
“Premature missile swarm detonation,” said a horrified tactical operator.
The tactical display, which previously had shown the perilously close icons representing the two ships, registered dozens of blips which probably corresponded with the missile explosions. After the rapid sequence of detonations, the display showed little more than a faint cloud, apparently to indicate a debris field.
“How the Hades did this just happen,” the First Officer said in a stunned voice.
I closed my eyes and wordlessly gave a prayer for everyone on board the two ships.
“Let's search the wreckage for survivors,” I managed to force out, eventually finding my voice.
One of the Sensor Operators said something in a lowered voice.
“What,” I asked abruptly, then caught myself. I needed to project calm and control at this particular moment. I reset my voice and continued, “speak up.”
“I’m reading only minimal debris,” said a sensor operator in a quiet voice.
“I think the hyper field activated right around the same time as the missile swarm,” said the same persistent Sensor Operator who’d been following the strange readings the entire time. “Right before or right after, I couldn’t say. That many missiles going off at the same time obscured my sensor feed.”
“How is that possible. They were just standard concussion missiles,” said Tremblay.
“Apparently, the New Dream dumped the entire magazine into space, not just the concussion missiles. The ship’s compliment of ECM jammers obscured my sensor readings when everything detonated simultaneously,” the Sensor Operator reported.
“Possible sabotage,” asked the First Officer looking at the Sensor Operator.
I injected myself into the conversation. “I think that part is pretty obvious, don’t you Mr. Tremblay? Someone, or several someones on the Constructor were organized enough to take over the New Dream and put the ship on a collision course with the Victorious Solar-Flare, just before she was slated to be destroyed,” I snapped, my veins bulging and my face flushed.
“The short amount of time they held control of the ship would argue against a deep organization on board the New Dream itself,” protested Tremblay.
“It seems pretty clear to me that they intended to make sure we lost the New Dream, along with the Strike Cruiser. It doesn’t matter how long they had control of the ship, since they quite obviously succeeded,” I continued harshly.
“We need to take further precautions, Admiral,” protested the First Officer. “Let's think this through at least and see if we’re still vulnerable.”
“Post Lancers in key locations throughout every ship in the fleet and then get me Commodore LeGodat. It's time we left his system,” I said, looking at the floor while my mind raced at light speed.
“What fleet? All we’ve got left is one damaged Heavy Cruiser,” the First Officer said, rolling his eyes.
“Instruct our personnel to consolidate the crews of the two Hammerhead class Cruisers onto the Fire of Prometheus. We’ll be taking the Pride of Prometheus and that second Constructor, the Multiplex, along with us when we go,” I ordered imperiously.
“The Promethean Cruisers are no longer part of our virtually non-existent Confederation Fleet. If we take the Pride, we’re no better than pirates,” said Tremblay with a challenge in his tone.
I rounded on the First Officer, fire in my eyes.
“That ship refused a lawful Confederation Inspection, and resisted with deadly force. Many of our Lancers are now dead because of their actions, and a Confederation Fleet organization just lost a shuttle because of them. The Pride of Prometheus isn’t being pirated, it's being impounded and then conscripted into the Confederation Fleet,” I rebuked Tremblay in plain view of the whole Bridge crew.
“Somehow, I don’t think the Promethean Government will see it that way,” the First Officer said after a pause to reign in his temper.
“Carry out my orders,” I forced through gritted teeth.
“Yes, Sir. Admiral, Sir,” said the First Officer, turning on his heel and stalking over to the Communications section.
I returned to my ready room. I couldn’t stand to face the rest of Bridge crew right now. Things were about to become more interesting onboard the Lucky Clover now that the Chief Engineer, the Chief Medical Officer, and Gants along with half the Armory team were gone.
I had known them and, more importantly, I trusted Gants and even Spalding for all his half-crazed, histrionic ways.
The Lucky Clover would survive these losses. It had to, but things were just going to be tougher without them around anymore. The reality of the situation had obviously not yet fully sunk in.
I just hoped someone else broke the news to Akantha. I didn’t want to have to lie, but I could just imagine the look on her face when she learned New Dream had been lost with all hands, including one very rugged Wizard.
Chapter 11: The Departure
“I’m going to send you a letter intended for the Caprian Government. I hope you can see it's delivered for me and a copy retained here if for some reason Planetary Officials are already in transit,” I said formally.
“Of course, Admiral,” said Commodore LeGodat.
“All elements of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, save those men assigned as crew your Dungeon ship, will be departing the system within 10 hours,” I continued.
“We’d noticed here at System Command that you’d begun to spin up your star drives, Admiral. The only question around here was when you’d get around to informing us,” Commodore LeGodat replied.
“Just so you know, the Promethean Hammerhead, Pride of Prometheus has been impounded for violently resisting a lawful inspection party. And in the process killing over 150 men, destroying one shuttle and damaging two more. For the time being, it's been added to my fleet,” I said.
LeGodat sucked air in through his teeth, then nodded.
“Can’t say as I’m entirely surprised. However, I need to go on record advising against impounding the Medium Cruiser,” said the Commodore.
“Noted,” I said flatly with a nod.
“May I inquire as to your intended destination, Admiral Montagne,” asked LeGodat.
“MPF Lucky Clover will return to Tracto VI for repair and then continue along her patrol route. Fire of Prometheus and Multiplex, the other Constructor, will go with us at least as far as Tracto System. After which, decisions will need to be made. But probably they’ll stay in Tracto,” I said evenly.
The Commodore nodded, gave a sharp salute and then signed off.
Back on the Flag Bridge I made my way to the command chair and awaited the impending point transfer.
“Threshold exceeded one hour fifty minutes ago. The countdown is five minutes until point transfer,” said Lieutenant Tremblay matter-of-factly.
“Are all ships slaved to our navigation computer,” I demanded. After the last fiasco involving the Hammerhead, I wasn’t taking any chances.
“All Nav-Comp’s are slaved to mine,” said the Navigator Shepherd.
“With our slow recycle times and the shorter range of the Hammerhead Cruiser, it will take almost twice as long to return to Tracto VI,” the First Officer said disapprovingly.
I knew the First Officer was displeased on a couple different levels. First, Tremblay wanted to take the ship home to Capria, not simply send a message letting them know we were okay. Second, if we were going back to Tracto, he didn’t want to be in the company of two very hot ships, whose respective governments were likely to pursue and attempt to retrieve.
“Steady on, men. There’s no need to let what happened to New Dream effect our performance” I said, deliberately misattributing the First Officer’s worries.
Lieutenant Tremblay gave me a look that made it clear that wasn’t what he’d meant and I knew it, but otherwise remained silent on the subject.
It took a week to return to Tracto from Easy Haven, instead of the half week it had taken us on the way in. Between the Medium Cruiser’s shorter range and the massive Constructor’s longer recycle times, we were lucky to get there as fast as we did.
Compared to a Settler, a Constructor might be considered small. Next to anything else it was massive, and that size resulted in a ship that took even longer to jump to hyperspace than the underpowered Lucky Clover, with its three outdated fusion generators and old Caprian construction main dish.
Unlike the other systems we’d point transferred into, where the odds of encountering trouble were low, Tracto had us all on our toes.
It wasn’t the home world for most of our crew, especially those on the Flag Bridge, but for those not filled with a keen interest in the doings of the local populations, there was something else to capture their interest. Bugs. According to the Empire, the Bugs were a non-sentient, genetically engineered race, created by the AI’s for who knew what purpose.
While I generally took everything the Empire said with a bucket of salt, nothing I’d seen so far had contradicted the official story.
When I’d first come to this system four or more weeks ago, we’d almost been killed by a mis-jump caused by the Trillium deposits scattered around the system. For those who don’t know, Trillium is the main ingredient for star travel. Without it, you’re pretty much sunk. That's about all I know about it, to tell the truth.
Anyway, after saving the ship from near certain doom caused by the unexpected Trillium deposits, the next thing we’d noticed was a Bug ship taking off from the planet. At the time, the Flag Ship was suffering from a lack of properly installed weapon systems. Needless to say, the inability to destroy them outright led me to call for volunteers to go rescue the natives and, not incidentally, blow up the Bug ship.
One thing led to another and while we still had no idea what Bugs in their slower-than-light and very much non-hyper capable ships were doing so far away from their normal stomping grounds, one thing was certain: where there were Bug scouts, a Bug mother ship wasn’t far behind.
The Bugs might be classified as non-sentient, but they knew how to build ships and weapons that were deadly enough to those of us endowed with sentience. The thought of facing down a Bug mother ship was enough to turn any man cold.
“Point Emergence,” exclaimed the Navigator
“Extending baffling beyond transfer area and firing main engine,” declared the Helmsman.
“Point Resistance?” asked Lieutenant Tremblay. There was tension in his voice, but it was a far cry from how he sounded when we first started taking the ship through hyperspace.
“Engine at 15% of maximum,” said the Helmsman. “We still have a lock on the ship.”
“Shields modulated for the Sump Slide,” said the man at shields.
I was surprised what a few weeks of jumping through hyperspace would do for a crew’s confidence in both themselves and the ship. The Bridge crew were almost acting as if this were all old hat. Clearly, the drills we’d been running this past week were paying off.
Here we were in a potentially hot system, and not a quavering voice among the bunch.
I smiled proudly. Not for myself, or whatever part I may have played, but for the men and women around me. It was good to see them finding themselves out here on the edge of known space. I was just happy I didn't have to contemplate a change of clothes after every single jump.
The Science Officer, who would have normally calculated the point resistance, was currently unable to do his job. This inability was directly related to his unwillingness to do this particular part of his job, that part being to measure the point resistance.
In the past our Science Officer had given us ‘feelings’ instead of hard data. Partly, I think in a deliberate attempt to drive my First Officer mad. However, when I eventually had to step in and break things up, I’d told our Science Officer to be prepared with data and hard figures the next time we point transferred into a system.
Unfortunately, the man had decided to stand on his laurels as a Caprian Citizen, and the very first point transfer out of the Easy Haven system he gave another feeling instead of a number. After a second heated discussion, Science Officer Jones found himself doing a week in brig.
I hadn’t wanted to do it, but he forced my hand, and since I was the one that told him to straighten up or go to the brig in the first place, I was forced follow through with my threat.
Still, other than my missing Science Officer, I was well pleased with the rising level of professionalism on the bridge.
Also, unlike in the past when I and the rest of the bridge crew were utterly focused on breaking free of the hyper sump to the exclusion of all else, I now tried to focus on the main screen instead. Likewise, the sensor operators immediately started doing their job and began rapidly populating the main screen with a series of contacts.
“Engine at 25% of maximum. Preparing to light the secondary engines,” said the Helmsman.
“Shield strength at 96%, shield regeneration is holding steady with the sump drain and slowly climbing,” said the main Shield Operator
There was a slight tugging sensation.
“There we go. We’ve broken free of the Inertial Sump. Didn’t even need to light the secondary engines,” DuPont said with satisfaction.
“Sensors, sound off and verbally identify contacts on the main board,” said the First Officer looking at the view screen.
We were much further outside the solar system than was usual when we point transferred into a system. The Trillium deposits had almost killed us last time. We were being extra cautious how close transited to the system.
At first, it was a tally of planets and nearby asteroids that the sensor operators threw up on the main screen. Then the sensors section showed some life.
“I’ve got a number of shuttles around a Trillium deposit,” said one of the Sensor Operators.
“I’ve got a Corvette paired with a Cutter, on what looks like a routine patrol arc,” chimed another.
“First Officer, let's send out a hail and make sure everything’s been okay since we’ve been gone,” I said in what I had come to think of as my 'command voice.' Crisp, concise and essentially flat, but loud enough to be heard throughout the Bridge.
“Yes, sir,” said Tremblay and turned to relay the orders.
A couple minutes later and we had our answer.
After conferring with the External Communication Technician, the First Officer turned back to the Throne. From the grin on the Ex-Com’s face, I figured it had to be good news.
“Acting Squadron Commander Bob Kling sends his greetings and would like to let us know what a relief it is to have us back in the system again,” said the former Intelligence Officer. Despite himself, Tremblay let loose a hint of a smile as he relayed the good news.
Smiles and one muffled cheer broke out on the bridge.
This caused the First Officer to turn his quickly scowling face toward the happy crew, causing smiles and any tendency towards making noise disappear.
Traveling into the Tracto System, a few things became obvious just from our sensors. The Belters, a group of Settlers saved from pirates along with two other settler ships full of Caprian and Promethean colonists, were busy setting up the beginnings of a thriving little space operation.
With a hundred thousand colonists, and coming from a tradition of living their whole lives in orbit or spread throughout the system, that wasn’t too surprising. Living in cold space was their way, and they were as busy as possible ordering things to suit themselves.
Originally, the Belters had been intending to settle in another system, but one look at all the mineral wealth and, more importantly, the Trillium deposits spread throughout the system and they’d all but demanded the right to settle here. Looming Bug invasion or no.
I admit, I couldn’t quite understand the mentality, but I was happy to take advantage of it.
The Promethean Settlement ship had been essentially destroyed by pirates, having been broken into two pieces and destroyed as a functional vessel, and they had been temporarily settled on Tracto VI, the same planet the system’s native human population inhabited. So, there was no telling how things had gone for them during the Lucky Clover’s nearly two week long absence.
As for the Settlement ship from my native Capria, they must have successfully installed the main hyper dish I had instructed the Belters to hand over because they were long gone, and there was no sign of their giant ship anywhere in this system.
On the surface everything looked to be on track. I would find out more when we got closer and could see things with our own eyes. But for now, I was just thankful the Bug mother ship hadn’t arrived during our absence and destroyed the colony.
All on their own, even as industrious as they were, the Belters weren’t going to be able to produce a full-scale mining operation, let alone the sort of high tech processing facilities needed to pull out the heavy impurities in the local Trillium anytime soon. To say nothing of creating the rest of a functioning industrial base.
No, they were all set to work as hard scramble miners and ship their high end production out of the system. I, on the other hand, had other plans for this system and its various products.
If I was going to stay and stop a Bug invasion armada, I was going to at least need ships, and a fleet base capable of supporting them. The ships I would have to get somewhere else, but as for the fleet base...well, if I was going to have to build something like that, it was best to do it right the first time around.
Right now, I had visions of a major fleet operations center and repair base. Followed by a shipyard, primarily fed by the Belter’s soon to be expanded mining operation.
All that was still far off in the future, but that’s why I had brought along the Multiplex. It was a Constructor with what we suspected was an Imperial technological database. Even if it wasn’t equipped with the valuable database, any Constructor should be able to do the initial business of jump-starting a system’s orbital infrastructure projects.
I didn’t know how long I would have the Constructor available, so I had prepared orders that it was to focus first on creating materials to expand the mining operation so the Belters were processing enough materials to start building an orbital factory, along with the high tech trillium processing center.
After dealing with a series of greetings from the local Belter population, there was nothing to do but wait until we hit orbit around Tracto VI.
As soon as we were in a stable orbit, the old-style confederation Corvette Perseverance docked. Commanded by one Bob Kling, the acting Squadron Commander for the system, the little warship looked like it’d been through one heck of a fight.
Fortunately, it didn’t look there was anything in the way of new damage from before Lucky Clover left the system. So the damage was from the Corvette's last encounter with pirates operating in another system entirely.
After Tremblay reminded me that Captains and Commanders of other ships needed to be appropriately greeted on stepping foot onboard the Flagship, I happily delegated the job to the First Officer.
Not looking pleased at this turn of events, the First Officer headed down the main shuttle bay to comply.
Meanwhile, I prepared to receive the Acting Squadron Commander in the Admiral’s ready room.
When the current Lieutenant Commander (he had been a Captain in the Caprian SDF, but was now attached to the Confederation MPF for the foreseeable future) stepped into the ready room, I rose and shook his hand. After that, I sat back behind my desk, I met the steady gaze and smiling face of the Acting Commander.
“I take it from your demeanor, there were no significant problems during my absence,” I began. I could really use a good start, and mentally had my fingers crossed.
“A pair of Scout Ships, but nothing we couldn’t handle. The System Defense Squadron concentrated and annihilated them before they could do more than fire some potshots at a few Belter mining shuttles,” he said, making a brush off gesture.
“All Bug Scouts, I take it,” I asked.
“Yes, sir, Bugs only. We’ve not seen or heard so much as a peep from anyone trying to enter or exit the system. Not since our former countrymen cleared the system,” said Kling with a shrug.
“That’s good news. How has the squadron been doing, any problems?” I asked hopefully. So far, so good.
“There are always a few wrinkles to be ironed out when you’re working up a ship with a brand new crew and officers. Multiply that times four for the whole squadron, and there were a few rough patches here and there. Nothing we couldn’t handle though, Sir,” said Kling.
“Glad to hear it,” I said warmly, and then made a mental note to speak with a couple of the other ship commanders. Not Johnson on the other Corvette, he as much as admitted he wanted the Squadron Command slot during their initial meeting. One or both of the Cutter Commanders perhaps.
“What I find more amazing than anything we’ve been doing here,” he said self-deprecatingly, “is that you returned after only two weeks in the company of an old Hammerhead Cruiser and an honest-to-Murphy Constructor ship. “The Confederation must be getting its act together more quickly than expected if they can throw that kind of support behind a new outpost like this,” Bob Kling finished, looking pleased.
I failed to suppress the sudden urge to cough, and could feel my face reddening. After regaining control of my respiratory system, I began. “It’s a long story and I’ll let someone else fill you in with the blow by blow details. Suffice it to say, we caught a warship attempting to pirate several Spine-sponsored Constructors. One thing led to another, as you can see from the damage to our hull, and the upshot is that the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet and Tracto System have temporary access to the Constructor, named the Multiplex, for an undetermined amount of time,” I finished, feeling the color of my face returning to normal.
“Sounds like quite a tale,” Commander Kling said with appreciation.
I smiled thinly. “It is,” I said with perhaps too much finality. Then I gave myself a shake and looked over at the retired Caprian SDF officer.
“Hopefully the Multiplex can help repair our ships. Not just the Flagship, but the damage to your Light Squadron as well. After which time it can start working on jumpstarting the system economy,” I explained.
“I’m sure the Belters will be ecstatic, Admiral. I know me and my men are,” said Kling.
“I haven’t decided completely on the issue of the Hammerhead, whether to leave it here or take with on patrol,” I mused.
“In all seriousness, Admiral, we’re going to need everything we can scrape together when that mother ship makes an appearance. A pair of Corvettes and another pair of Cutters out on system patrol just won’t cut the mustard when the Bug heavies show up. Which they will, eventually,” said the Acting Squadron Commander his face shuttering.
“We'll just have to make our best estimates, and if the Medium Cruiser is needed here, then she's needed here,” I said with a sigh.
A little of the animation returned to the man's face.
“Rest assured, Admiral, just about every man in the squadron's been studying the Bugs. It's not something intensively studied back when I was a cadet at the High Point SDF academy. They've never been seen in our sector before, or the Spine entire as far as our records show,” he said with a frown. “I think it's safe to say we've combed through every piece of information in our database, trying to turn ourselves into experts on the subject. My officers have written a number of reports on the subject of how long we have before the Bugs show up in real strength, if you are interested in looking at them,” said Commander Kling.
Since I couldn't very well say I was too busy to look into the something that impacted the safety of every human in the solar system, or seem disinterested, I forced a smile and a nod. Even though that was the last thing I wanted to think about right now.
What I was hearing didn't sit too well with his ideas for performing a proper interstellar patrol, but the last thing I needed was a reputation as a man disinterested in the safety of people I was pledged to protect.
It was a shame that the universe wasn’t all nice and tidy. So that when you hauled off and saved someone, or a group of people, they stayed saved and you could just go pat yourself on the back until your arm broke. Instead, they seemed to always peskily hang around and ask for more help.
I finally produced a real grin as I laughed at myself. 'It’s just awful, isn’t it Jason Montagne,' I thought to myself sarcastically, 'when people quite reasonably ask for you to help save them from a genocidal juggernaut headed toward the planet you went and parked them on.'
“Forward me those reports. I know less than I should concerning the Bugs,” I said with something closer to real enthusiasm.
“Not a problem, Sir,” replied Mr. Kling, looking appropriately pleased that his reports were being granted top priority.
“How are things planet-side,” I asked, more than a little interested in how the colonists were faring. Did I mention that I had been studying in Colonial Administration before all of this nonsense started? I have always been fascinated with the mentality required for frontier work, and I suppose studying the administrative aspects allowed me to explore the subject somewhat vicariously.
“Oh, the wife says it’s a start up colony, there’s no mistaking that, but other than a big scare with some of those Stone Rhinos, everything seems to be working out,” said Commander Kling.
I blinked. “I didn’t realize you were married, or that your wife was down in the surface,” I said, taken aback.
“Oh, well there’s not much point in going off to settle a new uninhabited world if you're not planning to leave something behind for the next generation. If a man’s only in it for himself, there’s a lot more comfort to be had on an advanced world,” said Kling dismissively.
“That’s wonderful news,” I remarked, still unsure how to process this seemingly meaningless bit of unexpected information.
“We’ve yet to have any contact with the locals that haven’t been on our terms. When you’re limited to foot speed, it takes a while to come over and visit the neighbors. So there hasn’t been a lot trouble,” explained Kling.
“Even still, this lack of trouble can’t be anything but to the good,” I remarked, determined not to let any rain clouds tarnish this silver lining.
"No sir, all good so far as I'm concerned. I appreciate you taking time out of your schedule to see me, sir. And I hope those reports provide some help to your command. As for myself, I really need to get back to my squadron. We've got repairs and other logistics that I need to stay on top of." Maybe the Acting Squadron Commander sensed my mood, or maybe he’d said all he intended to and was eager to leave.
Either way, after another handshake and the appropriate salutations, I let him return to his duties.
Chapter 12: On the Gun Deck
“The focusing arrays on this bank of heavy lasers need work,” Warrant Officer Lenzer said pointing out the individual turrets.
The grey bearded Chief Gunner raised an eyebrow. “They’ve worked fine so far, during a major combat engagement and several minor skirmishes. What’s changed?”
“The ones that were original ship’s issue are still doing fine,” allowed Lenzer, “but these came from that pirate cruiser,” he said sounding disgusted.
“Ah,” said the Chief running his fingers through his beard for a moment. “Jerk them out and either slot in replacements or, if we don’t have enough extra arrays, get them reground and worked before reinstalling them. We can’t pull all our teeth.”
The Warrant Officer look dissatisfied but nodded his agreement. “Yes, Chief,” he said.
“Anything else,” asked Gunnery Chief Curtis Bogart, his tone making it clear he was ready to move on to new business.
Warrant Lenzer hesitated before squaring up his shoulders. “Now that you mention it there is,” he said making a covert gesture towards a small group of gunnery trainees moving out of the way of a small repair team from engineering.
Turning his gaze the Chief Gunner observed the way the Engineers strutted around his gun deck like they owned it while his men all but bowed and got out of the way.
He frowned. “I’ve noticed,” he allowed, his lips skinning back to reveal his teeth. The expression was about as far from a smile as you could get and still lie about it later on.
“Something’s got to be done,” Lenzer said dourly, “it's all well and good to show some respect for the Chief Engineers sacrifice and give those snipes down in Engineering a break for a few days, but…” he ground to a halt.
“But it’s been a few days and then some,” the Chief Gunner gave a decisive nod. “It’s probably time to do something about that.”
“Yeah,” agreed Warrant Officer Lenzer before shaking his head, “but how do you top walking into a fusion core and stopping it from blowing up, along with everyone on the ship?”
“Hard thing to do,” agreed Bogart, chewing on his beard for a second. His eyes moved back and forth taking in both compliments of the ship’s crew, “Still, it's not always about topping one of the grandest gestures ever heard of in the SDF.”
“It’s not?” Lenzer blurted in surprise.
The Chief Gunner shrugged, “Sometimes the most important thing is turning up at the game.”
“I guess,” Lenzer said sounding unconvinced.
“A little pluck can go a long ways,” the Chief Gunner said reflectively.
Lenzer nodded in agreement with this point. “Well, so long as you have a plan to deal with the biggest hill to climb I’ve ever seen, that’s the main thing,” he said.
“A plan,” muttered the Chief Bogart striding down the banks of gun turrets. Upon passing a battery of turbolasers, he overheard a group of gun crews talking about going out for drink later on.
A speculative gleam entered his eye. Sometimes in order to get your pride back, a man needed to go and pick a fight with the biggest guy around. The same thing went double for ship departments. Spalding had always been easy to get a rise out of but he was gone now, more’s the pity. However, when it came to fighting, Engineering wasn’t the first department to come to mind.
A slow grin crossed his face. Then he winced, this was going to hurt. He shook his head. He was getting a little old for the kind of activities he had in mind, but the day he was too old to go and pick a fight was the day he needed to hand over control of the gun deck to a younger buck with more fire in his belly.
The honor of the gun deck be blasted. It was its fighting spirit he was most concerned with.
Chapter 13: Trouble in Paradise
Later, I was out on the hull with a detail from Engineering. It was a risk, in case any crewmates of those who died due to the ramming event decided to enact some sort of revenge.
On the other hand, it was work that needed to be done, but I was under no illusions that I was the best man for the job. I would actually venture to say that I was clearly the worst man on the ship for this particular job. Actually, I was probably a better pick than some of the native Lancers, now that I thought about it.
Anyway, it was something I needed to see and learn about so that I didn’t keep making the same mistakes over and over again. Since one of the best ways to learn was to do it yourself, here I was, doing my fumble-fingered best to help fix a section of hull armor, one that had been ripped apart by Imperial gunners.
It was also preferable to following Akantha back down to the surface. I needed another meeting with her family like I needed another hole in the head. Wouldn’t it just make for a nifty little holiday if the rest of the extended family decided now was a great time to come out of the woodwork and start trying to carve chunks off me?
No thanks. I had sent a long a team of top-rate Lancers. Well, as top-rate as they came around here. Including enough Promethean and Caprians that even if the native Lancers started to get funny ideas while down on the surface, my Sword Bearer should be more than safe.
She was dressed in bulletproof and blade-resistant clothing, that looked and felt like regular clothing to the unaided eye. She was also sporting a blaster pistol. I had made sure of that while avoiding the reproach in her eyes for refusing to put my head back in the lion's mouth.
As of right now, I had decided this Protector business meant minding my own business, and that extended from the Lucky Clover, into orbit with the Belters and down to the surface at the small off-worlder colony on Messene. Anything else would involve a strike team recovering my young bride, followed by continuous orbital and high altitude strikes until any native resistors got the message that I was through messing around with them.
I wasn’t sure how long this new resolve would last in the face of continued disappointment, but I planned to stick it out for the duration. I'd almost been killed, twice, on my first and only trip to the surface. I didn’t intend to give the natives a second chance because of some other 'cultural misunderstanding.'
With plasma torches, arc-welders, and heavy load suits, the workers on the hull slowly peeled away the damaged sections and put down newly produced hull plating.
I got my first shock of the day when a work party from the Multiplex showed up to assist.
The ‘work party’ consisted of a pair of human controllers and two identical groups of droids. At least, I mistook them for droids at first. They seemed far more capable of independent action than any robot I had ever seen before.
I noticed they also caused a stir among the men, but no alarm. So I did my best to play it cool. Droids were autonomous machines, and ever since the AI wars, were strictly outlawed. Robots, on the other hand, were built specifically to require constant human attention and programming so that they never started to get ideas of their own.
Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore and went over to speak with one of the human operators.
“What’s with all the droids,” I asked, once I’d found the proper frequency.
The man inside his newer, sleeker form-fitting spacesuit looked down his nose at me.
“I assure you these are not droids, crewman,” said the man as condescendingly as he could, believing he was speaking to some jumped-up provincial rube working on an ancient Battleship.
“Then what are they,” I asked in irritation.
“They are robots, crewman. The latest in a series of high-end robot repair models to be approved for production by the Imperial Senate Robotic Oversight Committee,” the man said proudly.
“Why use robots when there are humans who could be trained for the same job, if as you say these are robots and not droids,” I demanded, getting into the character of an outraged, potentially displaced worker.
“It takes a minimum of four years to train a man to do the same job, and it only takes two years for a high end programming team to build the program and design a model like these. After that, a single factory can produce a thousand robots like this every month, on a properly set up production line,” the other man said, sounding superior.
“Automation is an amazing thing to behold, but I still don’t understand how even the Empire can think that having so many robots running around in charge of critical equipment is a good idea,” I said suspiciously, only half in-character. The idea of being able to produce twelve thousand automated workers in less than a year was certainly appealing, especially to someone like me, who was constantly short of skilled manpower. Maybe it was my provincial upbringing showing through here, but for some reason, I didn’t think it was a very good idea to start marching back down the very same steps our ancestors had taken when they produced the very first AI’s.
“What I find amazing is that we’re still stuck using robots when the templates exist for self-learning droids with the ability for independent thought and action. The AI wars were a long time ago, and it's time to get over our superstitious fears and embrace technology, despite all of its flaws and our ancestors' past mistakes,” the robot tech said with fervor.
“A man does what he has to,” I allowed. “However,” I continued, “I, for one, would rather go down in flames than be the man who enslaved humanity to AI’s for a second time,” I finished flatly.
“And thus, we in the Spine see once again why the Empire makes all the cutting-edge advances in science and application, meanwhile the old Confederation lags behind in almost every conceivable area,” the other man spat.
It was true enough that the Imperial Senate was willing to sponsor things the Confederation Assembly would dig its heels in against before even considering. So I decided to let the matter drop.
“Couldn’t men be trained to take the place of your automated robots,” I asked again.
“Oh, certainly. However, the lack of trained manpower willing to work in space can be crippling. Especially with the war on, the Empire simply offers the sort of incentives that make it hard for private industry to compete,” said the robot operator.
“Somehow, I don’t think the Empire is going to be draining the Spine’s local brain trust for the next little while,” I said wryly.
“True. Still, where there’s a will there’s a way. I don’t think the sentiment among scientists to push the envelope will just dissipate now that the Empire isn’t around to drain away the agitators into the Imperial Science Directorate,” said the robot operator confidently.
I raised my eyebrows at this tidbit. "I would hope that people would be able to keep their long-term interests in mind and reject the notion of walking down the primrose path yet again," I said with a shrug.
“Well then I'm glad it's not up to you to set Sector and Galactic Policy,” said the robot operator with a sneer.
“Yeah...thank Murphy for that,” I said, shaking my head and moving away.
I finished up on the hull, and while I was working, I watched as the robotic workers easily outstripped the humans in removing and replacing damaged sections.
It was in that moment that I finally understood the term 'robotic efficiency,' as the mechanical workers didn’t stop or hesitate for more than a second or two while they coordinated amongst themselves.
Watching them was like watching a little bit of the far off past reaching out into the future. I shuddered to think what a droid or AI dominated universe would be like.
Eventually, after I thought I had learned enough about that aspect of maintaining the ship, I returned to the command deck. I breezed through the Flag Bridge and parked myself in the ready room.
Looking up the crew complement of the Multiplex and comparing it to that of the Constructors we had left back in the Easy Haven system (a factor that had been overlooked, due to my unfamiliarity), something now stood out in sharp contrast.
The 28th Provisional Constructors, what I was now starting to think of as the Imperial Design Constructors, had only eight hundred crew and two thousand technical operators in its standard compliment. What I was now thinking of as the Confederation Style Constructors listed a crew of twelve hundred and a technical staff of almost twenty thousand.
The difference was staggering, and it made me wonder how this great difference was possible, until I looked up the Multiplex’s inventory and discovered ten thousand robotic repair workers listed as equipment. Along with a whole host of spare parts for said workers, this helped explain the massive differences in technical staff. If there were ten robots for every robot operator, then there were still over a thousand men free to work on design and internal production.
Things start to become clearer to my less discerning eye.
In addition to working on the hull alongside the engineers, I tried to tour every department on the ship and get a general feel for how it worked and operated, since we would be parked in Tracto for awhile.
In my free time, I decided to throw myself back into my aborted midshipman studies. I had been taking several mandatory midshipman courses, because it was required in order to be able to take the courses I was really interested in, like Colonial Administration. Unfortunately, when I sat down to pick up where I’d left off, I discovered that when the Imperials had wiped their database on the ship and removed a bunch of their computer hardware, that they’d also destroyed nine months worth of my schoolwork.
There was now no record that I had ever taken any Imperial-accredited courses while on this ship for the better part of a year.
I reached to grab my hair and my hands skittered over my bald, overly-sensitive skull instead. I growled in frustration. I couldn’t even vent my fury in the manner I so desired.
That nixed my first idea. Angrily, I pounded away on the keyboard until I pulled up the old Caprian database’s midshipman’s program.
Scanning through the old system, it became clear that the courses were much less user-friendly and, I suspected, more outdated than what I had seen in the Imperial database.
With a grunt, I pulled up the native Caprian studies program and started digging in. I still needed to learn more about being an Admiral, and the fact that my chosen course of study was gone didn’t negate that fact.
Silently however, I cursed Rear Admiral Janeski and his Imperial ways for managing to do yet another bad turn on the way out.
**********************
No one was happier than I was during the two weeks of mediating squabbles between the Belters and the Constructor. The bridge staff and the Constructor. The planet and the Constructor. The system patrol force and the...I think the picture is fairly clear. Everyone wanted a piece of the Constructor’s incredible production and repair capability, and they wanted it yesterday.
Anyway, two weeks in and the worst of the Lucky Clover’s damage had been repaired. Already, the Corvettes and little Cutters were skittering around the system, running protection for the miners in case the Bugs decided to show up.
The Hammerhead was already repaired and in dire need of a crew to man her, and not just a small skeleton compliment.
There was still some work to do, but now that the gross battle damage had been fixed and the rest could be handled by the onboard engineering department, I was itching for a chance to clear out of the system.
I had pulled rank to get the ships fixed first, but now that it was time for the actual system industry to start being produced, I wanted no part of dealing with all the special interests. Better to give them some general guidelines and come back later to see how they did on their own.
The Acting Squadron Commander wasn’t happy with my final decision to take the Hammerhead Cruiser with, but after looking at the data, a general consensus seemed to emerge that the Bug mother ship was still months away at sub-light speed.
To placate the Acting Commander, I instructed the Constructor to bump the local mining industry from their place in line, and build an automated defense turret in orbit above Tracto VI's primary continent, before starting in on general industry upgrades to the system.
No one was happy, least of all Akantha who’d spent most of her time down on the planet, but what could I do? I had the entire Rim of known space to patrol. Or at least, that part of it belonging to the Spineward Sectors.
All I could do was my best, and one thing was certain; unless I could drum up some support, sooner or later the rump-assembly in the Spine and the full assembly in the old Confederation were going to get their acts together and cut us off at the knees.
I needed to get out there, ahead of any recall orders from Capria or the Assembly, and drum up some goodwill out along the Rim.
Chapter 14: Into the Great Unknown
We departed Tracto as a fleet of two ships, and I reflected that some might consider the choice to take along the Hammerhead to be a decision made purely out of self interest.
However, upon further reflection, I had arrived at the conclusion that if authorities from Prometheus or the rump-assembly showed up and demanded its return, I didn’t know of anyone I was certain would fight to keep the cruiser. Better by far to keep it with me and make sure it was in my hands and usable for the maximum possible duration.
Keeping company with the Hammerhead slowed our movement to a crawl, but on the whole that was preferable to the alternative. For the moment, while I was training up a small crew under the night shift tactical officer, it was important to keep the two ships together. Once I was confident the other cruiser could handle herself on her own, I would be able to double our patrol area.
I once again offered the job, and even rank of Captain of the Hammerhead to Lieutenant Tremblay, but the man turned me down flat. Tremblay had no desire to become even more entangled in what he considered potential piracy of a warship belonging to a sovereign planetary government.
The night shift tactical officer, on the other hand, was the closest thing to a command officer I had on the Lucky Clover, and there was the side benefit that most of the new Captain’s immediate family was currently living on Tracto VI. This made him a man much less likely to simply hand over the ship to anyone who came calling, since it might be the difference between saving his family from the Bug menace.
We encountered nothing of interest in the empty systems along their route and when nothing exciting turned up on their sensors, I ordered the next point transfer.
We transferred into the first inhabited system along the route and everything got a lot messier.
*****************
Back on the Flag Bridge for what was certain to be an interesting arrival into an inhabited system, I sat in the Admiral's Throne and tried to look awake.
I could have waited until the night shift, Third shift had gone to bed and First shift had taken their places, but this was a new Third shift under an untested tactical officer. I wanted to show confidence in the man.
He was fresh-faced in what would have been his late-20’s, pre-prolong. Since he most definitely had received prolong treatments, he must have been in his forties or fifties. He had served as an assistant tactical officer for a Corvette back in the Caprian System Defense, and I could see that being in command of the tactical section for a Battleship the size of the Lucky Clover was a little overwhelming.
I could relate, since I felt my own job as Admiral of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet to be more than a bit daunting at times.
I was eager to reach the first system on the new patrol route we had designed and hadn’t wanted to wait another four to six hours.
“Threshold exceeded one hour, forty minutes ago. The countdown is five minutes until point transfer,” said the First Officer.
“Hammerhead’s Nav-Computer is slaved to mine, but his calculations look on the button,” said the Navigator, with a jaw-cracking yawn.
“Good work Mr. Shepherd,” I said. I wasn’t very impressed with having to give our backup navigator to the Hammerhead Cruiser, but it was the only decision that made sense. I made a mental note that we needed to do something about securing the services of a few more navigators before this was all over.
“At least the Medium Cruiser’s been able to eke out a few more light years than with the last jump,” grumped Tremblay, clearly upset with something, but that just seemed to be how he rolled out of bed.
“A fine accomplishment,” I remarked absently.
Then the timer counted down to zero and the shift transited through hyper space.
“Point Emergence,” yawned the Navigator.
“Extending baffling and lighting the main engine,” said the Helmsman.
“Let's look alive, those members of First shift who are here with Third," snapped Lieutenant Tremblay. "This is an inhabited system, people.”
Everyone, native Third shift or First shift imports, jumped to lean over their consoles and the main screen started populating with planets.
“Point Resistance?” asked Lieutenant Tremblay with a grin as he looked over at the Science Officer.
“I read an estimated thirty gravities of resistance. We should be able to overcome it with-” the recently released Science Officer Jones said with resignation, only to be cut off by the First Officer.
“Where are my engine numbers,” he snapped at the helmsman.
“Engine at 10% of maximum,” replied the Third shift Helmsman, turning red.
The Science Officer glared at Tremblay.
“Shields modulated properly,” said the man at shields.
It looked like Third shift needed a few more drills before they figured things out, while First shift might need the drills to help maintain their professionalism.
Here we were in a potentially hot system and even though it was the middle of the night for them, First shifters were yawning and acting not at all worried.
I admit, I smiled. I couldn’t help it. I would have to give them extra drills of course, but it looked like the First shifters might be playing to the crowd a little bit.
In the past, our Science Officer had stood on his credentials as a civilian to thwart our First Officer’s idea of military discipline on the bridge. It looked like his stay in the brig had worked wonders on his willingness to give us actual, hard numbers instead of his own personal impression about what was happening.
“Let's step it up, Helmsman,” said Tremblay with just a little bit too much condescension.
“Engine increased to 25% of maximum,” replied the Helmsman.
“What about your secondaries,” demanded the First Officer, “and where are my shield readings?"
“Shield strength at 92%, and slowly falling,” said the main Shield Operator
There was a mild tugging sensation.
“And we’re free of the Inertial Sump,” declared Jones.
The First Officer’s mouth turned down at this intrusion, but he didn’t say anything directly to the Science Officer. It seemed the two of them were in some kind of uneasy truce, and the Lieutenant was willing to press things only so far.
“Shields, let's look at your modulation after we get a patch of smooth sailing. It seemed to me like your shields might not have been modulated as well as they could have been,” said Tremblay, a bit more professionally.
The Science Officer muttered something about feelings instead of facts, but he did so in a quiet enough voice that the First Officer was able to let it go.
“Sensors, sound off and verbally identify contacts on the main board,” I said in my command voice, looking at a view screen with a dozen contacts slowly popping up on it.
“I’m reading a merchant in close proximity to the main inhabited work in the system-” started on operator only to be cut off by another.
“And I’ve got weapons fire,” exclaimed a young trainee excitedly.
“Two- no, three ships are engaged in some kind of dog fight. Wait, I’m getting what look like some kind of strange missiles darting all around them,” said the first sensor operator hoarsely.
“What are you seeing? Put it up on the main board,” snarled First Officer Tremblay.
When the former Intelligence Officer looked over in my direction like this was all somehow my fault, I raised my hands in the air and then glared back at him.
On the main view screen three ships leapt into view as tiny dots.
“Somebody magnify those contacts, and the rest of you don’t forget to watch your assigned sensor areas. There might be more battles all throughout the system, so look alive,” Tremblay said, walking over to the sensor section.
“Somebody plot me a least-time course to the combatants and forward our sensor readings to the Hammerhead,” I instructed, mindful of my slightly elevated pulse.
The First Officer shot me an enigmatic look but didn’t say anything.
He didn’t need to say anything, I could already hear the same litany about how the problems of the Confederation at large weren’t, and didn’t need to be, the problems of the Lucky Clover and her crew.
Then the screen was magnified to display the relevant tactical data.
“It looks like point defense is heading out from the large missiles, but that can’t be right. The major combatants should be firing on the missiles, not the other way around,” said the young sensor operator who had initially discovered the little running battle.
The former assistant tactical officer for the SDF Corvette chimed in, looking over to me and ignoring the First Officer. “I don’t think those are large missiles, Admiral. I’m almost positive those are miniature gunships,” he said firmly.
“You’re sure,” I asked in surprise. I’d only ever heard of actual gunships outside of a holo-drama. Capria didn’t have any, and none were assigned to the Spine as far as I knew.
“Yes, sir. Word is a major defense contractor in the Confederation ran out a whole production line in expectation that they’d get a big war contract with the Imperials for a small mobile weapons platform. However, the Imperials decided to with a slightly smaller, non-hyper capable model, called a strike fighter instead. A number of the gunships, called Boat class Gunships, were put on the open market when they didn’t sell to the Imperials. These could very well be some of those, Admiral,” said the new Third shift Tactical Officer.
“How do you know this,” I asked, fearing the answer would be one that would further complicate matters.
“Scuttlebutt before we left said that if the Imperials were going to turn them down, then Capria’s SDF wasn’t interested in them either,” replied the Tactical Officer.
“Let’s hope the local System Defense Force doesn’t share the same sentiment as the Caprian SDF,” I said grimly.
“Why’s that, Sir?” the Tactical Officer said questioningly.
“Otherwise, those miniature gunships are almost certainly in the hands of pirates,” I replied. Why wasn’t this obvious to our Tactical Officer, I wondered. If the Caprian SDF wasn’t going to purchase the gunships because the Empire took a pass, then how were the more cash-strapped SDF’s on the Rim going to look them?
The Tactical Officer slowly nodded and turned back to instruct one of his trainees.
“We’re receiving an automated distress call from the planet, and a second one from a disabled merchant vessel,” reported the External Communications Technician.
I opened my mouth, but was cut off.
“I’m receiving more distress signals,” snapped a third sensor operator.
“What have you got,” demanded Officer Tremblay.
“It looks like two old style CR70’s. The signals are pretty weak and they’re squawking SDF codes. They must have had their communication antennae blasted off and be on emergency power to be running signals that low, Admiral,” the Sensor Operator said, sounding concerned.
“If we’ve already got two Corvettes down, then who are the other three duking it out on the other side of the planet,” I asked.
“All three warships are running silent, the little gunships as well,” replied the first sensor operator.
“Well, set us a course for the running battle. There’s no point in standing around with our thumbs up our unmentionables,” I instructed.
“Yes, Admiral,” said the Helmsman.
“Message relayed to the Fire of Prometheus,” reported the Ex-Com technician.
The Lucky Clover surged forward at its incredible snail's pace, accompanied by the similarly sluggish ancient Hammerhead Cruiser. Compared to the little Corvettes duking it out near the system’s inhabited planet, our aged vessels were lumbering brutes.
As we got closer, one of the Corvettes broke off, streaming air and pieces of the hull.
“I think it's about time to open up the lines of communication between ourselves and the unidentified ships,” I said with a hint of playfulness in my voice.
The Communication operators made a few adjustments.
“You’re live, Sir,” said the Ex-Com Tech.
“Unidentified warships,” I began, then paused, somewhat at a loss. Then I grinned and continued. “Tell us what you’re fighting about so we can know which side to pile in on. I’d hate for the crewmen manning the weapons on these two big cruisers of mine to go back to bed without clearing their guns at least once,” I said, fighting the urge to laugh.
Then I sat back they waited for the response to come in.
“Are you Brotherhood or part of the Law, my scar-faced kinsmen,” asked the darkest ebony-skinned man I had ever seen.
Another, similar looking man popped up on the screen almost immediately. “Yeah, are you here to help us put down this unnatural looking abomination, created by the foul Space Gods as part of some kind of party joke,” asked the second captain. I honestly couldn't tell their demeanor, due to their odd speech patterns and vocal rhythm.
“Uhhh,” was all I could manage, and I glanced at the communication section.
The Ex-Com shrugged. “The first transmission came from the less damaged of the two Corvettes fighting the third and all those miniature gunships. The second was from the damaged one limping away,” the tech said.
“Abomination?” I said, absolutely perplexed. I signaled for the tech to cut transmission. Then I turned to the First Officer.
Tremblay shrugged and spread his hands. “There are all sorts of strange peoples living on the rim, from high-gravity worlders to some extreme gene-mods from the AI days. It's all highly illegal in civilized space, but some people when given the choice of sterilization and heavy monitoring, or living free out on the edge of rim of known space will pick the Rim every time. They might be talking about one of those extreme gene-mods,” Tremblay said, clearly not convinced by his own line, but at least it was something.
I turned to the communication’s section. “Patch me into the third Corvette,” I instructed.
The Com-tech signaled we were live.
“Unidentified ship, what’s your purpose in this system and why haven’t you said anything yet,” I asked, then waited for the reply.
“We’re getting a signal back from the two Corvettes that seem to be working in concert,” reported the communication tech a half minute later.
It was the captain of the less damaged of the two partners.
“We’re tired of taking orders from monkey boy over there,” he said in his strangely accented Confederation Standard.
The Second captain chimed in, he had the same accent as the first. “Yeah, back where we come from, his kind gets itself thrown onto the barbecue, not put in charge of divvying up the loot,” he said indignantly.
The first Captain nodded.
“We’ve had enough, man. It's time for that metal plugged freak to learn its place. It can start scrubbing the floors of a real man’s deck or get itself fragged,” said the first Captain, making a vicious gesture across his throat.
“We’re getting a signal from the ship that seems to be working with the little gunships. It's audio only,” reported the Communication’s tech.
A deep, scratchy voice with that was almost a growl came over the audio. “Those cruiser ships can’t get here in time to do a blasted anything. Besides, you people are all the same. Get specked along with those two mutinous captains of mine,” said the deep voice before cutting the transmission.
“Okay,” I said slowly. Clearly, things were always destined to get more complicated before becoming clearer.
I glanced over at Tremblay.
“I think it's safe to say that everyone over there is a pirate of some kind or another and they’ve had a falling out," I said rubbing my eyes. "What are our chances of capturing or destroying any of them,” I asked wearily.
Tactical was a flurry of fingers over keyboards and I had to suppress a frown. They should have already had that information at their fingertips.
The chief Tactical Officer turned and shook his head. “If we play along, we might be able to sucker the damaged Corvette that’s currently limping away in close enough that we can put it within range of our longer ranged weaponry. But there’s no way we can catch the other two or the gunships,” he said.
“Ok, I guess it's time to make like a pirate and try to sucker them in close,” I said cheerfully. “Put me on the screen,” I instructed the Communications Tech.
“We’re more than happy to help you deal with the abomination. For the right price, of course…brothers,” I said once the feed was active.
A little bit of negotiating later, and my ships were supposed to form part of a pincer.
Since we were on an open channel, the third ship with its swarm of little fighters could hear everything we said and broke off after it had damaged the cold space drive section of its less active foe.
Now certain that its opponents couldn’t catch it, the aged Corvette and its escort broke off and made like a bandit for the edge of the system.
Just before reaching the edge of the system, the same deep growly voice came back over the audio.
“My people know how to deal with your kind, base-stock. Take the gift I leave you, these two traitors, but remember that next time it will be Primarch Glue who takes from you and not you from him in your slow, fat and outdated ships,” said the enigmatic figure.
“Well, that’s definitely weird. What’s all this talk of base-stock and gifts before taking,” I asked of no one in particular.
“I think he’s referring to the two damaged CR70’s,” said Tremblay, his tone a bit too helpful.
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I got that part. Whoever he is, he sure has a strange way of speaking. Is Primarch supposed to be some kind of pirate rank,” I asked, genuinely unsure of how that particular title was used out here.
“Pirates come up with all sorts of strange and fanciful titles for themselves,” said the former Intelligence Officer with a shrug, and he turned to the tactical section. “What I want to know is if we’ll be able to catch up with both of those pirates that were attacking Mr. Enigma,” he said forcefully. Tactical section ran a few more calculations, and I decided that when this was over, Third shift needed to run some more drills.
“With our pincer maneuver, we should be able to get one of the two within range of our main guns for sure. The other one will be hit or miss. It's got a slightly better acceleration curve,” reported the chief Third Shift Tactical Officer.
The Communications operator pressed his ear piece deeper into his ear and nodded, then turned my direction with a grin. “The two Pirates in the damaged Corvettes are now warning us off. They say that if we come any closer, we risk the wrath of the entire Deep Fleet Revolutionary Army,” he said, his grin growing as he spoke.
“Oooh, the dreaded ‘Deep Fleet Revolutionary Army,’ well we can’t have them mad at us now can we,” I said in mock terror, wringing my hands for effect.
“Like I said, pirates come up with some of the most fanciful names. Most likely this little flotilla consists of every vessel in the Deep Fleet Army,” snickered Tremblay shaking his head.
“Inform the Deep Fleet that we are warships of the Confederation’s Fleet. So they have a choice, they can either surrender and enjoy a new life of back-breaking labor on a startup colony world, or they can be spaced out the airlock when we catch up to them,” I said with a dismissive wave.
“Tactical, coordinate with the Hammerhead but use your best judgment. I want both those ships taken,” I said with a shark-like grin. I turned to the communication section. “Inform the Lancer Colonel of my sincere hope that he and his men will get some action today,” I said, stressing the 'sincere' part.
“Yes, Admiral,” replied the tech.
Two of the Corvettes headed for the edge of the system to safely point transfer out, and the third left at a slightly divergent course and much faster speed.
However, due to drive damage sustained in their firefight, the Lucky Clover and our companion cruiser continued to close the distance on the two cripples.
“It's going to be tight, Admiral,” explained the Tactical Officer throwing some calculations up on the main board.
Since the numbers meant very little to me, I just nodded and instructed the man to put the main display back on the board.
“Helm, don’t slow down for anything,” instructed the Tactical Officer as the first Corvette came within range.
“I’m reading heavy concentrations of strange particles coming from the closest Corvette. I think she’s going to try to jump,” said one of the Sensor Operators.
“They’re too close to a major gravitational body,” said the Tactical Officer. He leaned over and spoke in his microphone to the gunnery section.
“There she goes,” said the Sensor operator.
The entire Flag Bridge watched as the little CR70 Corvette started to phase out of reality. It looked almost like a double blink and then the Corvette reappeared in front of them.
“Star drive failure,” exclaimed the Tactical Officer. “I knew she was too close,” he added.
“I’m reading a power surge,” said the Sensor Operator.
Suddenly on screen there was an explosion and gases erupted out of the little Corvette, venting into space.
“Blast it,” cursed the Tactical Officer.
The explosion was soon followed by two large objects being ejected into space. The first exploded shortly after it cleared the ship and the little Corvette was rocked again. The second just hung there in space, slowly getting further and further away.
“She ejected her fusion cores into cold-space, Admiral. Most likely she’s down to emergency power,” reported the Tactical officer.
“Why would she do a thing like that,” I asked, trying to keep disappointment out of my voice. Fusion plants were not an easy thing to build and install, or else the Lucky Clover would have been back up to her original complement of five, instead of still clunking along with three.
“These are pirates,” the Tactical Officer said as if that explained everything.
“I’ve no doubt they still had the fusion plants set to factory default conditions so when the star drive backfired and sent a surge through their system, the computer automatically ejected the cores. As you can see,” he gestured to first the one that exploded and then the one that didn’t, “the automated system was at least half right. Which means they aren’t all dead right now,” the Tactical Officer continued.
I made a fist and gently struck the arm of my chair. “Send in the Lancers,” I ordered tersely.
With only emergency power the pirates weren’t going anywhere. The Tactical Officer ordered gunnery to hold its fire.
On the screen, four shuttles popped into existence, burning thrusters to slow down and match courses with the drifting Corvette.
Meanwhile, the Hammerhead put on a slight burst of speed.
“Her Captain must have overcharged the engines,” Lieutenant Tremblay said disapprovingly.
“The Corvette is starting to charge her star drive,” said one of the Sensor Operators.
If anything, the Hammerhead went even faster.
“Let me know the instant they pass the point of no return on their star drive,” instructed the First Officer.
Then the Hammerhead started taking long-range potshots at the sole remaining Corvette still fleeing for its life. The one with the curious gunships had already jumped out of the system.
The Corvette's shield deflectors stopped blow after blow.
“How long until it's past the critical threshold and able to point transfer,” demanded the First Officer. Like everyone else, he was watching the screen as though he was afraid if he blinked the little pirate Corvette would disappear.
“Another fifteen seconds,” said the Sensor Operator.
“For the threshold or the jump,” demanded the First Officer in exasperation.
Then a bolt from the Hammerhead’s turbo lasers slammed through the shields and hit the Corvette in the vicinity of its main hyper-dish. The main dish, along with its ability to jump to hyperspace, had just been temporarily knocked out.
“The pirates are dumping power from their star drive and pumping it back into their shields instead,” said the Sensor Operator pumping her fist in the air.
I jumped out of the Throne. “Reissue our original surrender terms,” I shouted to the communications tech before realizing how unprofessional I must look. I sat back down, feeling my face turn red. I had no desire for more people to be killed unnecessarily, and the mixture of excitement and dread was a little more than I could bear at that particular moment.
“Yes, Admiral,” grinned the Ex-Com who immediately started re-broadcasting our demand for the pirates' surrender.
With the Hammerhead continuing to gain on them and the Lucky Clover now coming into range, the pirates realized the inevitability of their situation and signaled their surrender.
I breathed a soft sigh of relief and turned to the First Officer with what I hoped was a restrained smile.
“That went well, wouldn't you say, Lieutenant,” I asked.
Officer Tremblay nodded but he looked like the only person on the Bridge who didn’t share in the enthusiasm sweeping the room, as people slapped each other on the back and smiled.
“It did this time,” the First Officer said with a frown.
“Why the cloudy face? We won,” I said, throwing my hands wide.
“We won today, but what about next time? Maybe we won’t have a convenient pirate ally to slow these smaller faster ships down enough so we can catch and disable them,” Tremblay said, genuine concern playing across his features.
Trust the former Intelligence Officer to find the cloud to every silver lining, I thought. I closed my eyes momentarily, then clapped the First Officer on the shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll come up with something. We always do,” I said winningly. I was determined not to let anything ruin the sweet taste of victory, even if it was a small one like this.
“I sure hope so. And while we’re at it, we need to figure out if we’re going to keep these two Corvettes we just captured or hand them over to the locals. If we’re to keep them, how do we get them repaired? Neither one can make the jump through hyperspace on its own,” said Lieutenant Tremblay, still lost in his visions of disaster.
I took a deep breath and stood up.
“Thank you for your astute analysis, Mr. Tremblay. I’ll be in the ready room if there’s anything pressing that comes up,” I said, stalking off. The First Officer did a better job of raining on a parade than anyone that I could think of. Already, my victory mood of celebration was gone thanks to him and his list of worries.
The last thing the bridge crew needed was to see both their First Officer and their Admiral looking glum and concerned. There would be enough of that later, I had no doubt.
Inside my ready room, I was surprised to see Akantha. I hadn’t even noticed her come onto the Flag Bridge, let alone sneak off into the ready room.
She was staring at the floor, looking grim when I first came in. Looking up, she forced a smile. “I hear congratulations are in order for another great victory,” she said, obviously trying to put some warmth into her naturally cool inflections.
I ground to a halt before giving myself a shake and sliding around to the back of the desk. “It's not as big as all that. Still, it is a solid mark in the win column,” I said, unable to muster the excitement that Tremblay had completely drained from me moments earlier.
“I’m sure the inhabitants of this system will be as grateful as mine are for your help,” she said.
I gave her a searching look, but all I got back for my efforts were her impassive features. “I don’t know that I’d go that far. It was just a couple of pirates,” I said, trying to downplay the situation.
“Yes, pirates, the road bandits that travel the river between the stars. It is good that you have stopped them” she said simply.
“I’m glad you think so,” I said, a little wide-eyed from trying to figure out if she just wanted to talk, or if Akantha had some other ulterior motive for this visitation.
I knew she was still smarting over the fact that I hadn’t gone down to the planet with her but I had hoped that being back in space would dull the emotion.
“Is there a particular reason you’ve stopped by to chat,” I asked after a few moments of silence.
She turned her face away and gave the wall a hard look. “On the eve of victory is not the time to air my complaints,” she said stiffly.
I felt my shoulders slump. Now I either had to follow up or be an insensitive jerk. I had really hoped to avoid any more rain clouds right now and have a few moments to myself to try to recapture the high of victory.
I sighed. “I’m sure whatever it is needs to be faced sooner or later. Why don’t we try to work through whatever it is together,” I said, resigned to dealing with whatever drama awaited.
The Six foot four inch tall, Nordic, white-skinned ice maiden with long blond hair, turned back and gave me a searching look.
“How long until we return to my home,” she said finally.
“I’m not entirely sure,” I said and watched her expression harden. “Although,” I hastily added, “if we’re to keep the two new prize ships, they have to be transported back to Tracto VI at some point. The Hammerhead can’t do it without some significant work and a more skilled engineering team than is currently on board. I suppose the Lucky Clover might be headed back soon to drop them off in your home-system. You're welcome to stay awhile as well, if you’re getting homesick for your people,” I said, giving her a hopeful look.
She opened her mouth and then slowly closed it and shook her head. Again, she gave me that same searching look. “Returning home is a side issue, only of interest to me personally,” she said finally. Then silence returned, and remained for what felt like ten minutes.
I started to close my eyes in frustration but checked myself.
“Whatever it is, I’m sure we can work through it,” I repeated. Although on the inside I wasn’t entirely sure if that was the truth. The native Tracto-ans had some pretty strange customs and superstitions. Even if I was entirely willing to bridge the gap, my initial reaction to whatever superstitious baggage they were packing at that moment might send things ballistic.
She nodded slowly. “As you have reminded me, this is a ship of war. Not a river boat or floating citadel full of warriors and families, no matter how big its size,” she began with a cold tone.
I nodded, not sure where this was going, but grateful for an end to the silence.
“And as I have learned interacting with your crew, what is obvious to me and my people is not always obvious to yours,” she said, giving me another cool look.
I just wished she’d stop beating around the bush and spit out whatever was on her mind. I’d never been able to accurately read her and trying, like I was right now, only made my head hurt. As always, clarity failed to emerge from all the brain strain. Kind of like tugging on a ball of knots, it never gets any better than how it started. Not the most comforting of thoughts, obviously.
“Okay. I think it's safe to say that we both have to make adjustments to our thinking and try to meet the other one half way,” I said, hoping that by essentially thinking my thoughts out loud that she would help me out a little.
“Excellent,” she said with a short nod and a half smile.
This time I did close my eyes.
“Akantha. I need to be brutally, honestly blunt here because from your reaction, you obviously think we’ve just worked through something here. Something that’s clearly been bothering you and, as far as I’m concerned, I’m still completely in the dark when it comes to knowing what it is, or what you seemed to think we just agreed to, that made you happy just now,” I said, wishing I could have just taken the win and pushed off the situation until later. That wouldn’t have been fair to her though.
Besides, even if I was inclined to be a complete heel, there were somewhere in the neighborhood of fifteen hundred native warriors on board doubling as the Lucky Clover’s Lancer contingent. While they might call me their warlord, or Primarch, or some other funny name, I was under no illusions about who they’d back if it came to a conflict between me and my ‘Sword-Bearer,’ as the natives liked to term it.
Her smile froze and that icy glare that seemed to look through you and wonder if you were worth her time was back, stabbing and pinning me to the chair. “I have been patient,” she said, then clenched her jaw. “More than patient. And understanding as well, in consideration that this is a warrior expedition,” she said levelly, walking up to my desk.
She leaned over and stabbed a finger down on the polished wooden desk I’d inherited from previous Admiral. “However, I will not be ignored for much longer,” she gritted through her teeth with the unremitting fury of a glacier.
My eyes widened at the savage tone in her voice. “I’m sorry if I’ve been ignoring you, it wasn’t my-” I started.
She cut me off, stabbing the finger of her other hand on the desk as well. “Nor will I allow myself to become a laughingstock, someone to be scorned and pitied by others. Make it right or I will not be responsible for what happens when I take matters into my own hands,” she said fiercely.
"Akantha-" I started, but she stalked over to the door and slapped it open, despite my protests that she should stay so we could talk it through. Before I knew it she was out the door and gone, while I was left holding my overly-sensitive head in my hands, wondering where I’d gone wrong.
Was this because I had ignored her after she’d helped capture the pair of Promethean Hammerheads back in Easy Haven? Or because I'd been avoiding her since we had left her home-system?
Maybe she was mad that I hadn’t been asking for her opinion and inviting her to every little chat I had with key officers. I honestly didn’t know.
I had told her I was clueless and all but begged her to plainly tell me what was wrong. But, as usual, she wouldn’t even do that. How was I supposed to find out what was wrong when she wouldn’t tell me?!
I felt sick to my stomach. Between First Officer Tremblay and Lady Akantha, the victory of but a few minutes ago was ashes in my mouth, and I was left with nothing except the urge to hurl.
These arranged marriages were the pits, and I had a newfound sympathy for my Montagne ancestors who had to go through with them. I wished some of them were still around to give me some advice right about now.
I could just see the headline: 'Confederation Admiral married by mistake. Everything seemed to be going so well, up until she stabbed him with the cursed ancestral family sword over a cultural misunderstanding.'
Sweet Murphy, I had been nothing but a gentleman ever since I realized the mistake that wound up with us being hitched together. She had the best room on the ship, the Admiral’s Quarters. I invited her to all the Command Meetings and used her as my liaison her fellow natives. I’d even placed her in joint command of the effort to capture the Promethean cruisers back in Easy Haven.
I was building defenses around her world to save her people from Bug genocide and was trying to build up some industry in her home system. All in the name of House Zosime, her house. Now, I put it all in her name because of obvious concerns about how my superiors (whoever they actually were) would view my actions. What more did the woman want?
In fairness, she had given the settlers a place to live and saved both them and myself from a death at Confederation Judicial hands for planetary piracy, as well as recruited thousands to my cause. I just wasn’t in a very charitable mood right then.
I angrily threw a data slate against the wall. I immediately realized how useless such a gesture was, but I couldn't help myself from staring angrily at it before reluctantly walking over to pick it up. After collecting it, I took some deep breaths to calm down. Hearkening back to my mother’s advice about women, I called up environmental and inquired if they had any flowers.
I arranged with the supply department for flowers and candies to be placed at her door with a small card. After that, I scheduled a few command meetings, just so I could include her in them.
Not knowing what else to do, I headed back out to the Flag Bridge to see how the search and capture of the two pirate Corvettes were going.
Chapter 15: Planetary Gratitude
When the locals realized we really weren’t pirates, but instead warships squawking old Confederation Fleet transponder signals, they were cautiously optimistic. After we finished putting the pirates in lockdown, took the pirate ships under tow, and went to render emergency assistance to the local SDF contingent and any merchantman in distress, they showered us with thanks.
We further proved our good intentions by helping perform some emergency repairs on their two system defense Corvettes without seizing them for ourselves, as we could have easily done, and they were ecstatic.
“You don’t know how much this means to us, Admiral,” said the Planetary Governor, an honest-looking (at least for a politician) man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties. He was practically bouncing around in his seat now that he was sure we weren’t just another group of pirates or planetary raiders sent by greedy neighbors, looking to take advantage of his world’s momentary weakness.
“It is our duty as Confederation Officers and members of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, Governor Igawa,” I said, trying to project confidence. I had made sure all the adornments were arranged correctly on my old Confederation Admiral's uniform for this occasion.
“That’s just it. That right there. The Confederation is getting itself organized and sending out fleets of ships to help those worlds out on the Rim like my own little Nova-Practica. Worlds abandoned by the Imperials and left to the tender mercies of Pirates,” said the Governor with more than a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“It makes my heart glad that we were able to help your little world,” I said graciously, referring to the population and industry levels in the system more than he was to the actual size of his system or planet.
“How long before we can have some real patrols through here? Regular like, I mean. Or even, dare I ask, a permanent Confederation Fleet presence? I know my little world would be more than willing to host a Confederation Naval Base,” said Igawa, and it was plain to see the hope and avarice at the thought of routine patrols, as well as the investment in local infrastructure a new naval base would bring to his world.
“It's early days yet, Governor,” I said cautiously. "Until we can secure enough ships to assume the task of patrolling this sector on a permanent basis, the Confederation Fleet is asking every world in the sector to donate a ship or two, for anti-piracy missions,” I explained, hoping my lies would be too well hidden.
The Governor blanched and started to mumble something.
“On a temporary and at-will basis, of course," I said hastily, recognizing my faux pas. "No one is being forced to 'volunteer' a thing," I chuckled, hoping to alleviate his concerns.
The Governor recovered a bit of his color. “I hope you understand we’re not as big and rich as some in the middle reaches. Nova-Practica is a small world with modest means. Our System Defense Force, small as it is, is all we have,” said the Governor with regret.
“Of course, I understand your position,” I replied, mirroring his regret with my own.
“It's not that we don’t want to help. Supplies, equipment, anything we have that you actually need, and we are more than willing to supply them for cost,” he said.
I closed my eyes, feigning deep thought. Until the trillium mines in Tracto System started producing, I had nothing to trade. Actual credits? Hardly. Nope, I wasn’t even able to pay my crews right now. All of that was being handled back home by a Caprian Parliament which had originally sent out the Lucky Clover to be part of a Confederated Imperial Fleet under Admiral Janeski. I wasn’t sure how far they’d be willing to back a Confederation Fleet under one Admiral Montagne.
Or rather, I was sure how far they'd back me, and it was all the way to a Caprian dry dock with a side trip to prison for the ship’s current, somehow treasonous Admiral.
“Well, I’m sure something of that nature can be worked out going into the future,” I said, trying to sound upbeat.
Governor Igawa gave me a searching look and then smiled wryly. “I take it things are still in the formative stages, Admiral,” said the man responsible for all of Nova-Practica
“Very much so, I’m afraid, Governor,” I admitted.
“Well, we are still very happy for everything you’ve done for us,” he said genuinely.
I put on my most practiced smile. “If you can ask your representative to the still forming new rump-assembly to put in the good word for the MSP with that organization, and speak on behalf of my men, we would consider ourselves well paid. We might even be able to run a few patrols out this way, every now and again, as you’re so close to our operating base in this sector,” I said, tapping my finger on my chin.
“I think we have an understanding, my young Admiral.” said the Planetary Governor. “Although, I’m not sure how much we’ll be able to do in the assembly, as Nova-Practica is neither an important nor very populous world. We only number in the tens of millions and our voting power is reflective of the fact,” he warned.
“Likewise, the MSP is just getting its feet under it after the crash caused when the Imperials pulled out. We’ll do what we can, but...,” I stopped, leaving large all the potential implications of that statement.
“I hope to see you again soon, Admiral,” Governor Igawa said with a formal nod.
I put every ounce of my Royal training into a gracious nod and signed off.
The Governor’s response had been mildly disappointing, but not wholly unexpected. As it was, both Nova-Practica and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet needed all the help they could get, and had precious little to spare for others.
Personally, I thought the Governor got the better of the deal. All he had to give were promises he might or might not keep. I, on the other hand, had already driven off a pirate force, repaired his damaged system Corvettes, and in every other way done all the heavy lifting.
I would have to do a lot more, like send some routine patrols through this system before I'd get to see if the Governor held up his end of the informal arrangement.
Oh well, that was a worry for another day. The sooner the Lucky Clover got about the business of saving the day in other worlds and systems around the sector, the sooner I’d have a few friends in the rump-assembly.
As quickly as we could, our small Confederation squadron wrapped things up in Nova-Practica.
Despite his grave concerns, Temporary Captain Middleton and the small Crew of the Hammerhead had performed marvelously during the engagement.
So I decided to cut the ship loose. It was to continue the original patrol route and help out any worlds it could along the way.
That was five hundred crew and Lancers that had to be siphoned from the manpower-short Lucky Clover, but what could I do? It was a small price to pay for a fully functional, if very outdated Medium Cruiser.
After strapping the two damaged pirate Corvettes to the hull of the Lucky Clover, we once again pointed our nose in the direction of Tracto, the place that was slowly becoming our home base.
It felt strange to be making a jump with another two ships strapped the hull, all the while knowing Engineer Spalding wasn’t down there in Engineering to make sure that everything went smoothly...well, if not smoothly, at least to make sure most of us survived the experience. The new Engineering officers seemed competent enough, but without the eccentric Chief at the helm, with his all-consuming love of everything related to this ship, things seemed a little empty and colorless.
With a sigh I returned to the same quarters I had been using since first joining the ship. First a little study, and then some sleep in what used to be the Flag Lieutenant’s Quarters.
Interlude: Matters come to a head on the way home
She sat and fumed. What was the meaning of the flowers and sweets? Was she some one or two candle illicit encounter, to be bought off with simple gifts?
And why was she suddenly invited to so many meetings of the War Council on this flying citadel? Did he think to distract her with the call of duty instead?
Shame could not be paid off or distracted, it stayed and haunted a person throughout life and even beyond the grave. Every day, he made clear as the edge of a sword his disregard for her and her status among her people. People who were sworn to follow him as their Warlord.
As she sat and stewed within the Admiral’s Suite, she got madder and madder. Finally, she’d had enough. The first month of their time together as Sword-Bearer and Protector was almost over. There was no excuse for this kind of behavior.
What kind of man chose to spend every single night in someone else’s bed? Here she was in the Admiral’s Suite, and not once had the actual Admiral slept in his own bed!
She stepped over to the wall and picked up her Bandersnatch. Half pulling it out of its sheath, she once again looked in amazement at its five and a half feet of dark metal with small crystal shards glinting within its depths. Her mother had been the recipient of a Dark Sword of Power. Akantha had only ever dreamed of receiving the same. Who would have ever dreamed it would be one unknown to her people, and carried from the stars by a strange Protector in magic armor?
Her face hardened and she slammed the sword back in its sheath. Her patience was at an end. It was time for blood.
But she had to find her wayward Protector first. Out of respect for their unusual situation and whatever prior arrangements may have existed that required closure, she’d looked the other way and not learned where he was staying. Their first month was almost over, and that had been more than enough time to make equitable arrangements.
Admiral Jason Montagne might have lost more of his close confidants, or at least those ones she was aware of, with the destruction of the New Dream. The loss of the New Dream was a blow to the young Admiral that even she, a person unable to fully understand this foreign people and their language, could see plainly.
She wouldn’t seek out the First Officer Raphael Tremblay because of the questionable state of his loyalty to her Protector. However, she still had ties to the surviving half of the Armory war-band. They would know where to find an Admiral who never slept a single night in his own bed. She would no longer worry about looking like some sort of desperate woman chasing after a reluctant suitor.
With a renewed purpose, she walked over to the lift, doing her best to ignore the looks exchanged by her pair of honor guards.
Down in the Armory the night shift was slow to admit her, but they relented. As they should have done for their Lord's Sword-Bearer. Akantha looked around, scanning the faces of the men. This was the heart of her Protector’s war-band, his original bank of sworn men. It was critical she pick the right person, now that reliable Gants was as dead as the Miracle Worker. The latter of whom would have been her first choice to speak with concerning this matter. Elder wisdom was always to be sought in such matters. Alas, it was not to be, as they were gone.
Her eyes landed on one face that was more familiar than the others. Eyes narrowing, she considered. This one had been disciplined by her Protector on at least one occasion, and was not closely held in his favor. This made him all the more likely to answer her questions honestly. It would also be a good test of his loyalty to his Lord.
She walked over to him and looked down into his face. The men here were all very short and stunted. It must be a product of living among the stars. It made them slow and weak, when compared to the men of her homeland. On the other hand, their knowledge of matters magical was beyond compare. It was a trade-off, as with most things in life, but that didn't make it any more palatable.
“What is your name and rank, Warrior,” she asked evenly. Of course, to anyone listening, it was quite obviously a demand made by a superior.
The Armory Warrior before her blinked rapidly. “Oleander, Lady. I’m just a crewman,” he said, giving her a half nod. It was a paltry display of respect, but she wasn't interested in protocol at the moment.
“Where can I find my Protector? Your Admiral, Crewman Oleander,” she said without inflection and then waited for her mechanical translating device to relay her words.
“I’m not sure it's my place to say, Lady Akantha,” replied Oleander, his eyes lowering to the deck.
“I need to speak with him on matters of grave import,” she insisted.
“I’m sure Admiral Montagne can be found in his quarters, sleeping, at this time of night. He keeps to the First Shift schedule, Lady Akantha,” said Oleander.
She suppressed her disappointment. Either her Protector kept his own men in the dark, or this Oleander was closer to Jason than she initially believed.
“The Admiral has not been in his Quarters the entire time I’ve been on this ship. So I fear you are wrong in your supposition,” she said coolly.
Some light seemed to go off behind the warrior's eyes and she noticed a slight upturn at one corner of his mouth. Her eyes narrowed, and his hint of a smile disappeared immediately.
“Perhaps you should check the Flag Lieutenant’s Quarters. It's listed on any wall panel that links to the ship’s register, Lady,” he said in a helpful tone.
She glanced around and saw several other heads nodding and a few smiles hidden behind covering hands.
Her face hardened. It seemed everyone in the Armory knew where their Admiral was spending his nights. Clearly, he’d lost more than a reliable leader when half the Armory band was destroyed.
She glanced back at Oleander. There was nothing obvious that made the man stick out from the rest of the band, neither in voice or apparent manner. But something about him disconcerted her.
“My thanks,” she said gruffly.
She stalked out of the room followed by a pair of dour looking honor guards. They knew what was liable to happen when she caught up with her philandering Protector.
Reaching the door to this Flag Lieutenant's quarters, whoever she was, Akantha stood to one side and, refusing to look at her guards, pointed at the door.
“Break it down and then leave us,” she instructed.
The honor guards hesitated. “Perhaps you should knock or, as they do here, signal for acceptance,” suggested the male warrior.
“Are you here to protect my honor or are you not? If you cannot assist me in this matter, then you are free to leave,” she said stiffly.
She could almost hear the looks and silent communication passing between her honor guard.
“I’ll do it, Hold Mistress,” said the female half of Akantha’s little team.
“This might be a mistake,” the male warrior said, resignation in his voice as he took a step back and cleared the doorway for the female Lancer.
“Do it,” she said, pointing to the more enthusiastic female guard.
Akantha turned slightly to make clear she was addressing the male guard.
“The time for misunderstandings and soft words is over. It is time to cut through the confusion, leaving behind nothing but a harsh truth that can balance on the razor-sharp edge of a blade and survive the experience,” she hissed, her blood as up as it had ever been.
The female in power armor pulled out a thermal detonator and placed it on the door.
“Are you sure you know the correct settings for that,” asked Akantha, a hint of concern creeping into her voice.
“I used several during the storming of that rebel ship, The Pride of Prometheus, and learned the proper settings for a door of this type from the Lancer Colonel himself,” the female warrior assured her.
Akantha gave a short chopping gesture and backed away down the corridor.
The detonator exploded and her honor guard jumped forward to tear open the door.
There were several bright flashes, but she was too focused on getting inside to care, and as soon as her honor guard had cleared the door, she moved in.
Akantha unsheathed her sword and ducked down to avoid the red hot and still smoking edges of the door leading into the personal quarters of the rival for her Protector’s affections.
It was time to make clear who came first in this little arrangement. She didn’t care if he wanted to be with a goat when he wasn’t with her…well, actually that was disgusting and she actually did care if he wished to debase himself that much, but whatever he did, it had better not reflect poorly on her and her own honor. That was as sure as the blade of Bandersnatch, whose business end she was about to introduce to whoever was inside.
**********
I was asleep in my bed. Happily snoring away (at least I assume I snored, as I had since childhood) when I woke to the sound of thunder and hot bits of metal landing over me in a spray.
My eyes shot open and I saw a figure with metal gauntlets tearing away at the door to my quarters.
The revolution was here! I realized I was holding the holdout blaster pistol, never far from me and normally hidden under my pillow, in my hand.
Snapping off a series of blaster bolts at the doorway, I emptied the little pistol into an armored figure virtually immune to my low-powered hand weapon.
Bleary-eyed, I staggered out of my bed and threw away the depleted little pistol. I cursed myself for a complacent fool and wished I had stored some heavier artillery in my room like a plasma rifle, a couple grenades, or really anything I could point or chuck at the doorway. I reflexively grabbed the hilt of the Minos Sword. The ‘Dark Sword of Power,’ as the superstitious natives called it, was never far from my bedside.
There was no time to get into the power-armor I kept in my room, since the door was already gone and the large, unarmored figure had just lunged through the still smoking doorway and into the room.
Casting the sheath off my sword by virtue of stepping on the soft leather end to get it loose and then bringing it around, letting momentum and my hands do the rest for me, I leveled the six foot blade at my foe. The blade was made of the same dark metal, impregnated with small glittering crystals as my family heirloom Bandersnatch.
Just like that ancestral vibro-blade, this sword, minus the vibro-technology, was able to stand up to the latest in Imperial Locsium crystal weapons (the same stuff they used for top of the line ship hulls), as well as Imperial force blade technology. I knew this for a fact, because I’d encountered both types of weapons in the hands of Marine Jacks defending the Imperial Strike Cruiser when we’d stormed the ship.
Backlit by the door way, the shadowy figure leveled his blade at me, but a voice too high to belong to a man cried out in a language I didn't understand.
“Where is she!” cried a mechanical translator a few seconds later.
“What?” I barked, raising my sword, certain this was some sort of ruse. Then I had the horrifying thought that they were after Akantha, too! My eyes flashed left and right, trying to locate whatever accomplices this assassin had brought.
The figure cursed and jumped forward, knocking my heavy blade out of the way.
I scrambled back, keeping the sword between myself and my attacker. Glancing back and forth between the doorway and the revolutionary, I reached behind myself until I felt something I could throw. My hand found a data slate. It wasn’t the best projectile, but it would have to do.
If the Parliamentary loyalists had gotten together with the natives in my Lancer force, I could be seriously screwed. I could get away in one of the Corvettes if the conspiracy was too widespread, I instantly decided. The Lucky Clover would never catch me.
The figure looked at my bed and snarled. Giving vent to a high-pitched scream, the revolutionary raised her sword and brought it down on my bed.
Edging around to the door, I caught sight of a power-armored figure lurking around the corner. Blast! My wrist communicator was beside my bed, so I couldn’t even use that to sound the alarm!
Fumbling with one hand, I tried to activate the emergency fire alarm feature on the data slate, while holding the sword in the other. If my attacker was going to give me precious seconds, I was going to take them.
“Die, slattern,” growled the translated voice, and the head of my childhood teddy bear went flying, trailing a wad of stuffing. By now, the figure was past me and the lighting was such that not only did I think I recognized the translated voice, but the figure that had just hacked apart a precious childhood memory looked like my erstwhile Sword-Bearer. Or, as I tended to think of her, my wife.
“You stone-cold witch! My mother gave that to me,” I yelled, fury replacing my revolutionary-inspired fear.
The figure stalked over to the only other room in my small quarters, the comfort room, or 'the head,' as the crewmen referred to it.
“There’s no one here,” Akantha said, sounding surprised but still clearly murderous as she checked the shower stall. She whirled around and dropped to her knees, swinging her sword under the bed.
Looking at the mutilated body of an irreplaceable childhood treasure, and then back at the woman who’d just used explosives to break into my room instead of knocking like a normal person, something inside me snapped.
I didn’t care that sleeping with a teddy bear wasn’t a very manly thing to do (actually, even in my rage I knew it would be quite embarrassing if word got out), I was completely torqued.
The pit viper in human form had just struck again and played around with the sorts of high explosives that could get someone killed. Someone like me.
“I'll kill you for that,” I yelled, dropping the slate and using both hands to bring around the sword for a devastating blow.
Akantha rolled away and the Minos Sword cut into the body of my hapless teddy bear instead. This only served to stoke the flames of my righteous fury.
“I will not be made a laughingstock,” she snarled, blocking my blow and forcing her way off her knees and back to her feet.
“Get specked,” I snarled back and raised my sword over my head for a power blow, but unfortunately it scraped the ceiling paneling and the swing lost most of its power.
She knocked my aborted blow aside and whipped Bandersnatch around for a wicked strike.
The smaller size and nearly a foot long shorter length of her blade was telling, and I barely got the Minos Sword interposed in time. Actually, it was kind of a desperation maneuver that saw me move my own body as much as the sword, but luckily I was able to intercept the blow.
We broke apart and then both of us immediately lunged at the same time. Locking blades, we pushed and strove to knock the other back.
“Did she already leave, or is there some sort of secret entrance in this little love nest of yours,” she demanded through clenched teeth.
“She?” I said in surprise, struggling to push her back. By the Demon Murphy, this woman was strong!
“You’ve not been in your own bed once this entire month. So whose bed have you been sleeping in, who is this Flag Lieutenant that causes you to shame me before the entire Citadel,” she spat, all her icy exterior replaced with molten fury. I still imagine that in that moment, her eyes glowed like the heart of a reactor.
I made a guttural noise, and in my fury I must have lost my balance and slipped, because somehow I was the one who lost the battle of strength and got knocked back.
Kicking out wildly, I hit her in the knee and then managed to interpose my sword again before she could take advantage.
“You,” I gasped, “you hateful pit viper,” I said, spitting a name I’d only ever dared use in the privacy of my own mind at her.
Another flurry of blows sounded as she gave vent to her own rage and drove me around the room. With my larger, heavier blade I was forced onto the defensive.
“You're upset my uncle tried to kill you, while my mother stood by and did nothing, is that it?” she cried.
“What are you talking about, you crazy woman,” I roared and muscled my sword around for another attack.
“Why do you shame me before everyone by seeking out a leman every night, not even pretending to seek the comforts of your own bed,” she screamed.
She knocked my sword aside and hit me in the ribs with the flat of her blade.
“Am I of so little value in your eyes that you would cast me aside like a gift from an unwelcome relative,” she yelled, spit flying from her lips as she came down with an overhand blow, this time leading with the edge, clearly intending to split me in two.
I rolled along the floor to avoid the blow. “Space rot!” I bellowed.
“Liar,” she screamed, and went to bring the sword up for yet another attack.
I sprung to my knees and struck her on the rump as hard as I could with my sword. It was too bad my grip was wrong, and she only got the flat of the blade.
She showed impressive agility, as she jumped forward with the blow and brought her sword around in an arc that would have taken my head off if I’d been on my feet.
“I’ve been sleeping in the same room, this room, for the last ten months,” I grunted, blocking another blow while still on my knees.
She pressed her sword down, pushing the blade closer to my head. “I demand the truth!” she hissed.
“I’m not seeing anyone, I swear. Although that seems to be part of the problem here, if I understand you correctly," I panted. "Plus, I’ve never even set foot in the Admiral’s Quarters. Not once,” I said through teeth clenched with the effort of keeping her sword away.
“How can I believe you,” she demanded hotly, but thankfully she hesitated in launching another barrage with Bandersnatch.
“Just ask anyone. I’ll bet that if you look me up on the ship’s register you’ll see these are my assigned quarters,” I said, hoping the room assignments hadn’t been lost along with the Imperial database. Someone should have re-logged me as staying in the Flag Lieutenant's quarters.
“What man would stay in the spartan room of an underling, when he could take for himself the highest status and most spacious rooms on the ship,” she hissed, but I could see the seed of doubt in her eye.
“The same kind of man who still sleeps with his teddy bear. One who doesn’t like change. Besides, this way just makes it harder for assassins to find me, if everyone thinks I’m somewhere else,” I retorted. I didn’t put forth the main reason I hadn’t moved into the Admiral’s Quarters, which was because I didn’t feel like a real Admiral, or that I hadn't really earned the right to be there. The assassin thing was just a red herring, as anyone who wanted to find me wouldn’t be confused as to where to find me. Not since I’d been living in the same spot for the last ten months.
She actually looked doubtful and I took advantage of this to surge to my feet and knock her sword down and out of the way.
We stood there chest to chest (or at least, as 'chest-to-chest' as we could be with the height differential), breaths coming in short gasps and I didn’t know about her, but my arms felt like they were made of jelly.
In the half-light she looked stunning. So without so much as half a thought, I stood on my tip toes, grabbed a handful of her golden hair to pull her head down, and kissed her. I couldn’t help myself; it was an impulsive action, probably brought on by all the exertion and the tension of the situation. But I readily admit that it was the best kiss to which I had ever been party.
At first she seemed shocked. Then she dropped her sword and grabbed my head with both hands and gave me a fierce kiss in reply. I heard my own sword clatter to the floor. We stayed there for what seemed like a minute, but I'm sure that in reality it was little more than a second.
Then, without warning, she threw me away and I crashed into my brutally assaulted bed.
“You are the Admiral and should be seen in your quarters. I will verify your story,” she said severely and, stopping only to pick up Bandersnatch, stalked out of the room.
I adjusted myself slightly for comfort and lay back on my bed.
Just like that she was gone. An insane woman had just broken into my room using high explosives and power-armored minions. In a jealous rage, she’d swept in to kill my supposed lover, engage me in a sword fight and then almost as rapidly as she’d come, she left.
I made a mental note for the future; directing pleas to Akantha asking her to explain what was bothering her and asking her how I could fix whatever it was would only result in brutal night time raids. Avoid attempting direct communication in the future and stick to delay and avoid tactics.
So far, avoiding her seemed to work much better than my attempt in the ready room to find out what was wrong. At least with the old plan it gave me the chance to change the subject, or at least buy a little more time to figure it out for myself.
It also sounded like she was taking the marriage aspect of their situation a lot more seriously than I had. I thought I had been earning points by playing the gentleman and not doing anything remotely like forcing myself on someone who, at least at first, thought I’d tricked and strong-armed her into marriage.
Obviously, I would have to rethink the whole situation because, once again, my trying to do the right thing by her had just blown up in my face in spectacular fashion. Not all of it was bad, though, I have to admit.
With a sigh, I picked myself up off the bed and looked balefully at the devastated metal door. There was no way sleeping in here tonight was going to be a safe and secure option.
Muttering to myself about superstitious ice maidens and crazy women who let their jealous emotions run away with them, I picked up my old-style Confederation uniform and accompanying bowler helmet. With a change of clothes, a tooth brush and the Minos Sword tucked under my arm, I made my way down the hall.
The Flag Lieutenant's quarters were within short walking distance of the Admiral’s quarters. Because both positions needed quick access to the Flag Bridge, they were practically neighbors already.
I eyed Akantha’s guards standing on either side of the door. Neither one would meet my gaze.
Shaking my head, I activated the chime, signaling I was seeking entrance into the Admiral’s quarters.
She took her sweet time answering the door and when she did, she looked down on me with that icy cold stare that looked through you and found you wanting.
“It's been nearly a month since giving me a sword, and now you want to share my quarters,” she asked archly.
“Right. You just destroyed my room and seemed to indicate I should stay here from now on, so…” I trailed off with raised eyebrows.
“Come back tomorrow. There’s no room for you here tonight,” she said frostily and, if she could have slammed the door in my face, I’m sure she would have. Instead, the door smoothly and efficiently slid back in place.
“Of course. That makes perfect sense,” I said a little too loudly.
There was a snort from one of the armored figures, followed by a clang as the other one punched the one who snorted in the shoulder.
“You’re welcome to stay in my quarters, my liege,” said a male voice and what turned out to be the one who snorted.
I glanced back and forth between them. The woman in power-armor didn’t seem too impressed with her Warlord right now, or if she was, she was doing a great job of hiding it under a disdainful mask, while the man seemed to be somewhat sympathetic to my plight.
“Since I currently don’t have a room to sleep in because I wasn’t staying in the appropriate quarters, I think I’ll just stay in the ready room tonight," I said dryly. I didn’t add that at least there I could lock the bulkhead blast doors leading into the Flag Bridge and get a good night's sleep with the certainty that no one was going to come tear down the door.
It might be inconvenient for the bridge crew, but since they were going to see me in a disheveled condition anyway, a little temporary discomfort in return for some juicy gossip seemed like a fair trade to me.
With a resigned sigh, I turned and trudged out of the lift and over to the Flag Bridge. Head held high, I deliberately didn’t look at anyone as I made the walk of shame through the bridge and into the ready room.
Eventually, I gave up on achieving any measure of comfort and used tomorrow’s uniform for a pillow and just lay down on the floor in front of the desk. Things had better change by tomorrow, or I was first going to get a better couch in here, and second look into a new room with a stronger door.
In almost no time it seemed it was time to get up and go onto the bridge for the first point transfer of the day. We were scheduled for two a day until we got back to Tracto.
I allowed myself a lengthy yawn, then changed my clothing and used the sink to scrub my face and hands.
Squaring my shoulders, I prepared to head out and face the music. I did my best to ignore the hidden smiles and muttered whisperings on the Flag Bridge. There was nothing for it but to glare at anyone who got too loud, and ignore the rest.
I was just thankful that we’d be returning to the Tracto System before tonight. At least that way if I was still homeless, I wouldn’t be required to be on the Flag Bridge every transition and could avoid gossip by securing alternate lodgings until whatever this thing going on between myself and Akantha was sorted out.
Chapter 16: Big Trouble in Little Tracto
“Point Emergence,” said the Navigator.
“Baffling extended, I’m firing up the engines,” said Helmsman DuPont.
“Point Resistance?” asked Lieutenant Tremblay.
“All Engines at 10% of maximum,” said the Helmsman. “The lock is still in place.”
“Shields modulated for exiting the inertial sump,” reported the shields operator.
I was satisfied that a few days of extra drills had improved Third Shift's confidence and professionalism. The fact that we were entering what was, for the moment, the Lucky Clover’s base out on the Rim probably didn’t hurt anything either.
I smiled tightly. If only all of my problems would start showing improvement after a few drills.
The Science Office opened his mouth to comment, “I read fifty gravities equivalent in the sump,” he said shortly.
The man was still smarting over being placed in the brig, but he would just have to get over it or get the Hades off this ship. As far as I was concerned he’d had his chance back in the Easy Haven System and declined to take advantage of the opportunity. So he was stuck with us for the duration.
The Sensor Operators were dutifully doing their job by populating the main screen with the results of their latest sensor reading.
“All engines at 25% of maximum,” said Helmsman DuPont.
“Shield strength at 95%, shield regeneration is steadily increasing despite the sump drain,” said the main Shield Operator.
“Engines at 32%,” reported the Helmsman.
I couldn’t even feel it when we broke free of the inertial sump this time.
“And… there we go, I know it's harder on the engines, but I thought if I properly modulated the secondary engines we could break free without so much as a sensation of movement,” the Helmsman said, obviously proud of the result of his tinkering.
“Sensors sound off and verbally identify contacts on the main board,” called the First Officer, looking intently at the view screen.
We were much further outside the solar system than we normally were when jumping into a star system. The Trillium deposits that had almost killed us the first time had most definitely earned our respect. Just like last time, we were being extra cautious about how far into the system we dropped.
The tally of planets and nearby asteroids was reassuring.
“Let's try to stick to standard system emergence protocols, Helm. They’re there for a reason,” said Tremblay pointedly.
While I wasn’t necessarily sure I agreed, I was the first to admit that I didn’t know everything there was to know about ship handling. Not by a long shot. So I bit my tongue and let Tremblay run the boards for the moment.
“Yes, Sir,” said DuPont, sounding slightly subdued.
Then something new appeared on the board.
“Contact,” shouted a sensor operator jumping out of his chair. “I’m reading a single large object surrounded by several smaller objects, almost half way from the system edge to the Belter mining operation, Admiral.”
“Somebody else put their sensors on that contact and verify that reading,” the First Officer barked harshly.
“I can confirm, there are four. I repeat the count is four objects operating under cold space drive engines and on a course for the Belters. The computer says they match the known profiles of Bug ships, Sir,” reported a second Sensor Operator.
I clenched my hands to the side of my command chair. Had my decision to pull the Medium Cruiser out of the Tracto System in favor of some kind of big PR push just doomed the settlers in orbit? And what about the Planet, Tracto VI?
Before I could ask those questions, Lieutenant Tremblay did it for me.
“Scan for Bug sign in the immediate vicinity of the native world,” Officer Tremblay snapped.
Apparently, the two of us were thinking along the same lines. It was bound to happen at least once in our time together, I thought with gallows humor.
I decided to speak up, even though there was little to be done at the moment. But just maybe we could shave a few minutes off.
“Navigation, calculate me a least-time intercept course on those Bug ships and then Helm, take us to maximum acceleration as soon as possible. I don’t want any deaths because we were any slower getting out there than necessary,” I said.
“Yes, Admiral,” replied the Helmsman and Navigator in such close succession they almost sounded like twins.
The Sensor Operators came back with the verdict.
“No Bugs around Tracto VI, First Officer,” answered the Sensor Section.
The whole bridge sighed in relief at this revelation.
Then the Navigator spoke up. “Course plotted and forwarded to the Helm, Admiral,” said the Navigator, sounding entirely too grim.
I looked over to the man. I knew my own face was too grave-looking to project the kind of confidence the men on the Bridge needed to see, but I couldn’t help bracing myself for the bad news.
The Navigator took a deep breath, even as the subtle sensation that said the Helm had just taken the ship to its maximum acceleration was felt on the Flag Bridge.
“Unfortunately, Sir, it looks like the Bugs will reach mining operation before we can intercept them,” said the Navigator.
I could feel the rage, toward both the Bugs and myself for letting political considerations pull the Hammerhead away from this system, sweep across my face before I could control myself.
I closed my eyes and said through gritted teeth. “Cut loose the Corvettes on our hull and detach a pair of shuttles with bucking cables to keep them out of harm’s way. If they can do so, they are to tow the Corvettes over to Tracto VI and the Constructor. I don’t want anything to slow us down, ether on the way to blast the Bugs out of cold space, or once we’re in combat with them."
I opened my eyes and looked first to the damage control section and then at the Ex-Com tech. “Let the Constructor know to expect them,” I said through still gritted teeth. Through sheer force of will, I cleared my face and restrained myself from slamming my fist down on the still bent arm of my command chair.
“And someone get a repair team up here to fix this Command Chair while I go down to speak with gunnery,” I said harshly. “Mr. Tremblay, you have the Con,” I barked. I knew I should stay up on the Flag Bridge, but right at that moment I was so furious I didn’t trust myself not to take it out on the crew who were doing their jobs there.
This wasn’t their fault. If anyone other than the Bugs was to blame, then it was me. The man who could have left the Belters with a stronger defensive presence, but decided the risk was worth the reward. Well, it was clear just how good my decision-making process was, as evidenced by the current FUBAR situation. I thought a trip to the gun deck might help calm me down.
Pushing through the blast doors I saw the last person I’d want to encounter in my current mood. Akantha and her pair of power armored guards took up most of the corridor leading to the Flag Bridge.
My face twisted. I really didn’t have the moral fortitude to deal with Akantha and her odd way of looking at things right at the moment.
She stopped when she caught sight me. Shaking my head I kept trudging forward. She opened her mouth and then must have caught my mood because her eyes narrowed and her mouth closed.
I glared at her guards. My eyes must have been pretty hot because even her normally disapproving female guard hastily moved to the side of the corridor to get out of my way.
I pushed past them and headed straight for the nearest lift. For security reasons, it wasn’t immediately adjacent to the Flag Bridge, so it was a bit of a walk.
At that moment I didn’t care, as it was nice to be up and about stretching my legs and getting the blood pumping in a more productive fashion.
Behind me I could hear the whine of servos and the clumping of metal boots. Just what I needed, to be chased down by the same Lady who demolished the door to my quarters last night.
For the first time, a glimpse of humor shone through the haze of anger that had been threatening to cloud my vision. Maybe I’d made a mistake leaving the Flag Bridge without my sword.
I couldn’t help it, even counting the flash of anger when Akantha and her Guard followed me into the lift, nothing could extinguish the chuckle threatening to emerge. In retrospect I could see the humor of the situation last night. My wife, certain I was cheating around because I wasn’t sleeping in the Admiral’s Quarters, had broken into my room and trashed the place looking for my non-existent sideline squeeze.
I had woken from a dead sleep and was convinced she was part of some sort of a shipboard revolutionary movement, had pulled my sword and sought vengeance, or at least been determined to go down swinging.
What a pair we made. I was ugly as sin, covered with scars ever since I’d saved her from the Bugs and she was a native without the advantage of a civilized education who’d been ripped from her home planet and everything she thought she knew, and for all of that, here she was. She was still here and clumping around in power armor along with her bodyguards, when she felt like it.
The battle-scarred, miserable imitation of a real Admiral, and the bloodthirsty barbarian Land-Bride who still had the pluck to throw herself into the mix and do her best to save her planet.
In that context, it soon became obvious who was the more righteous of the two. An imitation Admiral didn’t hold a candle to that kind of dedication. For all my fears and worries, I could walk away at anytime I really put my mind to it. If she tried to walk away, all she’d be ensuring was certain death for her people.
She let us ride down the lift in silence, but once we started walking through the ship’s corridors the silence was broken.
“Where are we going,” she asked mildly. The normal cool or frosty tone to her voice was missing this evening.
“I’m going to Gunnery. Don’t know where you’re going,” I grunted, increasing my pace.
I soon learned one of the more annoying parts of having a wife who was not only taller, but also had longer legs: she easily kept up. Behind us, servos whined as her guards clumped faster to keep up with the pair of us.
There were a couple minutes of blessed silence, and then I caught her smiling out of the corner of my eye.
“I wouldn’t trust that Oleander from the Armory, were I you,” said Akantha, my beloved Sword-Bearer.
“Don’t like him either, do you?” I asked as mildly as I could.
“Oh, I find him quite personable,” she hastened to assure me. “There’s just something about him,” she paused.
“He’s an incompetent, clumsy oaf. Maybe stupid too, I’m not sure but that’s the extent of it,” I said dismissively.
“That’s not it,” she said with frustration. “Oh I give up, you’ll do what you want, like you always do,” and she threw her hands in the air.
“If anyone gets their way on this ship, it's not me,” I said with a pointed look in her direction.
She barked a laugh. “Hardly. I am bound to duty more tightly, even here, than perhaps you understand,” she said quietly. “I’m not the one who can walk around this ship, causing respect to spring into the eyes of some and fear into others.”
“Fear,” I scoffed, “If anyone's presence causes fear, it’s more likely to be someone with a little larger physical stature.”
“I think you misjudge yourself,” she said frankly and smiled before giving me with a kind of appraising look. “Perhaps that’s part of the problem,” she said, a light dawning in her eyes. “No one knows what you’ll do, and because of this many fear to cross you. By now, I’ve heard how none of the common people on this ship thought you would last two days as Admiral, let alone hold this ship for so long and succeed in accomplishing so much.”
I glanced at her and didn’t like the emotion I saw in her face, because behind the obvious calculation was a softer emotion. I refused to determine what it was, because if I saw pity from a woman who grew up on a savage, barbaric world where the local sport consisted of hunting down something called a Stone Rhino, I might just have to kill someone.
“Since we’re being honest, you probably don’t realize how tenuous my position on this ship really is,” I said shortly.
“I think I understand more than you want to allow,” she countered, a hint of her usual cool tone returning.
“One word from the Parliament on my home world and it's all over. Just like this,” I said, snapping my fingers for emphasis. “The original crew of this ship would take over and turn this ship straight for Capria.”
“I think you hold yourself in such little regard that you can’t see yourself as others do. Whether or not the crew would actually try to take this warship back to your world on the orders of this Parliament, I have no doubt they would think twice before crossing you. Especially since they have more regard than you seem to, for what my people would do if they tried to take your ship by force," she remarked, more than a hint of steel in her voice. "And that ignores what the people you saved on this ship, the Prometheans and Royalist Caprians, would do if they tried to take your ship from you.”
“Perhaps, and perhaps not,” I said, thinking about what she’d said. Perhaps I was giving the Lancers and others within the crew who weren’t wedded to Capria too little credit. “Even if I accept your premise, the Confederation could still pull the plug anytime it desired. If both Capria specifically, and the Confederation at large decide to pull my authority, who's going to listen to a person whose greatest claim to authority is that he’s a Prince-Cadet of a nearly irrelevant provincial dynasty?”
She nodded, more than a little condescendingly. “Grave problems, I’m sure. However, like I said before: you cannot see yourself as others do, and as such I think you miscalculate your options,” she repeated, speaking obliquely.
This wasn’t too surprising, since my ice maiden couldn’t say a straight word on a subject you wanted the answer to if her life depended on it. There was something hard-headed inside her that just flat balked at plain speech when she wasn’t interested in doing so.
Thankfully, we arrived at the port gunnery deck and I was soon swept into the domain of the phlegmatic gunnery master for the ship.
Grey haired, grizzled and still tough as nails, it was a relief just to be in his presence. Something about the man seemed to inspire confidence.
Almost despite myself, I felt my anger drain away and a renewed sense of purpose take its place. Maybe I’d made a mistake that was going to get some people killed very soon, but I was doing my best to rectify my mistake.
************
"And these right here are the crown jewels of the gun deck, Admiral," Chief Gunner Curtis Bogart said proudly, indicating four of the largest, heaviest guns on the port side gun deck, "a full battery of turbo-lasers."
"Thank you, Chief," Admiral Montagne said, shaking his hand, "I'm sure I've taken up more than my fair share of your busy time."
"Not a problem, Sir," assured Bogart, returning the Admiral's grip measure for measure.
The young scar-faced admiral turned to face the rest of the gun deck's hastily assembled crew. "That goes for the rest of you here on the gun deck, as well. Each and every one of you has my deep and personal thanks for the outstanding jobs you do. I've never seen a better gun deck run by a more dedicated crew," he said, raising his arms in thanks before giving the crew a deep bow.
"Sadly, duty calls me away, but rest assured that you are never far from my thoughts," the admiral added before giving a final bow and starting for the door.
"Thank you for the kind words, Sir, I'm sure the men appreciate them," Bogart said with a beatific smile on his face as he escorted the Little Admiral to the blast doors leading off the gun deck.
That same smile stayed plastered on his face until the final moment before the doors close behind the admiral with a clank, at which point it disappeared as the Chief Gunner rounded on the assembled crew of the gun deck, his face transforming into a purple mask of rage.
"In his benevolent mercy, the Admiral might have overlooked your disgraceful behavior here on this gun deck during his tour, but Murphy take me for a faulty focusing array before I'll do the same!" he roared.
Marching up to the nearest turret gunner, he got within two inches of his face before continued, locking the man's eyes but clearly addressing everyone present. "From the way you acted, one would think this entire department had never stood for an inspection before, but the entire lot of you have been on this ship for the past nine months!" He rounded on the next gunner in line. "I know for a fact you've stood countless inspections in that time frame, and yet all of that seemed to ooze out of your brain the second the Little Admiral came on deck!"
"But sir," protested one of the assistant gunners, "the Little Admiral's proud of us!"
"Lining up to shake his hand and ask for autographs!" screamed the Chief, marching over to the backtalking crewman. "Are you fighting men with backbone, or are you a gaggle of little school girls gushing over the latest star in their local boy band!?"
The crew of the gun deck looked crestfallen, and in a few cases they stubbed their toes on the deck.
Satisfied with the glum looks that were creeping across the faces of his deck crew, Chief Bogart stomped away from his latest victim, "Well, what are you all waiting for, you bunch of useless grease monkeys?" he demanded. "Get back to work!"
He watched with grudging satisfaction as the crew slowly morphed back into a working deck crew and stopped resembling a band of undisciplined groupies.
**************
After letting the gunnery officer tour me through several turbo laser batteries and independent heavy laser mounts, it was time to return to the Flag Bridge.
My little side trip had done what I’d set out to accomplish. I was back on an even keel, and had done so without acting like a complete idiot along the way.
I swept back past Akantha and her guards on my way to the nearest turbo-lift, and made my way back to the Flag Bridge.
Back on the Bridge and safely ensconced in my command chair, not much had changed. We were closer to the Bugs, who were in turn closer still to the Belters.
The Belters, thankfully aware of their own hazardous situation were pulling as much equipment off the asteroid they were mining for trillium.
It was going to be close for the Belters' shuttles to get away in time, and however this went if the Bugs decided to smoke whatever was left behind on the asteroid, it was as good as lost.
For my part, I thought the Belters were idiots. Equipment could be replaced, your life couldn’t.
On the bright side, the system’s light squadron was finally there to cover the shuttles.
The Bridge crew of the Lucky Clover could only sit and watch as the drama played out in front of us. We were helpless to do anything until they got into range.
I looked up the classification of the Bug ships and saw they were listed as two scouts, a Scout Marauder and a Harvester class. The Harvester was the biggest of the three ships and listed as approximately Medium Cruiser-sized, coming in at 350 meters in length.
The Harvester was part troop transport, part warship and one hundred percent interested in stripping small outposts of every living thing it came across. Where the Scout Marauders liked to take on biomass for the return trip to the mother ship, the Harvester class was listed as just as likely to set down and clear everything on the surface for a square kilometer before packing up business.
If the Harvester landed on Tracto VI it would cause a lot of damage before it left. In the meantime, it was only interested in clearing out all space-born opposition.
As we watched, the Bugs spotted the little squadron of two Corvettes and two Cutters that would have been our system’s entire defensive force if the Lucky Clover hadn’t returned for an unscheduled offload.
The three lighter Bug ships took off in pursuit of the fleeing shuttles while the large Harvester changed course to intercept the miniature system defense forces.
A storm of fire erupted from the Harvester as first the Corvettes, and then the Cutters came within weapon range. Like with the Scout Marauder I’d encountered before, some of the Bug weapons seemed to be firing at nothing in particular. However, the vast majority seemed to be aimed at one of the four constituent vessels of the Tracto Light Squadron.
The plucky little system defenders threw everything they had at the Harvester. First one Cutter, and then a Corvette started to take hits through their shields. Then as one, the Light Squadron broke off its attack.
With a significantly reduced drive signature, the damaged Cutter first started to follow its brethren in avoiding the Harvester and pursuing the little Bug scouts. Then it wavered before turning around and making a bee-line for the Constructor still in orbit around Tacto VI.
Seeing the Cutter coming back towards it, the Harvester diverted to give chase and with its reduced cold space drive speed, the little Cutter was only able to pull slowly away.
As I watched with growing anger, the fast little Bug scouts slowly overtook first one fleeing shuttle, then another. A hail of misdirected fire erupted from the Bug ships as they came in range. One of the shuttles exploded, and then another careened off to the side, dead in cold space.
Before the Bugs could get within range, the shuttles diverted off on a new course and the three light warships coming to their rescue also changed their course to intercept.
You didn't have to have a degree in games & theory to see that the Bugs were certain to overtake the remaining shuttles before the little warships could reach them, but as soon as the Bug scout ships spotted the inbound human warships, they changed course.
This time, when the Light Squadron met the Bugs, the difference was telling.
One little Bug scout was quickly torn apart as all three human ships concentrated their fire. There is a pretty big visual difference between a human ship and a Bug ship being destroyed. A human ship vents gases in what is usually a fiery display, and the rapidly expanding debris cloud glitters as bits of shrapnel are thrown outward, making the site possible to detect with the naked eye if the magnification is right. A Bug ship on the other hand is made of semi-organic matter, and there is usually very little in the way of burning gases erupting from the hull. Instead, you can see little bits of green, yellow or blue fluid spewing out like miniature geysers from the damaged surface of the ship, but after that you really can't see any remains since the vessel goes dark rather quickly. This seemed odd to me, since there is plenty of atmosphere on a Bug ship, but that was something to consider later.
While the human crews had concentrated fire on one target, the Bugs spread out their fire between all three of their opponents, and continued to fire off in random directions as well. It was almost like as soon as they received the signal telling them there was an enemy within range, every Bug gunner wanted to fire his weapon, whether or not there was anything to actually shoot at.
A swirling dogfight ensued and after a several minutes a second tiny Bug scout blew up. One of our Corvettes was venting gases and moving at half its normal speed, limping away from the conflict.
The Bug Marauder acted like a spider whose prey was finally succumbing to its venom, pressing in on the damaged Corvette. Incredibly, while directing over half its fire at the crippled Corvette, it still continued to spread the rest of its fire over the other Corvette and single remaining Cutter.
The damaged Corvette twisted and turned this way and that, working to spread the damage it was taking over the entire ship instead of just one face. Its squadron mates came in close and poured everything they had into the Marauder.
Then something exploded in a display of bluish fluid at the back-end of the single remaining Bug ship, and while it kept firing furiously, it appeared to lose all navigational control and was tumbling along its last course.
At this bit of good luck, the crippled Corvette slowly pulled away, half its weapons no longer functional and trailing a fan of burning gases out of several large gashes in its hull. Slowly, the atmosphere leaks trickled to a halt and the fires died when there was no longer anything to feed it.
The less damaged Cutter and Corvette continued to pour fire into the Marauder until it stopped firing back. Once it was neutralized, the patrol ships moved to escort their damaged sister away from the scene of battle.
The Lucky Clover slowly crept closer to the Harvester. It was going to be tight, but it looked like we’d reach the single remaining Bug ship before it found its way to Tracto VI and the Constructor orbiting the planet.
Grabbing the armrest that had been somewhat miraculously repaired while I was off the bridge, I smiled to myself, thinking I should show a little temper more often. Then I reigned myself in and clutched the armrest, silently urging my aged Battleship to greater speed.
Intellectually, I knew the ship wasn’t going to move any faster just because I was trying to pull her along, but in my own mind it helped. I was able to convince myself of the illusion that our little icon was moving across the main screen faster that we had been before.
At long last, we got within range of the Harvester. Like its smaller brethren, as soon as we got on its screen, the little brute turned to face us.
Unlike the Imperials who’d also been in a smaller ship than ours, the Bugs seemed to have no appreciation for our larger size and superior weight of firepower, and the Harvester waded into point blank range.
A storm of fire lashed out between our two ships. It almost looked like one continuous stream of laser fire lancing between us.
“Shields are down to 50% on the forward facing,” said the shield operator from Third shift.
“Don’t talk to me! Shift power from the rear array to compensate,” instructed the First Officer.
The Tactical Officer was too busy giving orders into his microphone to pay much attention to anything other than fighting the ship.
As I watched, a large number of our hits started getting through, first our more powerful turbo-laser batteries and then even our heavy laser placements started slamming past the Bug shields and landing on the hull.
Small gasps of atmosphere, and larger ejections of fluid started venting from the Bugs, who heedlessly continued to bore in.
I noticed as an aside that the Harvester seemed to do a better job of focusing its fire on us. There were far fewer random shots fired out into the dark, compared to their scout ships.
Then the bane of our Battleship struck, and it struck hard. Suddenly our fate of fire cut in half.
“What’s going on? Why aren’t we firing full out,” demanded the Tremblay.
“The power banks have been depleted and the fusion generators just can’t keep up with a full load from gunnery and our shields,” said the warrant officer in charge of damage control.
I clenched my fist so tightly that I was certain I cut my palm with my fingernails. Our lack of power generation had once again come back to bite us in the rear.
We were still pounding hits through their shields and into the hull, but it wasn’t the devastating barrage it should have been.
The First Officer scowled. “Do the best you can,” he said shortly.
Then Tremblay and I shared a look, acknowledging the need to improve our fusion plants as soon as possible.
The Helm kept rotating the ship on signal from Tactical, to give our gun mounts time to cool down.
Then the damage control team started to get excited, which was never a good sign. “I’ve got readings indicating a pressure leak on deck three,” said the warrant officer at damage control.
“There’s no more power do divert, shields are starting to spot,” the Shield Operator said tightly.
We were almost twice the size of this Bug ship. I’d hoped to get through this without too much in the way of damage. If only our power generation could keep up with our ability to throw out the damage!
I held on tight to the armrest. “Do the best you can,” I said to the shield operator, trying desperately to keep the actual desperation out of my voice. It's hard to tell if I succeeded in any meaningful fashion, but he gave a grateful nod and stayed focused on his console.
Then there was a massive explosion on the Bug Harvester. A smaller series of explosions cause huge amounts of gas and fluid to start leaking from our enemy.
“Oh yeah!” yelled the Tactical Officer, pumping his fist in the air.
The rest of the Bridge crew gave a cheer.
We watched triumphantly as the Bug Harvester lost power to its cold space engines and listed to the side.
“Pour it on and don’t mind the barrels, boys,” the Tactical Officer yelled triumphantly into the microphone connecting him to the gunnery deck.
A renewed barrage of fire poured out of the Lucky Clover. For a few seconds, it looked like it was all going to be absorbed by the big Bug ship.
Then the Harvester slowly split in two. Watching it break up on the main screen and seeing all the fluids and other substances pouring out into cold space, I was reminded once again that these Bug ships were some kind of seemingly impossible bio-mechanical creation. Pretty good for a race of non-sentients, I thought dryly.
It more resembled a creature that had been broken apart, exposing its guts and tissues than it did a proper spaceship made of metal, alloys and composites. I had to imagine that even the Imperial ships, reputedly grown from crystal substances, looked nothing like this Harvester did when it was destroyed.
All around me, Third Shift erupted into a sustained bout of cheering. Despite myself, I couldn’t help a grin. The Lucky Clover had just handled a threat that had knocked aside the entire Light Squadron, and she’d done so with nothing more than a few scratches on her hull to show for it.
I still mourned for the lost shuttles and for anyone killed on the ships of the Light Squadron, but the Light Squadron had signed up for the job knowing the risks, and if the Belters hadn’t been so blasted obstinate, staying to save just that last little bit of mining equipment, maybe they’d be alive as well.
Don't get me wrong, I knew full well that I was still responsible for them being in harm’s way in the first place. But in light of our current effort and success, much of my guilt abated.
I was so busy patting myself on the back for our success that I was more surprised than I should have been when the sensor operator spoke.
“I’m picking up a large number of anomalous sensor readings. It's hard to tell what they are because of the lack of metallic signatures, but they are definitely getting closer to the Clover,” reported the sensor operator sounding concerned.
“What are they,” demanded the Lieutenant Tremblay.
“They don’t match anything in our standard database. I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think they’re missiles,” said the sensor operator.
“I’m not filled with confidence,” said the First Officer.
“Evasive action, Helmsman,” I instructed.
“Something is hitting our shields,” said the shield operator, either unable or unwilling to hide the concern in his voice.
“I’m reading small low level explosions. Nothing big enough to damage our hull, but with our weakened shields something could get through,” reported the Tactical Officer.
“Can you target them with our broadside,” asked Tremblay, sounding as tense as I felt.
“Sensors aren’t getting good readings. I’ll instruct the gunners to go to manual control and try to blast whatever it is to pieces,” the Tactical Officer said, leaning over his microphone.
“I’m reading a number of small objects penetrating our shields and impacting with our hull,” confirmed another sensor operator.
“I’m not hearing any damage reports, people,” snapped Tremblay, striding over to the sensors section. “Are we dealing with some kind of limpet mines or what?”
There was a pregnant silence as the suddenly nervous bridge crew hunched over their consoles.
“Talk to me,” I barked, but for several tense moments no one had anything.
Then the Tactical Officer obviously heard something disturbing. “What!” he exclaimed pounding his console, “Tell them to blast the critters out of the sky before anymore of them can land.”
The First Officer, I, and dare I say nearly every head on the Flag Bridge snapped around at this.
The Tactical Officer turned to look at me and then the First Officer. “Gunners are reporting that the objects landing on the outside of our hull are some kind of Bug marines,” he said, sounding utterly shocked.
Tremblay turned pale. “Impossible,” he breathed.
“What is it, Mr. Tremblay,” I demanded. I was working hard to keep my tone even, although by now my nerves were completely gone, and I could hardly hear my own voice over the blood pounding in my ears.
Lieutenant Tremblay was visibly shaken, but he managed to gather his wits after only a few moments. “There have been reports of Bug marines, but they aren’t a standard adaptation. Bug marines are only known to appear on the larger Bug ships after they’ve had extensive contact with Marine Jacks and several units have survived to make it back to the mother ship. I’ve never heard of a newly contacted Armada just spontaneously developing this class of warriors in isolation,” said the First Officer, managing to regain some of his composure by the time he finished the explanation.
“Then maybe we aren’t the first humans they’ve encountered, which might also explain why every report I read indicated that we shouldn't see the first Harvester class vessel for another two months minimum,” I said grimly.
“I’d like to think that even pirates would try to do something about a Bug infestation, and they‘re the only people I can think of that wouldn’t immediately report an encounter,” Tremblay said doubtfully. He had a point. I'm not quite sure why, but now that we knew for certain that we had genocidal super Marine Bugs crawling out on the hull, I wasn't quite as terrified as I had been a few minutes before. I guess there's something to be said for certainty, even if it's certainly horrifying.
“Maybe someone got unlucky and the Bugs destroyed them before they had the chance to report to anyone,” I offered, since I couldn't come up with anything else.
Tremblay shook his head. “In every other case, multiple encounters were needed. This just doesn’t make any sense,” said the former Intelligence Officer, who made his way to an empty workstation.
“A mystery,” I agreed. I turned to face the communications section. “Get the Lancer Colonel on the horn and tell him to suit up. I’ll be joining them on the hull. It's time we went and scraped off a few ticks before they get good and burrowed in,” I said boisterously.
“There’s no need to risk yourself in such a foolish endeavor. Let the Lancers do their job and stay on the bridge where you belong, Sir,” said Tremblay.
Something inside me rebelled at this advice, sage though it might be. In my own mind, I was responsible for the Bugs being in this system. There was no way I could put away the guilt I felt over all the people lost today unless I did everything I could to get rid of every single Bug in this little expedition we’d encountered.
“Your sudden concern for my well-being is touching. I just wonder where it was the last several times I’ve gone out in a battle suit,” I said with a touch of venom, and jumped out of my command chair.
Tremblay gaped and turned red as I strode out of the Flag Bridge.
Stopping in my wreck of a former living space, I suited up in the same old clunker of a battle suit I’d last used on the Imperial Strike Cruiser. I’d been meaning to get it refurbished, but unfortunately hadn't found the time to send it down to Armory for repairs. It would just have to do.
Moving at the fastest pace I could manage without the risk of running over someone in the corridors, I made for the turbo-lift. My servos whined an angry accompaniment to the metal on metal sound of my feet touching the duralloy decking.
The Lancers beat me to the nearest airlock, but only just. I stepped out of the lift just in time to see the first door of the airlock cycle open. They appeared so eager to get to grips with the Bugs that it just didn’t feel right to try pulling rank for the front of the line. Plus, from the concerned looks they were giving me, a few of the cooler heads might have tried to stop me, for my own good of course.
So like a good little schoolboy, I stood in line and waited my turn to get outside and play. I told myself that I was waiting patiently because I didn’t want to steal their fun, but my suddenly boneless knees argued that perhaps it was simply cowardice.
Whatever it was, I waited my turn and entered the airlock with the last group going out to the hull from here. Once out on the hull, there was no time for theatrics or anything other than a brief surge of fear.
A huge Bug that looked like nothing so much as a giant beetle with too many legs and crystalline tipped cutting jaws was my first sight. The giant Bug was surrounded by a swirling swarm of Lancers and smaller Bugs that resembled an improved version of the six foot 'soldiers' I’d last encountered on the Bug ship. These were at least eight feet tall, and came equipped with crystal-lined pinchers and two extra sets of arms.
I drew out the Minos Sword and strode into the mix just in time to see the giant beetle wannabe grab a battle-suited Lancer with its impossibly large jaws and shear him in half with what appeared to be no effort.
Then I was surrounded by the eight foot tall super soldiers. This breed was clearly superior to the six foot variety I had previously encountered in every way imaginable.
I lashed out with the Minos Sword, trying to sever the closest one's biggest arm, but it slipped sideways and somehow avoided the blow entirely. I grunted and used my momentum to bring my blade back for a reverse cut, this time going for its legs.
The soldier nearest to the one I was attacking managed to interpose itself and either kicked or swung its arm upward beneath my sword, striking the flat of the blade and knocking it off course. Again, I missed entirely. Realizing I was now outnumbered, I adjusted my stance and moved to prevent the two creatures from flanking me.
Stronger, smarter and better able to work as a team, this little group of Bugs was determined to give us a run for our money. I still had a few tricks up my sleeve, though.
I called for the Lancers nearest my position to form up, even though I didn't really know which formation they would take. It only took a few seconds, since everyone else had encountered the same surprise that I had. Once we were assembled in a flexed line of some sort, with me near the right flank of our little group of eight or ten warriors, the Bugs' teamwork advantage was completely neutralized.
I learned quickly that even though these were vastly superior versions of the ones we had fought before, the Minos Sword was more than up for the challenge, and when combined with the power servos built into the arms of my battle suit, I cut a swath through the raging Bug marines.
A group of three came at our flank, trying to separate myself and the Lancer to my right off from the group, but the entire line adjusted sideways to keep them from gaining any kind of positional advantage. The Lancer next to me made one pay quickly, using a vicious downward hack with his Mono-Locsium axe to cleave more than halfway through the midsection of the Bug I had originally tried to deal with. I couldn't help but feel I had been somehow cheated.
Determined not to be outdone, I lunged forward with the Minos Blade, and my power-assisted leap covered just enough of the distance between myself and the Bug that had knocked my previous blow aside. This time, there was nothing to stop the Minos Blade from slicing him neatly in two pieces, which was actually surprising at first. With Bandersnatch, it was simple enough to kill these things, but the Minos Blade was different. Hacking through them with the old vibro-blade was like you might expect, like sawing through a piece of meat with an old butcher's cleaver. The Minos Sword, however...a hot knife through butter seems to be the best available metaphor.
The line of men I had assembled quickly advanced to my position, and the killing began in earnest. In every direction there were pieces of dismembered non-sentient insect life being cast violently into the vast emptiness of cold space.
I was getting into quite a rhythm when I realized with a start that I had reached the side of the super beetle that seemed to be fixated on reaching the airlock we’d cycled through.
I wasted no time and hacked off several legs, and with them out of the way, slammed the Minos sword into the side of its carapace.
With a grunt, I pushed it all the way in to the hilt, and then twisted and wrenched the sword around. I was starting to get a pretty decent sized gash opened up in the side of this super Bug when its head and super-sized jaws came around and knocked me into its side.
It couldn’t get a grip on me with its jaws, but it might as well have because the next thing I did was rebound off its side. Just like that, I’d lost contact with anything I could use to propel myself back into the fight and was slowly floating away from the hull of the Lucky Clover.
Flailing my arms and legs wildly, all I managed to do was send myself into a slow spin.
I screamed with frustration and tried to get on the local communication channel, but the Lancers below were a little too busy with the Bug behemoth now trying to burrow its way through the duralloy hull of my ship to pay any attention to someone safely out of the fight.
To someone who has never had it happen, it's difficult to relate just how helpless, despairing and terrifying it is to be slowly floating away from a ship in cold space. I mean, I knew that I had a locator beacon built in to my suit, but the notion that I might just keep floating until I ran out of breathable gases was almost enough to send me into a full-blown panic attack. But I was able to stave off the worst of the fear by overpowering it with anger at my own stupidity. For the rest of the battle on the hull, all I could do was watch and curse myself for not bringing along a portable jet pack.
I was helpless to do anything other than clap my hands and cheer as reinforcements started to pour on the hull, and someone managed to get some high explosives placed on the super beetle. Watching that beetle-thing explode in a very odd, nearly spherical cloud of insect bits and fluid was just about the happiest sight I’d seen all day.
I continued calling for someone to come pick me up, but no one answered. Passing through the shields of the ship was a dreadful sensation, and one I hoped never to repeat.
Eventually I figured out how to turn on my emergency beacon. After that I floated for hours, hoping someone would remember to come pick up one very lost and lonely Admiral.
I’d been up for well over twenty four hours by this point, and I’m not ashamed to say that after shouting myself hoarse on the local push channel, I fell into an exhausted slumber.
I gradually woke up enough to realize I was in a strange room.
Feeling the mattress underneath, I knew I was in some kind of bed but other than that I hadn’t a clue where I was. I could tell I was clearly in a ship, but the room looked like no quarters on any ship I’d ever been in.
Visions of being recovered after significant damage and frozen (like the Doctor had planned to do with Chief Engineer Spalding) until I could be revived danced through my head and I started to hyperventilate.
I tested my limbs, but other than the same litany of aches and pains (most notably my still-recovering forearm that had been cut off several weeks ago and reattached) everything felt much the same as I remembered.
I heard the rapid beeping of some sort of medical device as my stress level abruptly increased.
“He’s awake,” a voice said from the next room over.
Akantha came into the room and, after searching her face for signs of aging, I heaved a sigh of relief and my breathing returned to normal as I sank back into the bed.
“If I had known how much you wanted to get in my bed, I would have held out for better than this vibrating dinner knife masquerading as a Dark Sword of Power,” she said in a cool voice.
I started and looked around. So this was the Admiral’s quarters. No wonder I hadn’t recognized it! I started to rise out of the bed.
“I’ll just get out of your hair,” I said with a nervous laugh. I, the Admiral who wasn’t afraid to face giant Bug marines or Imperial Jacks, was eager to beat a hasty retreat in the face of this white-skinned ice maiden.
She looked extremely irritated and pushed me back into the bed. “You almost died out there from bad air, they tell me,” she said.
Squirming was pointless, in my weakened state she easily overpowered me and I was pinned to the bed.
It had to be that I was weaker than I thought, because I knew there was no way she was stronger than I was. Besides, I was laying prone while she loomed over me.
I reminded myself that the Minos Sword was much bigger than her bad-luck Bandersnatch, so there, I thought sticking a mental tongue out at her before reluctantly subsiding back into the bed.
“I feel fine,” I protested obstinately.
She raised an eyebrow and gave me that look of hers that I’d come to hate so much in such a very short time. “The men that delivered you to me brought a healer who took great pains to impress upon me how close you came to dying in cold space,” she said coolly.
“I can’t be that bad off if I’m not in sickbay,” I argued.
A hint of a smile played around the edges of her mouth. “Whether that’s true or not, those men brought you here rather than to sickbay. Clearly they at least seem to think it's more important that you be here than in sickbay at this point in your healing process,” she said icily.
Sweet Murphy, it was a conspiracy! Not the kind of conspiracy I’d been worried about up to this point, but a theoretically more benign one. Obviously word had spread around the crew that their Admiral was on the outs with the Lady Akantha. Observing me sleeping in the ready room and then taking a look at the missing door to my former quarters would tell anyone that.
It seemed the men had decided to put their oar in and send me up for bed rest. Since my former quarters were demolished, where else would an Admiral sleep but in the Admiral’s Quarters with his wife?
“If you wish to ignore the healer’s advice and disappoint your crew, there’s the door,” she said pointing at the exit.
When she put it that way, I needed all the points with the men that I could get.
I heaved a sigh and threw an arm over my eyes. “Thank you for the hospitality,” I said instead of getting up and leaving. “It's quite generous of you.”
Her voice gained a hint of venom. “It is nothing less than my duty.”
I took the arm off my eyes and looked at her, trying to put the gratitude I actually did feel into my eyes. I mean, she could have caused a stink and booted my unconscious self back down to sickbay.
“I really am grateful,” I said, holding her gaze.
“You’re welcome," she said after a pause, "but as I said before, it is my duty,”
At least she didn’t sound like she wanted to kill me anymore. A minor improvement, but one I was more than happy to take.
There was a small, comfortable pause, and then she had to go and break our little unspoken truce. “It is good you are here,” she said, a hint of reproach in her voice, “You should have come sooner.”
“You blew up my door and then turned me away,” I said as evenly as I could.
“I mean before that,” she snapped.
“I wasn’t sure of my reception. I figured it was best if,” I started, then paused as I tried to figure out the right thing to say. Telling her I’d been half hoping for an eventual annulment didn’t seem like the politic thing to say right at the moment.
“The circumstances of our…union were rather bizarre. I thought it best to take things slow,” and here I took the chance and gave her a piercing look, “As you will recall, I even asked you to tell me what was bothering you. Before you destroyed my room. All you had to do was say something to let me know I was…welcome,” I said finally.
It was her turn to look pensive. “It is not a woman’s place to chase after a man, any man. It is both unseemly and betokens the worst sort of brazen or desperate behavior. Bad enough for a common woman, how much worse for a Sword-Bearer, Land-Bride and, even though I am absent more than I am present, now Hold Mistress of Messene,” she said, starting out hesitant but finishing fiercely.
This was what I got for winding up with a girl from a culture that still had many of the worst sorts of patriarchal holdovers. I didn’t sign up for this! Or so I thought to myself, before fairness demanded its due. I actually had. Oh not with the crazy giving of the sword thing, but rather when I stood before her mother and uncle and promised to defend her. I had hoped for more of a temporary business-like arrangement, but like everything else lately, what I’d hoped for and what I’d actually gotten were two very different things.
I started to sit up, but the warning look in her eye told me that this was one nursemaid who wasn’t going to brook any guff off her patient. Instead, I rolled onto my side and propped myself up with one arm.
After a moment organizing my thoughts, I decided to give this thing we had one more try. “Look, Akantha,” I started and her brows furrowed. “That’s it. That right there,” I exclaimed, pointing to her brow.
“What,” she asked, smoothing her brow.
“If we are really going to try to make this thing work,” I said, my voice rising more than I would have liked, “then we’re going to have to be honest with each other.”
Her eyes narrowed and I could see the beginnings of a scowl starting to form.
But I continued doggedly, “At least in private. When we’re alone we have to be able to be honest with one another. If we can’t even manage that, how is anything going to work out this thing between us and,” I added, “between our two peoples.”
“I can’t read your mind to know what it is I need to tell you,” she said with a frown.
“I don’t expect you to," I said as gently as I could, "but when it's just the two of us, we can’t always be the Protector, Admiral Prince-Cadet, Governor of Harpoon and the Sword-Bearer, Land-Bride, Hold Mistress of Messene. There has to be a time when we can put all that aside and just be two people from completely different cultures trying to muddle through as best we can,” I said impassionedly.
She bit her lip. “There are many things I still don’t understand about this ship and your peoples from the river between the stars,” she started hesitantly. For once, the icy mask she liked to wear was cracked, showing the uncertain woman behind it.
“There’s a lot about you and your people I still have no clue about,” I said, hoping that at last we could reach some sort of truce and find a bridge to mutual understanding.
“I don’t think we are very complicated. Not when compared to all this,” she said waving her arm as if to encompass the entire ship around us.
“Maybe not as far as technology and machines are concerned,” I allowed, “But take this whole Warlord business. What exactly does it mean, and even more than that, what kind of obligations have I picked up that I don’t even know about? I mean, are your people only here for a term of service, or is this Warlord thing a lifetime commitment? I still have no clue,” I said, throwing my hands in the air.
She got a quizzical look and a hint of a smile played around the edges. “That’s an easy enough thing to explain,” she said laughingly. “Is there anything else you don’t understand about my people that you’d like to know?”
My eyebrows shot up. “Where do I start,” I said excitedly.
Then, as if a dam had burst inside me, it all started pouring out. “First there’s this whole Protector/Sword-Bearer business, what does it all mean,” I asked eagerly, then looked down at my fingers and started ticking off points. “Not to mention your Uncle, your mother, and what does she think about me after all those challenges, plus what the challenges signify and then there’s-” a finger on my lips cut me off.
Akantha crouched down next to me. I looked up into a half serious, half amused expression. “I saw the face underneath all those scars for such a very short time when first we met. It has been difficult to get past them and see the face of the man hidden there,” she said, an interested look in her face.
“Uh,” I gulped, “I can get rid of them if you like.” Suddenly, the collar of my bed clothes felt too tight, which is odd since it was a button-up.
She had a look of wonder on her face, then pursed her lips and shook her head in negation. “I didn’t know your healers were capable of such things…but no. Or at least, do not remove them all. A strong warrior should bear proof of his injuries with pride.”
“I’m not sure how much of a warrior I really am, being an Admiral is hard enough-” I said, but once again a finger on my lips silenced me.
“You are a brave warrior with many kills. I have seen this with my own eyes, and also through the eyes of my people, those who have fought beside you,” she said in a breathy voice.
She paused, seeming to consider something, but continued after a moment. “Do not belittle your many accomplishments just because you have a Dark Sword of Power and magic armor.” Her fingers traced the scars on my face and then traveled up over my ear.
My mouth was suddenly dry and I laughed a little hoarsely. “There’s no need to do anything you don’t want to do, just because you feel some sort of obligation,” I managed to stammer in a strangled voice.
“I am pleased that you wish to know what it means to be a Protector,” she said a little hesitantly, and then climbed onto the bed.
Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, I tried to get up into a sitting position but she gently pressed me back down. She leaned her head next to mine and whispered in my ear. She actually sounded a little delighted at my continued reluctance.
“Let me teach you that which passes between the best of Protectors and their Sword-Bearers,” she purred.
She lifted her head back up and looked down at my face before touching several of the bigger scars. “Yes,” she nodded to herself, “I think you should get rid of this one, and this, and,” her fingers traced over to the last scar that didn’t meet with her approval, before lifting a finger up to tap it twice, “this one definitely,” she said firmly.
“Whatever you want,” I said, gazing at her like I was a calf about to be slaughtered. There would be no hope of an easy getaway after this.
“I think so, too,” she said with a hint of self-conscious delight.
We didn’t do a whole lot of talking after that, but despite the lack of words, I still think we managed to communicate a lot of what there was to know about each other. I’m not exactly sure what she may have learned about me, but I discovered, or at least had a new appreciation for how physically strong and fit she was.
I’d always suspected the Montagne family had a little unofficial tinkering in our background, but whatever we may have had, these Tracto-ans had something installed into their genetic heritage that far surpassed anything I’d ever seen before.
One thing was for sure and certain: I was going to have to find the time to start working out. This desk job of mine seemed to have sapped my strength and stamina to unacceptable levels.
Interlude: Repairs and a little R&R before Departure.
Now in orbit around Tracto VI, the Lucky Clover swarmed with work parties. The engineering department was out on the hull in force, working to repair the damage sustained during the battle.
All over the system, ships had limped into orbit, and now repair robots and their operators from the Multiplex swarmed over the light units already in orbit. The Lucky Clover could take care of herself this time, and our engineering team wanted to make sure our guys got the experience.
Looking at the savagely mauled Corvette, it was obvious that Tracto needed more than just a handful of light vessels, however willing their crews had been, to protect it when the Bugs arrived in force.
The two additional Corvettes I’d captured from the pirates should help, but they were just more of the same. Light units that would certainly help to stem the tide, but would be unable to stop the big dogs of the Bug fleet from tearing through the system.
That’s why I had decided that as soon as the mobile units were repaired, the Constructor needed to turn every available resource towards building a pair of orbital defense turrets.
The Lucky Clover could stay in the system for as long as possible, but the fact remained that the rest of the sector still needed us. If the first inhabited world we’d stopped by was any indication, that need was dire. So although I wasn’t about to let Tracto be annihilated while I was gone, there was only so long I could justify hanging around.
Besides, I still felt that sticking around for too long would only ensure the Lucky Clover would eventually be recalled back home. If that happened before the Bug mother ship arrived, it was sayonara for the inhabitants of this system.
I was still kicking myself for sending the Hammerhead off on an independent patrol. If she’d been here, then the Harvester wouldn’t have presented half the threat to the system that it had. Ultimately if the Medium Cruiser was recalled to Prometheus, that was still better than thousands (or more realistically millions) dying because it wasn’t here.
Unsure of my best course of action, the next few days passed in a blur as the now four Corvettes and two cutters were completely repaired and re-outfitted. The speed and efficiency of these Constructors was truly a sight to behold, and I had a newfound appreciation for why the junior Cornwallis had gone to such lengths to secure them. I still wasn't positive that I knew who he had been securing them for, though. Ostensibly, it was for the Empire and their war effort against the Gorgons, but I had a growing suspicion that it wasn't quite that simple.
Obviously, this Cornwallis had been anything but a calculated mastermind, which meant he was working for someone else. And I could only think of one man familiar enough with this part of Confederated Space who would have both the clout and motivation to swipe not one, but five of these technological marvels within a week of the Imperial withdrawal. I owed that particular man a large debt, and I intended to see it repaid as quickly as possible.
But right now, the issue of my revenge against Imperial Rear Admiral Arnold Janeski and his cohorts was on the backburner. I had other fish to fry.
New crews were assembled for the recent pirate captures, and the losses sustained by all four ships of the Light Squadron during the battle with the Bugs were replaced with volunteers from the Lucky Clover.
We didn’t get very many volunteers from the original crew, most of whom were still looking to go home, so most of the recruits came from the still green Promethean and Caprian royalists who were more than willing to transfer to a job closer to what they were slowly coming to consider their home.
As the number of men needed to fully man the little ships was a drop in the bucket compared to what was needed to run the Lucky Clover itself, I happily sent them over to finish cutting their teeth with the System Defense Light Squadron.
At last, the Constructor was done with the repairs and its primary focus shifted to building the orbital defense turrets. It still had some excess capacity to slowly expand the Belter mining operation, but they had strict instructions to divert men and materials to the orbital defenses for the time being.
I wanted to stay and make sure more Bugs weren’t coming in the immediate future, but finally I couldn’t hold off any longer.
Akantha took the opportunity to visit her planet while we were in system, and she invited me to tag along. The truth, this time, is that I only partially didn't want to go, but I also felt like I was needed up on the ship to oversee the shuffling of officers and work details, with the rearranging of the crews and so forth. So I bowed out as graciously as I could, and while she obviously wasn't thrilled with my decision, she appeared to accept it without too much drama.
Barring Bugs suddenly showing up on our sensors before we point transferred out of the system, we were committed to returning to a Rim patrol.
Chapter 17: A Morale Booster, And Other Violent Pastimes
The small group of gunners set out, crawling the ship from one illicit drinking hole to another. They never realized they were being trailed by none other than the very Chief whose duty it was to put a damper on those very pursuits.
Fortunately for them, this was one Chief who’d never seen the need to curtail his men’s drinking habits, so long as things didn’t get out of hand. And even more fortunately for them, this Chief very deliberately wanted things to get out of hand. In fact, it had taken weeks of planning for this specific scenario to present itself, and Clarence Bogart wasn't about to let it pass by without taking a good swing.
No one could later say who made the suggestion to go to Hatch 30 Portside, a Lancers-only watering hole, and the Chief Gunner who may or may not have had a hand in it wouldn’t talk about the matter in any specific detail later on, other than to lie and spout pro-gunner one liners.
However, with most of their number already filled to the brim with liquid courage and the pride of the gun battery at stake for some reason no one could remember later, that group of intrepid gunners pushed their way into Hatch 30 Portside, unaware they were about to add another tale to the legend of the Battleship that was their home.
***************
“I’m here for a drink, bartender,” barked the assistant gunner for turret 43, a young Caprian man somewhat larger than the rest of his gun crew.
The old Lancer behind the bar turned and spat into the spittoon beside the bar, before picking up a glass and wiping it with a washcloth.
“Can’t you read the sign,” he said pointing over his shoulder at a sign above the makeshift bar that said ‘We serve Lancers only.’
“Whiskey double shot, my good man,” said the already half-drunk assistant gunner.
“Move along son, before you get a whole lot more than you bargained for,” the old bartender said as kindly as an old bartender can.
The assistant gunner frowned and his comrades behind him muttered to each other. Some seemed to think they should leave, others wanted to give the Lancers a hard time about this policy before also leaving.
The assistant gunner opened his mouth. What he intended to say is now forever lost to us, because before he could speak a nearly seven foot tall Lancer who’d been sitting at one of the small tables within Hatch 30 Portside got up and with one stride was able to reach out and place a crushing grip on his shoulder.
“The civilized man told you to get on,” said the Tracto-an Lancer, speaking Confederation Standard with a thick accent, but no translator. He gave the shoulder a squeeze and the assistant gunner gave an involuntary yelp of pain. “But me and my people aren’t so civilized as that man, just ask any of the other 'civilized' men on the ship,” he said squeezing harder.
The assistant gunner started nodding, his face screwed up in agonizing pain. The rest of the gun crew started to make as if to back up when a voice spoke up from the rear of their group.
It was an older man in a basic crew jacket without any identifying rank symbols, wearing a nearly worn out class B enlisted cap.
“You Lancers think you’re too good to drink with us?” he asked pushing his way to the front of the group, planting his feet and raising an eyebrow.
“It's okay, really-” started the assistant gunner, who moments before thought he was something special.
“Shut it,” the other two men said, almost simultaneously.
The Lancer frowned, while the older man grinned.
“We don’t think it. We are,” he said in his heavily accented voice, releasing his grip on the erstwhile assistant gunner who immediately beat a hasty retreat to the relative safety of the rest of his crew.
The older man shrugged and tossed off another grin. “Well, lots of men have thought they were too good to share a drink with a gunner, so I can’t hold that against you,” he said with a shrug.
“Good,” said the Lancer starting to turn away.
“There are two things I guarantee you that any gunner worth his salt will do when he’s off shift,” said the older man conversationally.
The Lancer turned back with a growl. “What are you on about,” he glared.
“Because if you’re too good to drink with us, I sure hope you don’t think you’re too good for a fight,” growled the older man, his demeanor changing from an easy going causal manner to nothing so much as resembling an angry growling pit bull.
Chairs scraped back as the fellow squad mates of the Tracto-an Lancer pushed back their chairs and got to their feet.
“Come on friend, let's go,” urged the gunners behind him, causing the old man to sneer in response.
“Big words and a big mouth, listen to your buddies and move on. Unless you care to back up all that hot air with-” the big Lancer didn’t get any further than that.
Out of nowhere the Chief Gunner (whose nickname in his youth was Iron Hands) let loose with an overhand right and planted his fist right between the eyes of the Lancer.
Feeling like he’d just hit a duralloy wall with his hand, everyone stood still for a moment as the Lancer just stood there looking at him.
A veteran of many brawls, the older man was just starting to become concerned. If they could all soak up blows like that, this might be over faster than expected, he thought grimly.
Then the big Lancer’s eyes rolled back up in his head and he collapsed to the floor.
For a moment everyone just stood there. Both the Lancers and the Gunnery Crew were shocked and surprised at this turn of events, and more than a little disbelieving that one older Caprian man had just felled this genetically engineered giant.
Then the Lancers growled in unison.
“What, you waiting for an engraved invitation? Come on!” yelled the Chief Gunner in disguise, making a not-so-polite beckoning gesture to the lancers.
“Now you’ve done it,” the lead gunner for the battery this crew belonged to said quickly, pushing up his sleeves. “Forty through forty five high!” he yelled calling out the turret numbers of the various gun crews in his battery.
Whether this was out of a misplaced desire to back up the older man or the realization there was no way he and his crew were making it out the door before the Lancers got them, again, he’s not talking.
With a collective roar, the two groups met with a crash.
Normally able to take on half a dozen men all by himself, Chief Bogart once again lived up to his reputation as old Iron Hands, and somehow managed to put down his second before the third arrived to start taking him apart. When the fourth Lancer got to him, it was all over but pounding he was about to receive. He went down spitting teeth.
His gun crew didn’t even make half the showing their old chief did, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.
If only four Lancers went down, two of them Prometheans, and the other two Tracto-ans taken out by Chief Bogart, compared to all 16 gunners in the Lancer canteen, no one could later say it was for lack of pluck or fear of a little fight.
Chapter 18: Departure Is Bittersweet, But Arriving Is Always The Pits
I watched as the ticker counted down past the first alarm.
“Critical threshold met and exceeded,” reported the Navigator, “attempting to abort the jump to hyperspace at this point would most likely destroy the ship.”
“Yes, we’re all well aware of this fact,” I said with a sigh, closing my eyes and rubbing my forehead with two fingers of my good hand. I was all-too-aware that we were now destined to leave this system.
Now that we were committed, the excitement of returning to our interrupted patrol was replaced with a bittersweet regret.
Regret was soon followed by anxiety regarding our next destination. I didn’t expect anything to happen, but then I hadn’t expected to find Bugs here in the Tracto system when we jumped back, either. Life was just full of little surprises.
“In keeping with the First Officer’s stated desire for increased formality and attention to duty, I was just trying to do my job like it states in the manual,” said the Navigator, the slightest edge of irritation in his voice.
“Oh, carry on then,” I muttered in irritation. This Admiral business really was for the dogs, I decided. Sometimes it felt like the First Officer ran things on the Bridge more than I did, the way he managed the duty roster and scheduled the drills, not to mention this new strict adherence to protocol.
Long past seemed the days when I could willy-nilly schedule drills and order things entirely to my satisfaction. Maybe this was what settling into your role felt like, or maybe this was just what your First Officer settling into his role felt like.
At some point, I knew I was going to have to get this ship another captain. I couldn’t continue wearing both hats forever. I fretted that decision, to be perfectly honest. The last thing I needed right now was another Lieutenant Tremblay, someone bound and determined to impede me from pursuing what I knew in my heart was the right way to do things in a galaxy suddenly gone mad, to Hades with what the book said.
I’d never learned the book and as far as I could tell, I didn’t have time to, not while I was continually dealing with things it had never really considered. Like the Empire cutting loose a few sectors of the Confederation, despite half a dozen treaties and other obligations.
The hour and a half that followed as we counted down the point transfer passed both far too quickly, and agonizingly slow.
Akantha came onto the bridge and I couldn’t help looking at her with a blush. She checked the countdown and shook her head slightly.
I tried to muster up some kind of sad expression at the thought of at leaving, but I could tell from the hint of scowl on her face that I hadn’t succeeded in pulling the wool over her eyes.
She obviously decided that I was happier than she would have liked me to be while putting her home system behind us. I don’t think it was the fact that I had duties outside her system that I had to look after first, she understood that part. It must have been the fact I was so happy about it that ticked her off.
This new honesty thing I proposed had seemed like such a great idea at the time, but now I was having second thoughts. When a person got upset, not because you had to go and do a thing, but because you were happy about doing it and it was something that couldn't be avoided in the first place, it started to feel like the dreaded No-Win Scenario.
The No-Win Scenario was a fictitious test first proposed by some pre-holo-vid entertainment network. I hadn’t paid much attention to its historical background at the time I learned about it. Suffice to say that it was a scenario that just plain stunk for whoever was in charge. I still couldn't remember what everyone called it...it was some foreign-sounding phrase, or maybe a name.
That’s how I felt right at the moment, anyway. Stuck in a No-Win Scenario, one which just plain stunk, since I was the one in charge.
When the counter marched its way down to zero and it was time to make the jump to hyperspace, it was almost a relief to have something rooted in incontrovertible reality to worry about. All this fussing about how I felt because it could make my life harder was exhausting.
Whether fortunately or unfortunately, take your pick, this new system was completely devoid of advanced life. After a few tense minutes of populating the main screen with every anomalous reading in the system, the sensor section was tentatively willing to declare there was nothing to be concerned about.
It left me with nothing to worry about other than my interpersonal life, but by that time Akantha had left the bridge. With relief I was able to focus back on doing my job as an Admiral of the Fleet.
The next several systems were also uninhabited, although they were all new to my crew because we were heading away from the center of the sector and going in the opposite direction I’d sent the old Hammerhead.
If there was any trouble to be found, I figured it was most likely to show up as far from the local center of organized power in the sector as possible. Unfortunately, I was right.
Transferring into the Bingo System did more to kill my gambit to save the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet than anything so far. In retrospect, I wish we’d never have gone in that direction.
“Point Emergence,” said the Navigator, completely professional and on the ball for this emergence into a civilized system. Or at least, what passed for a civilized system this far out on the Rim.
“Baffling extended, Main Engines are not lit,” Helmsman DuPont said crisply.
“Point Resistance?” asked the First Officer.
“55 Gravities and fluctuating,” the Science Officer said flatly.
“Main Engine at 15% of maximum,” said the Helmsman. “The lock is still in place.”
“I’m having difficulty modulating the shields,” said Shield Operator.
“Probably a faulty data conduit, I’ll have Engineering send a party to troubleshoot,” said the Warrant in charge of Damage Control.
As I’d grown to expect, the Sensor Operators were already filling the view screen with the results of their sensor sweeps.
“Engine at 35% of maximum, engaging secondaries,” said DuPont.
“Shield strength at 85% of maximum and steadily falling due to increasing drain from the Inertial Sump,” said the main Shield Operator.
“Secondaries are now at 35% as well, we’re still locked solid,” reported the Helmsman tensely.
The ship had a slight lurch as we broke free.
“Sorry for the bump,” the Helmsman said happily. “With that kind of shield drag, there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“It’s a faulty relay somewhere, there’s nothing I could do about it, Admiral,” protested the main Shield Operator
“Sound off, let's verbally run through contacts on the main screen. And there’s no need to get defensive over a mechanical issue,” said First Officer Tremblay, managing to project professionalism.
The tally of planets and the system’s primary was reassuring. We’d arrived in the right place at least. Then something new appeared on the board. Or rather, a big red symbol appeared, but I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant.
“What’s the new symbol, Sensors? I don’t think I’ve seen that one before,” I asked tightly. I didn’t like displaying ignorance, but it could be a threat, and better to look ignorant than a fool.
One of the Sensor Operators started tapping on his screen. “We’ve got semi-current charts for this system, Admiral. We updated them while we were still in Easy Haven. There should be a couple of factories and a processing node out there, but sensor sweeps are turning up nothing,” said the operator.
“How is that possible? Did they move it with a tug,” I asked, that all-too-familiar knot forming in my stomach.
“Somebody else put their sensors on that missing contact and let's verify the reading. We need to make sure it's not a sensor glitch,” ordered Tremblay.
“I can confirm, First Officer. There’s nothing even remotely in the vicinity of where the system’s orbital industry should be located,” reported a second Sensor Operator after a moment's pause.
I clenched my hands to the sides of the command chair. I didn’t like it when things were different than expected. In my opinion, anything different was trouble with a capital 'T.'
“Someone scan for hostiles and everyone widen the search area around the missing factories,” snapped Tremblay.
“Ex-Com,” I said, turning toward the communication section, “Let’s see about hailing the planet. Maybe they can give us an explanation about the missing orbital infrastructure.” I figured it was worth a shot. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation about why things were the way they were.
The reply, when we received it, was totally disheartening. It looked like we were a cycle late and two credits short.
An angry looking man appeared on the main view screen. “Confederation Fleet, you say,” he scoffed, “where were you last week when we needed you? Pirates came in, and everything they couldn’t fit into their ships, they destroyed. They took the better part of an orbital factory along with about two thousand prisoners they openly planned to sell for slaves. Then they blasted everything in sight,” roared the angry man.
“We are sorry for your loss, Sir,” I began. I was trying my best to sound official and sympathetic at the same time.
“To Hades with your apology! Where were you when we needed you,” sneered the angry man, “what did you say your name was again. Admiral something or other with the Multi-Sector whatever fleet. You can be sure I’ll be complaining to my Assemblywoman about your dereliction of duty, my ugly looking boy.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr.…” I said coolly, once I was certain my temper was under control. Part of me thought he was right. If I’d just abandoned Tracto to its own devices as soon as the battle with the Bugs had been won, maybe I could have got here in time. The other, larger part of me simply thought the man was a big bully looking to take his angst out on someone else, and there was nothing we could have done anyway.
The man looked at the screen and visibly puffed himself up. “The name is Horace of Bingo Prime in the Bingo system. Governor Horace Harkness, to you. Mr. I’m-too-late-to-do-any-good-with-my-Multi-Sector-mouthful. This is all in addition to the fact that all I can see is one cursed ship!” the angry governor yelled, and then cut the connection.
We reached a few other planetary officials, but no one was too impressed with what they considered our tardy response time.
Essentially, their entire orbital infrastructure was gone with the pirates. Even the more open-minded of them were upset that we hadn’t shown up in time to at least help save some of their wrecked equipment and stations from burning up in the atmosphere after the pirates had knocked them into a rapidly decaying orbit.
With nothing in space for us to do, and very little we could add to the efforts already underway on the ground, the Lucky Clover pointed her nose toward the outer system and we prepared to cycle up our star-drive.
It was a somber and slightly irritated bridge crew that left orbit and prepared to put Bingo behind us. No one likes to be told they’ve been slacking off when they’ve just come from another system where they fought a pitched battle.
We all hoped that we wouldn’t arrive too late at the next inhabited system on our list.
Chapter 19: Dressing-Downs
“Attention on deck,” snapped the First Officer striding into the sickbay.
Since this particular bay was almost entirely full of beat up gunners and a pair of rehabilitating Lancers, the participants of the bar brawl at Hatch 30 Portside who hadn’t been able to make it out of there under their own power, no one was in truly critical condition and the entire room slowly got out of bed and braced to attention.
A series of groan and moans accompanied this turnout, but after a few moments the entire gun crew was lined up in front of the beds.
“What’s this I hear about a fight between the Gun deck and the Lancer detail,” demanded First Officer Tremblay, marching up and down the line of bruised and battered men before stopping directly in front of the Chief Gunner Bogart. Tremblay paused and glared at the Chief, his nostrils flaring.
“I’m waiting for an explanation,” he demanded.
Before anyone else could think to speak and insert his oar into the situation, the Chief Gunner braced to full attention, and staring at the wall behind the First Officer, spoke up.
“No fight, First Officer, just a few of the lads having a spot of fun and blowing off some steam,” said Chief Curtis Bogart.
The First Officer moved closer until they were practically nose to nose.
“Fighting is illegal on a Caprian SDF warship,” he glared, “and of all the people to be involved, the Chief of the Gun deck. For shame, Chief,” he snarled.
“There was no fight, Mr. First Officer,” the Chief Gunner said stoutly, before pitching his voice to carry over his shoulder, “isn’t that right boys.”
A semi-enthusiastic mumble followed, generally supportive of this claim.
“You!” declared the First Officer, abruptly turning his head and marching over to the lone Lancer in the room. “It’s time we got to the bottom of this fiasco and cut through this web of evasions and lies.”
The Lancer stood at attention and just looked at the First Officer.
“Well,” demanded Lieutenant Tremblay, “on your honor! What happened below decks, Lancer?”
The Chief couldn’t resist the tug as one corner of his mouth twisted ever so slightly. For all his other failings, the First Officer wasn’t entirely without a certain sort of base cunning. Appealing to a Tracto-an’s honor was a wiley move.
“Have disagreement with old man,” said the Lancer pointing at Chief Bogart, “don’t remember much after that,” the Lancer shrugged and then pointed to the big bruise/goose egg on his forehead for emphasis. “On my honor,” the Lancer said with a straight face.
Tremblay’s face turned purple.
“Anyone want to chime in with the truth here,” demanded the First Officer.
Bogart turned his head and gave the men to either side of him a cold gaze.
Any potential wagging tongues were frozen to the roof of their mouths under the force of that gaze, and no one spoke up.
Returning to the Chief Gunner, Lieutenant Tremblay scowled with fury. He took a deep breath and the color started to leech out of his face. “Well, let's hear this fantasy construct of yours.”
“Sir,” the Chief asked innocently.
“Spin your tale of innocence and farfetched circumstances that magically explain away how an entire turret crew ended up hospitalized in medical,” growled the First Officer. “I’m waiting, Chief,” he said before the Chief had the chance to get a word in edgewise.
The Chief gave a fraction of a nod that only the First Officer could see. “Well, it's like this, Sir,” he said and then paused.
“Go on, I’ll bet this is good.” Tremblay said intensely.
“Me and the boys got into a little argument with some Lancers over portside you see,” said the Chief Gunner, keeping a straight face as the First Officer leaned forward, eyes widening slightly.
“Yes,” the First Officer prompted, trying and failing to disguise his eagerness.
“It got a little heated,” he couldn’t help but add, and the First Officer looked like he couldn’t believe his ears.
“You see, he kept going on about the Parliamentary Cruisers, but me and most of the boys are Royal Hussar fans, then one thing led to another and well…” he paused stretching out the moment.
“You mean to tell me you got into a fight over a football team,” the First Officer gave him a disbelieving look.
“You see the argument got so heated, we weren’t watching where we were going,” the Gunner said with a straight face, “and there was this patch of oil, to our shame no one spotted it-”
Officer Tremblay flushed. “Enough,” he said harshly.
“And then it felt as if the grav plate started acting up,” the Gunner couldn’t help but add.
“Not another word,” snapped Tremblay glaring around the sickbay. Leaning forward he hissed, “I won’t forget this.”
“Course not, Sir,” the Gunner muttered back just as low and gave him a beatific smile in response.
As soon as the First Officer finished storming out of the Sick Bay, the room broke out into cheers. Even the Lancer was on the receiving end of some of the back slapping that was going around.
For his part, the Chief Gunner gave them a nod and watched for a while before quietly slipping out of Sick Bay.
His work here was done.
*****************
When we arrived in the D-Link System, everyone was on their toes. A rapid scan of the system showed us another planet whose orbital industry had been devastated by pirate raiders.
Once again, I spoke with an irate planetary governor who personally blamed me for a lackluster response time.
“We sent word to the Sector Capital, by way of a passing merchant freighter, only a day or two after the attack. You’re more than a week and a half too late!” barked a Governor who looked more like someone’s grandmother than she did a ruthless planetary official.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news but-” I started
She cut me off. “And another thing, the ComStat network in our area has been completely destroyed. What are you going to do about that,” she said sticking out her chin belligerently.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Madam Governor,” I began calmly, only to be cut off again.
“What are you, some kind of old-fashioned patriarchist? A simple Governor is good enough for anyone holding planetary office, you evil little mutant," she snapped.
“I object to your tone and language-” I started and she tried to cut me off again, but I spoke over her this time, “no Governor, you’ve had your say and more,” I glared at the woman on my screen until she sat back in her chair a bit. “In case you haven’t heard, the Empire destroyed the ComStat network when they finished pulling out of this sector, along with every active military base in the area. As far as we can tell, they’ve done this in every single sector in the Spine. I’m sorry you feel our patrol forces have failed you, but we’re just getting started. I assure you things will continue to improve as long as I’m out here,” I said, trying for a level, professional tone.
She sneered at my best efforts. “It's not my feelings you have failed, little boy, it’s the millions of credits worth of orbital industry taken or destroyed that give hard numbers, not feelings, to your failures,” she said glaringly. “If you want to talk about feelings, why don’t you try finding the five hundred orbital workers captured and either killed or enslaved by the pirates, you pitiful excuse of a man. You can be dead certain my Assemblyman will be hearing from me about this!” she barked and immediately cut the line.
Walking into my ready room to cool off, I made an executive decision. From now on, all contacts with planetary officials were to be taken in my ready room. The last thing the Bridge crew needed was to see their Admiral receive another morale-busting tongue lashing from some jumped up planetary governor threatening to call his or her assemblyman.
Knowing when we were not welcome, I ordered my aged battleship's crew to charge its star drive.
The next four inhabited systems were repeats of the first two planets we’d come across. Always the pirates had been there before us and were long gone by the time we arrived. In all, we spent two weeks running from one smashed orbital infrastructure to the next.
We point transferred into the Liverwurst System, expecting yet another in the series of broken systems. It was there we finally caught a lucky break.
“Point Emergence,” said the Navigator.
“Baffling extended, engines are a go,” said the Helmsman.
“Point Resistance at 63 gravities,” Science Officer Jones said before the First Officer could ask. Disapproval dripped from his voice. He didn’t like the way I’d been pushing the far edge of our jump range.
The First Officer put a smirk on his face as he looked over at our civilian Science Officer, but when he turned away I could see he was irked the man had preempted him.
“All Engines at 25% of maximum,” said the Helmsman. “The lock is still in place.”
“Shields modulated for exiting the inertial sump,” said the shields operator. “No more issues with the data conduits, whatever they did seems to have fixed it, all right."
I wasn’t very happy with the general demeanor of the crew. They all looked resigned and depressed at the thought of yet another system where we’d been too late. They were doing their jobs as well as they ever had before, so I couldn’t open my mouth and complain too loudly for fear I’d make things worse.
For myself, I wasn’t eager to speak with another irate politician. If one more Planetary Governor threatened to report me to the principal for doing such a poor job out here on the Rim, I would be tempted to take a shuttle full of Lancers and strangle them with my bare hands.
The Sensor Operators filled the screen with local contacts as they popped up.
“All engines at 38% of maximum,” reported DuPont.
“Shield strength at 93%, shield regeneration is holding steady with the sump pressure,” said the main shields operator.
“Engines at 45%,” said the Helmsman.
There was a faint vibration as the ship broke free.
“And…there we go, Murphy but that was a tough one,” DuPont said, actually sounding happy as the ship slewed around on the screen despite the visual disorientation, you couldn’t feel a thing. Between the compensators and the increasing competence of DuPont, the ship didn’t so much as groan or creak through the heavy maneuver.
Without prompting from Lieutenant Tremblay, the first shift sensor operators started calling out contacts of interest.
I allowed myself a smile as the First Officer looked straight ahead at the main view screen and tried unsuccessfully to keep the irritation off his face.
In addition to the long jump, I’d had our navigator calculate our point transfer as far in the system as he dared. The tally of planets and nearby asteroids popping up on the main viewer was reassuring, so far matched up with what was supposed to be there.
Then something new appeared on the board or rather, something that was supposed to be there but had been missing in the last six systems.
Three orbital factories popped up on our screen. At first we all stared at the factories in shock, and then the Flag Bridge broke out into cheers.
“Way to go, Admiral,” cheered someone in tactical.
“That long jump really paid off,” shouted the sensor operator who’d discovered the nascent little system industrial node
“Contact,” shouted a sensor operator, promptly falling out of his chair due to his surprise. He pulled himself upright quickly enough to avoid rebuke, though.
The cheering was interrupted completely when someone in tactical activated the red alert. "I’m reading a weapons discharge near a large object, tentatively identified as the system’s orbital trading outpost, Admiral,” said the sensor operator.
“I want more eyes on that section of space. Let's get a clear picture of what’s happening,” Tremblay said eagerly.
“I can see six ships I‘m tentatively identifying as pirates and two old CR70’s that are probably the local SDF,” said the sensor operator.
“I can confirm that, Admiral,” reported a second sensor operator. “It looks like two Corvettes, a lightweight Destroyer and three, presumably captured, armed merchant conversions."
I gave the view screen a shark-like grin. Maybe we would actually get a chance to nip this little pirate problem in the bud, I thought eagerly. “Helm, take us toward them at best speed,” I barked, unable to maintain an even and moderate tone. “Navigation, you know the drill. Calculate a least-time course,” I said.
“Yes, Admiral,” replied the Helmsman, the Navigator a close second behind him.
Fingers tapped away at consoles as the crew worked to do their jobs in the quickest time frame possible.
We watched as one of the SDF Corvettes was hit multiple times and sent into a dead spin before recovering and slowly bringing the ship about to face the pirates once again.
“Course plotted and forwarded to the Helm, Admiral,” said the Navigator, sounding as eager for combat as I did. Even though I was feeling similar emotions as the Navigator, for some reason it irked me to see the same hungry expression on the rest of the crew. It was illogical, but I guess that on some level I wanted everyone else to be all composed and professional, so I could feel free to vent my spleen at these pirates.
We watched first with excitement as the pirates got closer, and then with mounting fury as they turned away from us and started jetting away. Before they were out of range, they fired on and destroyed a lot of local space habitats, trade stations, and a pair of orbital factories.
We pushed our engines to the limit, but an ancient Battleship just isn’t the match of a Corvette, or even a light Destroyer when it comes to the speed department.
Impotent and furious, all we could do was watch helplessly as the First Officer’s prediction from Nova-Practica came back to haunt us. He’d asked how our very large and very slow Battleship was going to catch up with these types of smaller and faster pirate vessels. I’d made some kind of off-hand comment about figuring it out at the time.
Well, here we were and I wasn’t figuring out a blasted thing. Meanwhile, the pirates were getting further and further away.
“Is there any way to track where they’re going and follow them,” I asked.
The First Officer looked at me like I was stupid. “You mean guess?” he nearly blurted.
“Am I missing something, Mr. Tremblay,” I demanded hotly, feeling like a non-military fool.
The former Intelligence Officer shook his head. “The Confederation never figured out how to track someone through hyperspace, and if the Imperials ever figured something like that out, they kept it so far under wraps that even pirates like these have no inkling about it,” he said flatly.
“So what you’re saying is, it's impossible to figure out where they are going,” I concluded, suddenly angry with myself. I’m sure a little bit of that anger bled over into my voice.
“What I said was we’d have to guess. Calculate the shortest jump range of such a small ship and, assuming they don’t just go for some cold space location between the stars, then we might pick the system they are going to point transfer to. Of course, they cycle their drives so much faster than ours that we’d have to figure out where they are planning to go multiple jumps down the line. One of the many disadvantages of having an old Battleship like this,” he explained bitterly.
“Right,” I said, pulling up the local star chart on the arm of my newly repaired Admiral’s throne. Looking at the estimated jump ranges and cycle times and, comparing them to our own, I sat back in despair. There were just too many places they could go before we’d have the chance to catch up with them.
“Let's see what we can do to help the locals,” I finally said with resignation. I hated this feeling of helpless failure. In the previous systems, I could at least blame the locals for being complete heels, since there was nothing we could do when arriving too late. This time however, I got here in time, catching them in the act and the pirates slipped right through my fingers.
It turned out that unlike in previous systems, there were wrecked and damaged structures still in orbit around Liverwurst, and the Lucky Clover and her shuttles were able to do quite a bit of good.
The Pirates also hadn’t been able to make off with the entire orbital work force this time. It looked like interrupting them in the middle of their pillage had done a small bit of good. At least a few hundred Liverwurst civilians would spend another day living free.
With our help, and these surviving orbital workers, hopefully the Liverwurst System would be able to recover from this blow and carry on.
I did have one question for the Planetary Governor, though.
“What about your System Defense Force,” I asked the short, pale man on the screen. “We didn’t see any sign of it.”
The Liverwurst Governor flushed and then went pale. “We couldn’t afford to purchase our own ships outright, so we hired a pair of mercenaries. A Corvette and the Destroyer. When word reached us that the Empire had withdrawn from our section and there was a breakdown in authority, one of the mercenaries left the system. The Captain of the Destroyer wouldn’t tell us what was going on, but it became pretty obvious what was going on when the missing Corvette turned up along with the rest of the pirates you encountered. The Destroyer joined the others and immediately seized control of one of our orbital factories,” he said grimly.
“Ouch,” I winced, “I guess this just goes to show that it's best to keep defense in your own two hands, as much as possible.”
“You’re right, Admiral Montagne,” he said, nodding his head. “We had an orbital defense battery, but the Destroyer took it out as soon as the rest of the pirates jumped in system.”
“A bad business. I hope my ship and I get the chance to catch up with those faithless mercenaries,” I said with conviction. The thought of taking someone’s money, then at the first sign of weakness wrecking everything they’d struggled to build and taking the people who had been paying you as slaves… made my stomach turn.
“I don’t know how we’re going to recover from this and figure out how to pay for ships of our own, but Liverwurst will survive. You can count on that,” said the little politician, sounding like he was already practicing his lines for a stump speech.
I turned my head under the guise of looking at something important just so I could roll my eyes without him seeing it. “We’ll do everything we can to help out, while we’re here, Governor,” I said sincerely. At this point there was no hope of tracking down the little squadron of pirates. The best thing we could do was preserve and repair as much of the damaged habitats, and the single stripped and shot-up factory still in orbit.
“You don’t know how grateful we in Liverwurst are that you came along when you did,” the Governor said with desperate gratitude.
I couldn’t help the skeptical look that crept across my features, but in the face of the man’s earnestness I couldn’t help but feel the skepticism fade away and a genuine smile take its place.
“Gratitude seems to be in short supply for our efforts along the Rim," I said gratefully. "At least so far, Governor. It's nice to finally see some. On behalf of myself and my crew, if there’s anything we can do while we’re here, just let us know and we’ll do our best,” I finished, happy to see a smiling face and words of thanks instead of the usual scowls, insults and threats of contacting an assemblyman to lodge an official complaint.
We spent nearly a full week wrangling floating orbital structures and patching holes. We even helped them get one of their pillaged factories' damaged secondary extruders functioning again. The primary had been removed and both secondaries riddled with blaster and plasma bolts. That one was a complete loss, but taking it down to parts and using the machine shop on the Lucky Clover, we were able to get the other one up and working again before we took off.
The locals were unhappy to see us go but really, every day we spent there was another one for the Pirates to attack and damage other unsuspecting worlds on the Rim. I just couldn’t justify hanging around any longer.
During our time in Liverwurst, the command team brainstormed every possible solution to being bigger and slower than our piratical counterparts. Nothing we came up with so far was either palatable or, if palatable, it was pretty impractical. The only thing that might have a chance was to do as Admiral Janeski had done: hide our ship near something the Pirates were almost certain to come after, and then lay in wait.
We had no missiles, and I wasn’t about to strew Lancers on ballistic courses all over the system in the hopes the pirates would slow down enough for the individual Lancers to match velocity and try to board.
From there the ideas became much further fetched.
As far as I could tell, pretending to be pirates ourselves and getting in as close as possible was our best and only chance, next to the trap scheme, which required an extended commitment in one system.
With no great solutions, we’d done all we could in this system.
Point transferring out of the system, we started what was to be a long and very unappreciated haul along the border of Rim space.
The next system had also been hit by pirates. However, their pair of system defenders had pulled off some insane maneuvers and convinced the pirates to back off and go try their luck elsewhere.
The Governor was glad to see us but not overly excited. She soon warmed up though, after I volunteered the services of our Engineering department.
“I understand the Imperials pulled out, and I hope they don’t think there won’t be a number of expensive lawsuits filed against them in court,” she said scowling. “But I have to say, I’m not terribly impressed with the Confederation’s lackluster response to this crisis. The commander of our little SDF tells me you have one big, old lug of a ship, too large to properly chase down these vultures. It's more properly suited for the line of battle than pirate hunting, from what I'm told.”
“I assure you that the Lucky Clover has driven off, and actually captured a number of pirate vessels,” I said, feeling myself bristle at our implied impotence. I hated it when even the uneducated locals could point out glaring holes in my plans.
She gave me a skeptical look then decided to let it pass. “Regardless, how many ships have the Core Worlds, at least what passes for Core Worlds in this Sector, ponied up to help those of us being attacked here on the Rim,” she asked with a penetrating gaze.
Unable to meet her gaze, I eventually broke down and told her the truth. “The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet is an organization started by the Confederated Empire before it pulled out of the sector. We started out as an at-will organization, and most of the warships in the Fleet have already been recalled to their home-worlds,” I said bluntly.
Her gaze seemed to look right through me. “Yet here you are,” she said wisely.
“Here we are," I agreed, "and hopefully here we’ll stay until the bitter end, or at least until after we deal with the pirates rampaging through the sector,” I finished, glad to gloss over the subject as best I could.
“The border is on fire,” the Governor said frankly, “you’ve got to find the pirates and crush them.”
I nodded my agreement, but we both knew this was easier said than done.
We left that system as quickly as we could manage, since they had sustained the least amount of actual damage of any planet we had visited to that point.
The next several systems were hit and miss. Some had already been raided, others had driven off their piratical allies with some losses. Several had been overlooked, and there was no evidence of pirates ever being anywhere in those system.
It was in one of these unaffected systems that we caught our next glimpse of the mysterious pirate with all the little gunships, and what we had since identified as an old Pterodactyl Class Corvette. Back in its heyday, the Pterodactyl had been known for an extra large shuttle bay, and shuttle repair facilities.
Probably why Mr. Mysterious, with his prejudice against ‘base-stock’ had picked it. We estimated the large shuttle bay just might be able to handle the gunships without much modification.
“Contact,” yelled a sensor operator, fear and excitement warring within in her voice.
“Identify and forward it to tactical and the main screen,” snapped Tremblay, upset at either her emotional outburst, the appearance of something unexpected, or both.
The sensor operator looked a little shame-faced at her conduct and snapped off a, “Yes sir,” before hunching over her console to hide her face.
Tactical sounded excited. “I’m getting a match from the ships in our recently encountered database,” exclaimed one of the tactical trainees, “that ship matches the profile of the Pirate who got away from us back in Nova-Practica!”
I flashed my teeth. “I guess it’s a small world after all,” I remarked coldly.
The First Officer smirked, “Looks like ‘Monkey-boy' and his gun ships are back for round two,” he said.
I gave him a quelling look. “I don’t hold with prejudice against Gene-mods,” I said, perhaps a bit hypocritically. I wondered if I would be so pro-tolerance if I didn’t strongly suspect some genetic tampering in my own back ground. To say nothing of my wife, who I was certain had been gene-engineered to impressive, even incredible standard.
“I was just using the same name his former pirate colleagues gave us. I can’t help it if he refuses to properly identify himself to us,” said the First Officer, doing his best to look innocent.
“He called himself Primarch Glue,” I reminded the Lieutenant.
Officer Tremblay affected a surprised look. "Why, so he did, Sir. I’ll have to remember that the next time I have need to reference him,” said Tremblay, his voice full of false contrition.
I wasn’t buying it for a minute, but decided to let it drop.
This Pirate already knew us, so there was no point in trying to disguise our true natures. He wasn’t going to buy anything we were selling today.
Surprisingly, the Pirate Corvette decided to make a run into the system despite our presence, and the presence of two SDF Corvettes.
As we watched, miniature gunships started spitting out the hind end of the Pirate Corvette. One by one, until the whole little swarm was present. Then the Pirate Commander, this Primarch Glue did something strange.
He split his force, sending his Corvette racing into the system one way and the swarm of gunships another.
“Which one do we go after first, Admiral,” asked Tremblay.
I was really torn. On the one hand, I had seen what those gunships had done to the two Corvettes, so I didn’t necessarily want to send the little SDF force to meet the same fate as the pirates I’d seen get trounced earlier. On the other hand, there was no way this Battleship could catch even one gunship, let alone the whole pack.
Tremblay spoke up. "We would probably do better keeping close to the industrial targets, since we know those are their objectives. If this 'Primarch' isn't determined to just tuck his tail and run off, he'd have to come to us, and his force's maneuverability will lose a lot of its tactical value."
Following this sage advice, I ordered us to turn back to the system factories and instructed the orbital habitats to fire their maneuvering thrusters to get as close together as they could for our protection.
While Primarch Glue led the two system defenders a merry chase, we focused on the action soon to take place here in the heart of the system.
We got as close to the twenty or so floating space factories and habitats as we could, and then sat and waited.
We didn’t have to wait very long. These little gunships weren’t the fastest craft our staff had ever seen, but compared to our ship and even the system defense Corvettes, they were quicker than anything I had personally seen so far.
Surprisingly, by the time the little gunships actually got close to within range of the Lucky Clover, the pirate Corvette had also made its way into the same general vicinity.
The System Defense Corvettes were having trouble keeping up with the Pirate Corvette. For such an ancient ship design, I was forced to wonder just what Glue had managed to put underneath the hood of that thing.
When the little pirate gunships came at us, they acted with surprising uniformity and almost to the second, every single ship broke wide to go around us.
Prepared for this eventuality, our Helmsman jerked us almost immediately into a full burn maneuver. I could actually feel some of the gee forces in the turn as it temporarily got away from the stabilizers.
Unfortunately, just as we were ready for their maneuver, the little gunships were ready for ours. Screaming away almost as soon as they registered our movement, all but one of the little gunships managed to avoid our long ranged turbo-batteries.
Tactical erupted into cheers when gunnery managed to bracket that lone gunship with a pair of withering shots. The little gunship’s shields flared and overloaded, and it went into some kind of uncontrolled spin.
We started to creep closer to the now dead gunship with the intention of finishing it off, when the little ship suddenly regained power and fired up its main engines. It was close and our gunners lobbed as many shots as they thought might have the remotest possibility of hitting the miniature ship, but in the end it managed to crawl out of our weapons envelope.
Giving up on that ship, we turned back to deal with ones that got around us. Surprisingly, while they pumped a few shots into the automated industry in this system, most notably the orbital factory stations, the gunships didn’t try to do any damage to the habitat or trading outpost.
Before we could get back there in time to do anything more than watch the planet’s orbital defense turret fire a few shots, the gunships streaked around our effective weapons range and back out into cold space. Clearly, they were heading away from the planet and its critical industry.
“I wonder why our friend Glue decided not to do more damage on his way through,” the First Officer asked in amazement.
The answer seemed obvious to me, so Tremblay was likely letting his bigoted bias against gene-mods affect his thinking. “Probably he hopes to come back and raid the system later. By damaging the factories, he makes sure they can’t build any new defenses in the meantime,” I said sourly.
Tremblay grimaced. “I should have seen that. Plus, I suppose a trained orbital workforce is worth more than whoever they’d be able to replace the men and women he killed with,” the lieutenant said shaking his head.
I wanted to order a pursuit, but for all I knew Primarch Glue was trying to draw us away from the orbital infrastructure so he could double back and go for a second try at the potential honey pot.
I gave the order to stay back and guard the fort, after which all I could do was sit and watch as the local System Defense Force shadowed the Pterodactyl until the pirate had recovered his little attack craft and jumped out of the system.
Frustrated and impotent, we hung around long enough to make sure the piratical Primarch had no immediate intentions of returning to the system. There wasn’t a whole lot we could do that the locals couldn’t, as far as repairing their lightly damaged factories. And just like that, it was time to jump to the next system on our list.
We’d been gone longer than intended due to all the emergency relief and repair efforts, so I decided to stay within the sector and double back, instead of running back along the same systems we’d just been through. I worked with the navigator to plot a course that would take us deeper into the sector and wave the flag in a few systems slightly behind the border.
The systems we encountered on our way back home were more slightly developed and generally had larger SDF contingents. Instead of the standard pair of system Corvettes, they had three or four Corvettes. Sometimes they even had a larger vessel such as a Destroyer, or an aged Medium Cruiser.
We only ran across one system that had been completely savaged by raiders, with the local defense force annihilated. Either captured or destroyed.
At first the locals thought we were part of the pirate fleet, returned to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. Apparently there was a small pirate fleet operating in the neighborhood with a pair of ships the locals thought matched the profile of our Battleship.
It took awhile to calm the locals down enough to get any sort of solid information. When we did, it was sketchy at best. The Pirates had come out of nowhere and invaded the system. The local SDF were knocked out and boarded, then the pirates had proceeded to loot and plunder the orbital infrastructure. Only instead of simply destroying what they couldn’t take and promptly leaving, these pirates stayed here for two weeks, systematically stripping everything of value before taking off, the holds of their captured merchant ships filled to the brim with fifty years worth of hard labor it took the planet to build up from scratch. They’d even sent expeditions down to the surface to capture highly trained technical personnel.
As soon as the locals finally started to believe we were part of a legitimate Confederation Fleet, I was again treated to an angry tirade about my complete and utter failure as an Admiral and patrol force. With threats to contact their assemblyman still ringing in my ears, I headed out of my ready room and back on the bridge.
“Another frustrated local politician about to lose his job,” asked Tremblay playfully. He had gotten better at hiding his true meaning over the last few weeks, and I couldn't tell if he was sniping only myself, or if he included the planet's Governor, also.
I barked a laugh at this. “That about sums it up. Why does everyone I encounter seem to think I should have shown up within hours of the attacks?” I asked grimly. It was nice to finally put my frustration into words.
The First Officer looked surprised then raised his eyebrows. “I would suppose it's because they, like the rest of the civilized interstellar community, are used to a functioning com-stat network,” he said, as though it should be painfully obvious.
I slapped my hand to my forehead, only half mockingly.
“Before the Imperials self-destructed the sector communication network," Tremblay continued, "there were links between every world out here on the Rim and all throughout the sector. Between that and the roving Imperial Patrols,” he quirked a smile, “like we used to be, the local governors could send out an emergency distress call and be answered by an Imperial cruiser. Sometimes within hours, others it might take as much as a day. Regardless, the pirates knew it was a crapshoot, whether or not they could get in and get out before the Imperials had time to get here.”
I nodded, having thought this through previously, but never really stopping to think about the psychological effect this type of new-found isolation might have on the people out along the Rim.
“Whether or not they could get in and out fast enough was the only real question," the First Officer continued, "but there were always opportunities to systematically loot the local inhabited planets, like we see happening here,” he finished.
“We take four times as long to cycle our engines,” I said with a dawning realization. "If we knew who was under attack and just had a dozen or so ships spread throughout the sector, I bet we could take care of the pirates,” I said.
“Imagine that,” the former Intelligence Officer said mockingly. I shot him a hard look.
“What if the pirates just cut the link to a star system? No one would know anything until the next tramp freighter came passing through the area,” I demanded.
“There were routine updates built into the system, and with multiple links to other civilized worlds, the odds of two or more FTL comm. stations going silent around the same time is effectively nil. The Imperials had the policy that if any planet went silent, they immediately dispatched a reconnaissance in force,” Lieutenant Tremblay said seriously.
“Remind me how expensive a Com-Stat network is again,” I invited, covering my eyes. I didn’t want to hear the answer.
“Same as last time we talked. It took the Empire years and billions upon billions of credits to extend their network throughout the Confederation. The cost of setting up a full scale network in this Sector alone is simply staggering,” Officer Tremblay said and pursed his lips.
“Another thing to thank our former Imperial benefactors for,” I said bitterly.
“Spilt milk,” Tremblay said simply.
That callous, 'one world' provincial attitude of his really got under my skin sometimes. I wanted to shout at Raphael Tremblay and shake him until he was seeing the same injustice and actual harm that I was.
The sad fact was that he probably did see everything I did, and ultimately he just interpreted the data differently. He wanted to view everything through a Caprian SDF perspective, where the problems of other worlds just weren’t that important unless and until they threatened to spill over and effect our home world.
It's not that he didn’t care for the millions or billions that might be impacted. In his mind, that was the job of the Empire or the Confederation. He thought of himself as a Caprian SDF Officer and not only didn’t think of himself as part of the Confederation Fleet, he actively didn’t want to be a part of any such organization.
Right now he was happy being an SDF Officer, first and only. Who knew if time and events would change the man, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath. I wondered just how many members of the crew shared his attitude, and I shuddered a little.
We continued on our patrol route home after exiting the system. The longer this mission took, the more anxious I became. We needed to get back to Tracto and make sure everything was still okay. After seeing all the rampant destruction out here on the Rim, I was liable to do myself permanent harm if I came back to see the same thing had happened back home in the Tracto System.
Chapter 20: A Transfer Unwanted
One of the three main hatches on the portside gunnery deck slid open, but the Chief Gunner ignored it.
“I want you to tighten up the hydraulics on this heavy laser, and no fooling around with the gimbals now, 'cause that’s not the problem,” he instructed sharply.
“But Chief!” exclaimed the Assistant Gunner manning the heavy laser, while the Gunner’s Mate who actually claimed to be in charge of firing the thing nodded his head in agreement, “we’ve been over the hydraulics three times now. There’s no way it's anything but the gimbal!”
Chief Bogart stepped up until he was in the face of the Assistant Gunner, “Did I or didn't I just say it wasn’t the Murphy Cursed gimbal,” he snarled, his face turning an angry shade of purple. The other man just gobbled and tried to lean back, but the Chief was having none of it. “I’ve been riding a gun deck for over fifty years now. Worked my way up through the ranks doing every job from grease monkey to gunner to deck chief, so if I look at it and say it's not the gimbal, that means it's not the blasted gimbal!”
“Yes, Chief,” wheezed the Assistant Gunner, looking like he was about to swallow his own tongue.
“Hydraulics, the fire-control computer or simple human error are the three most likely culprits here,” he ticked off each option with a finger before leaning back to sweep the three man crew on this mount with a gaze suddenly as cold and bleak as a rogue comet, “that said, the more you stand around arguing when by all rights you should be doing your job and carrying out your blasted orders, the more I’m starting to lean towards the third option,” he finished with a growl.
The gun's crew quite literally jumped before scrambling to check the hydraulic system.
“Grease monkey!” hollered the Gun Chief.
A head popped up from the next turret down. “Yes, Chief,” said a junior rating, jumping up and hurrying over, “just a second chief,” hurried the rating as he hopped over.
“Go to our Engineering liaison and tell him we need a System Analyst to come take a look at a faulty fire-control program,” he barked.
“You got it, Chief,” grinned the rating, taking off at a run before the Bogart had a chance to tear into him for standing around and getting mouthy.
“Cheeky sod,” growled the Chief Gunner turning away from the heavy laser. Behind him someone cleared their throat.
“Who in the green blazes,” started the Gunnery Chief rounding on whoever it was that thought it be a sweet idea to interrupt his inspection rounds. The gun crews were green and these mounts weren’t going to check themselves.
He opened his mouth to proffer a profanity-laden rebuke, and found himself looking into the chest of the largest rating in a ship’s uniform with gunnery patches he’d ever seen. His gaze went higher and higher until he had to crane his neck to meet the gaze of the man standing behind him.
His jaw clenched as he recognized the man. “What do you think you’re doing here on my gun deck,” he demanded, sticking his finger into the chest of the rating, “playing some kind of prank on the Department Head?” he barked.
“No, Sir,” said the rating, his eyes hard. The hulking crewman clenched his fists reflexively as the Gunner glared at him.
“Is this some kind of joke,” growled the Chief Gunner. It was hard to properly get ‘in the face’ of someone when your head only came up to his shoulders, but Bogart had been a top gunner for a long time, so he still managed fairly well. “Come to try for a rematch, then,” he barked, his jaw jutting forward defiantly, “I took you once, and by Saint Murphy’s polished guns, I can take you again.”
The Tracto-an dressed as one of the gun crew just shook his head and glared at the Chief Gunner. “No joke,” growled the angry native, thrusting a paper hard copy into his face, “transfer orders,” the Tracto-an Lancer all but snarled. “I’ve fought and killed Imperial Marine Jacks, slaughtered Sky Demons by the dozens, but one bar fight and,” the Lancer let go of the papers and balling up one fist slammed it onto his other open hand, “exiled.”
The gunner snagged the papers before they fell to the floor and leaned back. “Exiled you say,” he glared back at the brute and took a quick glance at the hard copy. At first blush they looked like an interdepartmental transfer order.
“My team leader does it to shame me,” said the Lancer, the very same man the Bogart had knocked out at the beginning of the bar fight and had subsequently kept his mouth shut to the First Officer down in medical. “No one thought the First Officer would endorse the transfer.”
“Twistier than a desert dragon, that one,” agreed the Gunner, taking a look at the signatures on the bottom of the orders.
“But I can take you any time, old man,” grunted the Lancer, looking ready to kill.
The chief gunner rolled up the hard copy into a small paper cylinder and smacked it into the Lancer’s chest. “Every new recruit in the gunnery department starts at the bottom of the heap as a simple grease monkey,” he growled, meeting the Lancer’s angry glare, “learn your job and pass the entrance tests for the next level and you can challenge your way up the ranks. You’re too junior to step up to me, but I’ll be ready and waiting to hand you your head as soon as you educate yourself enough to try,” he said flatly.
The Lancer shook his head disbelievingly. “You’re not going to reject the transfer and send me back,” he demanded, looking furiously disappointed
Chief Bogart looked at him in disbelief, “Are you crazy,” he asked shaking his head, “and let that jumped up pipsqueak of a First Officer think I’m too old and feeble to handle an oversized killer like you?”
The Lancer’s eyes turned into molten pools of fury.
“Besides, this is the best department on the ship. Being sent to the gun deck isn’t exile, it’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you in your entire life,” Bogart began. Then his eyes narrowed, “If you’re too stupid to realize this as fact,” his lips slowly spread into an evil smile, “then it's time we educated you.” Bogart held the Tracto-an's furious gaze for a moment, then turned and roared, “Grease Monkey!”
Another fresh young Caprian came running up. “Yes, Chief,” asked the rating.
“Got us a new recruit, see he gets squared away and oriented to his new duties,” instructed Bogart with a sneer.
“Chief…,” the rating said dubiously, looking at the giant Tracto native, “you want me to show a Lancer around the deck?”
“Show this new Grease Monkey of ours,” the Chief Said slowly enunciating the Lancer’s new title, “around the deck, and if he has any problems with his new duties, make sure to send him my way,” he ordered, knuckles popping as he clenched his right hand into one of his infamous iron fists. “I’m sure I can sort out any of his confusion right away,” he said while meeting the gaze of the Lancer who looked like nothing so much as a giant crazed attack dog at that moment. Fortunately, the Chief knew how to deal with everything from fresh-faced recruits right off the farm, all the way to hardened conscripts performing mandatory service to the crown as payment for their crimes. He could deal with one barbarian wannabe Lancer, or he didn’t deserve to be called chief of the deck.
Bogart reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a cigar, promptly chomping off the tip. Chewing the end in his mouth before spitting it out on the deck, he shook his head as he watched the big brute being led off to the grease pit to get oriented to his new duties
Chapter 21: A Little Glue Goes A Long Ways
We were over half-way back to Tracto and our burgeoning little home base when we ran across yet another system being actively looted by raiders.
“Point Emergence,” reported the Navigator.
There were a few tense seconds as the Sensor Operators got busy populating the main screen with the results of their scans.
“Looks like we’re where we’re supposed to be,” said the Navigator with a sigh.
“Extending baffling beyond inertial field and activating main engine at minimal levels,” declared the Helmsman.
“Sump Resistance at 37 gravities and holding steady,” reported the Science Officer.
“Engine at 20% of maximum,” said the Helmsman. “Inertial Sump lock is still in place. We’re not going anywhere just yet.”
“Shields properly modulated for a Sump Slide,” declared the man at shields.
“This should be an easy one,” said Science Officer Jones. “The resistance is really quite minimal when you compare it to many of our previous transfers.”
The First Officer glared at the Jones, but since he’d already done his job, Tremblay didn’t take the immediate opportunity to reprimand the other man specifically. “Let's stick to what we can see on our computer screens, people,” Tremblay barked.
I still found a moment to be thankful for the lack of lurches, surges or sudden bangs, while I contemplated the Science Officer’s growing willingness to speak up. It was nice to see him opening up again. Just so long as he was willing to stay on task and focused, I didn’t mind a little side talk.
“Engine at 29% of maximum,” reported the Helmsman. “Lighting up both secondaries now.”
“Shield strength at 95% and holding,” reported the shield operator. “The shield regeneration is keeping up with the sump drain,” he remarked.
“Engines two and three are lit. We’ve increased our thrust," there was the barest hint of a sensation in my stomach, "and we’re free,” Helmsman DuPont said with a smile. “I’d like to see the helmsman and ship that can make a smoother transition that this one.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” I said, stifling a laugh before Lieutenant Tremblay had the opportunity to rip into DuPont. “Let's stay focused. We’re in a new and potentially hostile system. Raiders have been crawling all over this part of the sector, so let's try and stay focused, hmm.”
“Yes, Sir,” muttered the Helmsman while he tried to hide a smile behind his hand. Tried and failed.
I was forced to glare at him to keep up appearances, but behind my mask I was actually relieved to see some of the previous doldrums leaving the bridge crew. I had to remind myself that most of the crew up here had been on the job for only a couple months. Before that, some of them had received training as backup bridge personnel, and some of them hadn’t. There were more than a couple who had volunteered to fill the holes and were still on the receiving end of on the job training.
My happy musings were interrupted by a shout from the sensor section.
“Contact! I’m relaying the information over to tactical for a confirmation,” the woman at sensors said, her fingers flying over her consol.
“I’m just getting it now,” said the grey bearded officer in charge of the tactical section this shift.
“I can’t be sure,” said the sensor operator, her shoulders tense, “but it looks like a Pterodactyl Class and a pair of merchants are hooked up to the system’s orbital factories.”
I gripped the side of my command chair and leaned forward. All around me I could see the tension sweep through the Flag Bridge. I opened my mouth to issue orders, but the crew beat me to it.
“Calculating a least-time intercept course, will forward to the helm” said the Navigator briskly.
“I’m on it,” DuPont promptly replied. On the screen, the little icon representing our ship began to rotate and start accelerating.
I opened my mouth again, this time turning but yet again I was anticipated.
“I can confirm with 95% certainty,” reported the Tactical Officer, “that it's the same Corvette with the little gunship parasites.”
“I’ve got a crippled Corvette operating under minimal power, which is why I didn’t spot it before. Looks like it's limping out of the system for a jump point,” said one sensor operator.
“I’ve got two more. One's a damaged Destroyer, the other a Corvette that’s been cracked in half….” the second operator gave a short pause, then nodded, “I can verify. The Destroyer is also headed out-system.”
“Another drifting Corvette, this one looks like it's been through the ringer. From what I can see, the engines are a total loss,” said a third sensor operator. The revolving door that was the sensors section was just too turbulent for me to try learning names at this point.
As I sat there and listened, the tally ran up to a Destroyer and two Corvettes, all damaged but making their way to a jump point, and an additional three Corvettes either destroyed or too damaged to be of any immediate use.
“What are they squawking, people,” Officer Tremblay cut in with a carrying voice. “Are these local SDF ships? And if so, where are the rest of the pirates!”
There was a short pause. Then Ex-Com broke the silence. “None of the ships in the system are squawking anything. Not so much as a peep. They’re all running silent, First Officer Tremblay,” said the communications technician.
Tremblay, myself and the wizened Tactical Officer all shared a look.
What kind of warship shows battle damage, is running silent, under minimal power, and was looking to jump out of the system? All while the system’s orbital industry was being actively looted?
Yeah, not a lot of guesses need to go into figuring that one out.
“I think the only real question is, do we make for the presumably captured SDF ships, or hightail it directly toward the industrial node,” observed Tremblay.
“We could always dispatch a couple shuttles full of Lancers and just head directly to the Pterodactyl and the system factory complex ourselves,” I suggested.
The Tactical Officer decided to weigh in. “Sure, those warships are all shot to Hades, but if there’s anything resembling a working weapon on those ships, they’ll try to light up our shuttles for sure and certain. There will be losses,” said the grey bearded tactical officer flatly.
Both the other officers looked at me. I sat there and tried not to look like I was busy chewing my mental fingernails. I hated the thought of losing anyone, and if we charged right into the heart of the system, there was no certainty the Pterodactyl wouldn’t just flee.
On the other hand, if we left now we could probably intercept the slower merchant ships trying to take off with this system’s vital industrial equipment.
I was genuinely torn. In the end I tried to imagine what I would think if I was one of the Lancers about to be blown out of space by a crippled Corvette or Destroyer. All I could picture was a group of bloodthirsty native Tracto-an Lancers bouncing off the walls of the Imperial Strike Cruiser, howling for blood. Or tearing apart Bugs. Or upset they hadn’t been chosen to go bring the rebel Medium Cruisers to heel.
With a phantom Tracto battle cry still ringing in my ears, I made a decision I was sure I would only come to regret later on.
“Dispatch the shuttles,” I said, my face hardening as I came to grips with the decision. “The Lancers know what is asked of them, and this is right up their alley. If we can get this system's people back their industry and a few of their own warships to protect it after we leave, we have to at least make the attempt.”
The First Officer frowned and the Tactical officer turned his palms up and spread his fingers before turning back to their duties.
It took a while to notify the Lancers and then load the companies that were to be dispatched into their shuttles. Away went the shuttles, carrying about five hundred men in all. Decked out in battle armor and sporting blasters and plasma rifles, they were a force to be reckoned with. Even the Imperial Marine Jacks had found them a tough opponent to crack.
We had numbers on the Jacks during our last engagement, but they just as clearly had superior battle suits and the technological edge, to say nothing of better training and tactics. We won, but it had been a bloody and costly victory. We lost almost three to one but emerged triumphant, and I was really hoping for a better showing this time around.
The Lancer Colonel had once again decided to deploy himself at the first sign of danger and ride alongside his men in the shuttles. Last time we’d seen such an engagement he’d drawn the easier of the two tasks. It looked like this time he’d be seeing the worst of the action, as far as the Lancer contingent was concerned.
Then there was nothing to do but sit and wait.
The first three shuttles full of Lancers arrived at their Corvette target before Lucky Clover was anywhere near the inhabited planet and its orbital industry.
At first, reports were all positive. The Corvette only had a pair of working heavy laser turrets, and although the shuttles took some serious damage getting in close, none were destroyed and losses among the Lancers were reported as minimal. So far, so good.
I was intently watching the view screen when the Ex-Com became agitated. “Come again, Lancer Command,” said the Ex-Com technician, pressing his ear bud firmly into his ear. “You’re breaking up. Please repeat your last transmission,” said the Ex-Com.
“Trouble?” I asked calmly. I felt tense but needed to maintain an unworried front. 'Sweat goes before blood' had been one of the mottos at Royal finishing school, and I'd never been fond of bleeding, so I didn't want anyone to see me sweat.
“I was just starting to get reports of resistance inside the ship when communications started breaking up,” the man reported.
My blood chilled. I tried to remind myself that increased resistance and a sudden communications blackout didn’t have to be related, but even I wasn’t buying that line.
“Monitor the frequencies and inform me as soon as you have anything. Meanwhile, we’ll continue on course as planned,” I said in my command tone. A hundred and fifty power armored lancers should have been more than enough to deal with a fully crewed Corvette, let alone one that had experienced so much battle damage recently.
What could my men have run into that was tough enough to give a reinforced company of Lancers trouble?
The External Communications Technician started bouncing in his chair. “I’ve got something for you, Admiral,” he said with a grin. Static blared over the intercom before the technician got the sound fixed. “Sorry, Sir,” he said sheepishly. Then a transmission started coming through.
“--- say again, this is Hold Mistress Akantha,” her voice broke up again.
My heart jumped up to my throat and then plummeted so fast and far that I'm pretty sure it was no longer inside my body.
“Oh, curse this stupid long-talker,” Akantha’s voice came back over the intercom. There was the sound of a piece of metal being struck repeatedly against a hard surface.
I placed a hand on my forehead and looked at the ceiling, unwilling to meet the gaze of anyone on the Flag Bridge right at that moment.
“If you can hear me, they are big and well armored, almost strong enough to fight a man in power armor,” there was a pause and the sound of a blaster being fired repeatedly. “Ugly beast,” she snarled and there was a sharp series of clangs. Akantha grunted and was breathing heavily, followed by the shriek of tortured metal. Servos whined in the background. Whatever she was doing had both her and her battle suit working full-out.
What was that foolish woman thinking! I swear, her innate savagery was going to get her killed someday. If I’d had any inkling she was going to hop on the first shuttle over to the captured SDF warships, I would have found some way to stop her.
Which was probably why she didn’t say anything to me before she went, and that’s only if she actually thought she needed my permission as Admiral to do any blasted thing she felt like.
There was another patch of static. When the sound cut back in Akantha was speaking. “---creatures may be demon ugly, but they have the heart of true warriors,” she crowed.
“Can you get through to her and ask if they need reinforcements,” I asked, unable to contain myself any longer.
Before the Ex-Com could answer, Akantha unknowingly interrupted.
“Either we come home holding our shields high, or we’ll be carried back on them. Such foes! For Argos, and the Clover!” Akantha cried and the transmission ended.
If I had kept the habit of appearing on the Flag Bridge in power-armor, another repair team would have been needed to fix the arms of my command chair. As it was, my fingers pressed so hard that afterward I realized I had bruised them.
While my face was a well-trained mask of unconcern, my body language may have given away the game. A number of the bridge staff cast me worried looks.
I looked straight at the main screen with my jaw set, ignoring all of them. I couldn’t give voice to my worries or otherwise vent my anger. The actions of this woman seemed to be entirely outside of my ability to control. However, we were long overdue for a heart to heart on the subject of her leaving the ship to participate in boarding actions.
If I went and got myself killed, someone else could always replace me. I wasn’t a trained military officer. However, the lives of the Belters in orbit and the settlers on the Messene peninsula were directly linked to her willingness to let them live on her land.
If she died before the status of the settlers was regularized with the Confederation, I shuddered to think what might happen. They could still be prosecuted for planetary piracy and executed, if things took a wrong turn in the high courts.
But there was literally nothing to do but sit and stew over it. I managed to concoct an effective mixture of anger, frustration and fear regarding Akantha that I quickly became numb. I would have to wait until word arrived with her fate.
The battle on the Corvette eventually wound down into another bloody success as the last pockets of opposition were swept up. Unlike in the battle with the Imperial Marine Jacks where no quarter was asked for or given, it seemed in this case our Lancers had some prisoners.
MPF Lucky Clover bore down on the still motionless piratical merchant ships. Soon we’d be close enough that even if they broke orbit immediately, there was no way they could escape our ponderous might.
Then the Pterodactyl fired up its engines and pointed its nose in our direction. Amazing as it seemed, the little warship was now heading straight for us.
“Must be a bluff of some kind,” First Officer Tremblay scoffed.
I quirked my lips but refrained from saying anything.
One of the pirate merchantmen retracted its airlock and hightailed it toward the nearest point transfer area. The second merchantman was still docked with an orbital factory.
“I don’t know what could possibly be going through the minds of those pirates,” the grey bearded tactical officer said with a frown. “There’s no way that merchantman still tied up to the factory can escape us now.”
“We have you now,” Tremblay said triumphantly.
“Let's not count our chickens before they’re hatched, Lieutenant,” I cautioned. I figured they were probably right and no one would remember my words of warning, unless something went wrong and Primarch Glue and his merry band of looters managed to pull a trick or two we weren’t expecting. In which case I’d look prescient instead of overly concerned.
The Pterodactyl maneuvered to stay just outside our weapons envelope and then proceeded to the system’s single inhabited planet and the orbital industry.
Far too late to escape its fate, the second merchant man pulled away from the orbital factory. Burning for everything it was worth, the lumbering merchant vessel struggled to put on enough speed to escape.
Our tactical section was focused on that Pterodactyl with hot and hungry eyes. I was certain there were a lot of frustrated gunners locked on the little warship with their scopes, just waiting for it to make a mistake.
If Primarch Glue had hoped to get us to slow down by waving the tail end of his much faster ship in front of us, he was sadly mistaken. The pirate Corvette made several attempts to change course, beckoning for us to follow.
We weren’t taking that bait. Following a Corvette we couldn’t hope to catch or going after a much slower merchantman we could, well the choice was obvious.
Even when the Pterodactyl diverted to start firing at the remaining orbital structures, I refused to give the order to divert. After a couple minutes, the Pterodactyl rushed up and around us, until it was once again in front.
The first merchant ship was going to escape, but the second was just outside our weapons range at this point.
“Instruct all gunners to lock their weapons on the pirate merchantman and prepare to disable her engines,” said the Tactical Officer. “I want her dead in the water. Maybe the Corvette will be stupid enough to try distracting us from her, and we might get in a few lucky hits and knock her out in the process.”
The grey bearded Tactical Officer looked fierce enough to chew nails and spit screws. I wouldn’t want to be a pirate ship in his crosshairs.
Just about every sensor and targeting array was focused on the little pirate Corvette and her larger freight hauler. If the opportunity presented itself, we were determined to take down both ships. If we could only bag the merchantman, that would have to be enough but I knew that everyone on the bridge wanted to see a few well placed shots up the stern of Primarch Glue and his taunting little Pterodactyl.
When it came, the pirate's little trick took us all by surprise. In retrospect, it shouldn’t have.
“Multiple new contacts, appearing all around us, Admiral,” yelled a sensor operator. He must have been the only man with a sensor array not pointed at the two pirate starships.
Automated alarms started screaming from every console in the tactical section. On the main screen, a dozen little gunships popped to life and unleashed a hail storm of fire.
“Multiple missile locks! Activating countermeasures, Officer Trendelanberg,” shrilled one of the tactical trainees. No wonder I couldn't remember the Tactical Officer's name.
“We’re taking fire from both sides. Shields down to 84% and falling,” barked the shield operator. “Adjusting the main forward array and diverting power from the rear to compensate.”
I was slightly shocked they’d been able to do so much damage in so little time. They might be small, but those little gunships sure packed a punch!
First Officer Tremblay’s lips were drawn back, baring his teeth in a silent snarl. “Get me a count on those little parasites,” he seethed.
The shield operator continued to call out our decreasing shield strength.
One of the little boat class gunships was simultaneously struck by multiple heavy laser beams and the impacts sent it spinning. A moment later its constituent parts were scattered by a fairly satisfying, if somewhat asymmetrical explosion.
“I can confirm thirteen Boat Class Gunships. Twelve, now,” reported a member of the Tactical Section, taking obvious satisfaction in our first successful retaliation.
Then their little missiles struck our shields. They erupted with silent fury all across our shield array.
“Shields down to 60% and falling,” said the Shield Operator, speaking tightly.
“How is that even possible,” snapped Tremblay. “These things are tiny!”
“Each boat flushed four missiles at us-” the Tactical Officer began, but was cut off by a collision warning.
“ALL HANDS, BRACE FOR IMPACT,” boomed a computerized voice over the intercom.
I watched in horror as a pair of little gunships somehow found their way in through our Dreadnaught class shields.
“REPEAT: ALL HANDS, BRA-” the mechanical voice never got a chance to finish its speech.
The ship lurched and a crash could be heard all the way to the bridge. A few crewmen were thrown from their stations, but most of us managed to keep our positions. Power flickered momentarily before coming back full force.
“Starboard main trunk line was just cut. Rerouting power and data relays through redundant port line,” a damage control crewman reported tightly.
“Where’s the other one,” barked the First Officer, running to the tactical section.
“I’ve lost eyes,” yelled one of the sensor operators.
“Me too, I’ve gone blind,” another sensor operator said her voice cutting through the hubbub. “My array was physically located on the port side of the ship!”
“Get me a close-in view of the ship,” I commanded. I hated interjecting my under-informed opinion into a battle situation like this, but I couldn’t stand to not know if another gunship was going to ram into us at any time.
The main view screen shrank and I could see a gunship running nape of the hull. A hail of blaster fire came from both ends of the little attack craft. A pair of our heavy laser turrets exploded, and another sensor array was destroyed.
Then a hit from one of our heavy laser crews sent the little gunship careening away. It recovered almost instantly (which seemed impossible to me) and pointed its nose back at the hull of our Battleship, but it was too late.
The miniature gunship was just far enough over the horizon that a turbolaser smashed through its pitiful shields. I think it tried to ram us then, but a pair of heavy lasers finished the job and the craft caught fire briefly before exploding.
I reassessed my opinion of these gunships and decided that they didn’t just pack a punch. When working in concert, they could be absolutely devastating.
We all watched another gunship slipped through our firing pattern and found another hole in our shields.
“How the blazes are they doing that,” Tremblay demanded. “Do they have some kind of shield penetrating technology?”
“No.” The Tactical Officer said flatly. “The gunships on either side of our Battleship are concentrating their fire into a relatively small area and then trying to sneak a ship or two through whenever the shields start spotting.”
“That’s suicidal. They’ll be killed on the bounce, or disabled to the point our weapons will get them. Effectively, it's the same thing,” Tremblay said in disbelief.
The First Officer’s observation soon played itself out right before our eyes. One of the gunships made another impossibly quick maneuver, angling for an apparent gap in our shields, but it didn't make it. It bounced off our shields and was quickly cut to pieces by our many heavy laser arrays.
The Lucky Clover rocked again as the gunship that had successfully snuck through our shields came directly at us full speed.
“All hands, brace for impact,” said the First Officer in a loud voice.
On the screen a pair of heavy lasers lanced out and the gunship lost its shields and propulsion systems. However, it was too fast and too close, and you know what they say about bodies in motion. There was a shudder felt through the deck plates, but this one wasn't as severe as the first.
“Minor damage to one of our secondaries,” snapped the Helmsman.
“It was aiming for the engines,” the Tactical Officer reported grimly.
On the main screen, the little gunships suddenly moved from attacking the forward shields on either side, to rapidly circling around behind to attack our rear shields.
“Gunships at your rear, Shields,” snapped the Tactical Officer.
“Transferring power to compensate,” the shields officer grunted, fingers moving over his console. A second later he exclaimed, “I’ve got some spotting in the rear!”
“Already?” the Tactical Officer said in disbelief, before turning and speaking rapidly into the microphone that connected him to the gunnery deck.
“I’ve been transferring from the rear to compensate for the forward losses. It takes a few moments to reverse the process,” said an irritated shield operator.
Another Gunship bounced off the shields following a miscalculated approach, and our eager gunnery crew quickly put it out of its misery.
By this time, the gunship force was down to about half its original strength, but whoever was in those cockpits wasn’t deterred in the least. They re-concentrated and instead of trying to burn holes through two different sides simultaneously, focused all their remaining efforts on punching through in one place so they could make another suicide run on our cold space engines.
“How much damage are we looking at if one of those gunships hits us in the engines,” I demanded.
The Tactical Officer took a moment to meet my eyes. “It’d be pretty grim, Sir,” he said.
I took a deep breath and then let it out with a nod. I turned to DuPont. “Helmsman, slew us around, we can’t afford a major hit to our engines and it should make it harder for the gunships to slip through any holes in our shield,” I instructed in a cold voice.
“But the Merchant ship could get away,” argued DuPont.
“Just like it’ll get away if we lose most of our ability to accelerate in normal space. Now follow the order!” I snapped, acutely aware that a blood vessel in my forehead might burst at any moment.
“Yes, Admiral,” DuPont said with a nod.
“By all the dark Space Gods, these little buggers are fearless,” remarked Tremblay, a hint of admiration in his voice.
“They sure are,” I agreed darkly.
Another gunship bounced and immediately exploded, but this time the explosion had the effect of dropping our shield strength yet again. The shield operator moved to compensate.
“They’re down to four of the little tykes. I’d say it's all over but the crying,” Tremblay said fiercely.
I gave him a fiery grin. Payback was going to be a real witch when we got done with these little parasite ships and could turn all our attention to the still fleeing merchantman.
One of the sensor operators bolted out of his chair. “The Pterodactyl is coming around!” he exclaimed, pointing at the main view screen for emphasis.
The Tactical Officer looked startled and immediately started barking at the gunnery deck through his microphone. “Gunnery, get your act together, Bandit One is coming about!” he yelled.
Then the Primarch's Corvette launched a storm of fire into our forward shields. A number of blasts punched through our weakened sections. Following that volley, the Pterodactyl belched a small swarm of missiles at close range.
“Where did all those come from,” wondered Tremblay looking concerned.
“Looks like external launch racks of some kind,” the Tactical Officer said, sounding harried.
“Splitting power evenly between the fore and aft shields,” the shield operator said, sweat standing out on his forehead.
At this point, the Helmsman rolled the Battleship to put our port broadside on the little pirate Corvette. It was painfully obvious just how poor our maneuverability was compared to these smaller, faster craft.
A storm of fire erupted from the Lucky Clover, and by the time the missile swarm had reached our shields, our aged Battleship's batteries had overwhelmed the little Corvette and knocked it out of the fight.
With the Pterodactyl a floating wreck, I turned my attention back to the fight in our rear just in time to see the pirate gunships were down to three and one of them was through our shields.
The two gunships outside our shields stopped firing simultaneously, although they continued to maintain a distance just outside of our rear shields. They moved in an evasive pattern but I didn’t have a lot of time to focus on them as the third gunship went ballistic and slammed into one of our secondary engines.
An explosion rocked the ship and damage control started shouting into his speaker.
“I’ve got a fire on deck five and reports of major damage to the stern of the ship,” said the damage control operator as he scurried to get teams dispatched to deal with the damage.
“One of our two secondary engines is not responding,” Helmsman DuPont reported.
“Can we still catch that merchantman,” I asked quickly.
“It's possible, but I doubt it,” the Helmsman cursed. “Everything would have to keep working at current levels and Engineering would have to get that fire under control to make sure the damage is limited to one secondary engine. Also, there's no guarantee that pushing the other two won’t somehow make things worse.” DuPont looked deeply unhappy with the situation, as did I, I imagine.
Even watching as a pair of turbo-batteries knocked out the two remaining, and curiously stationary gunships wasn’t enough to lift my mood.
The Pterodactyl had provided a serious distraction at a critical point in time and because of it, a gunship had removed our ability to chase down the second and final merchantman fleeing the system.
There was no point in chasing them, not if it meant further damage to our Dreadnaught class Battleship. The Lucky Clover was a tough old bird, but she’d just taken a few hard blows. We needed time to recover and get our bearings.
I was about to ask for an updated status report when I saw several escape pods jettisoning from the Corvette.
“Get me whoever’s in command of the Lancers and tell him to get ready to retrieve me a few prisoners,” I said with more of a snarl than I had intended. “I’m curious to know what was inside those two ships that is so important to these pirates that they were willing to sacrifice themselves to secure it.”
“Odd behavior. I’d almost say unheard of,” Lieutenant Tremblay cut in. “I hope Primarch Glue was on that Corvette and is one of the survivors. I’d dearly like to ask him a few questions.”
“As would I,” I agreed. Factories might be valuable, worth mega-credits even, but a pirate by his very definition had no ties to anything greater than himself. Why would Primarch Glue, or whoever was in command of that Pterodactyl, lay down their lives so a pair of merchants stuffed with factory equipment could make good their escape? Especially when one of the ships had already escaped.
Not to mention those kamikaze gunships. Normal people just didn’t crash their little ships into larger ships at high speeds. The survival rate for that kind of thing was almost nil.
Hopefully one or two of the pilots survived as well, so they could be questioned about why they’d do a thing like that. Some kind of suicide implants perhaps? Maybe the other pirates held their families hostage? There had to be a good explanation for this sort of odd behavior.
The first images of the captured ‘pirates’ were quite shocking when they came in. They also explained quite a bit that had been puzzling my command staff. Of course, in answering one question, we only opened up several more.
Fortunately, a boarding team had found an individual trapped inside the Pterodactyl that claimed to be Glue. Hopefully this Prisoner Glue was the same person as Patriarch Glue, the pirate that had caused us so much troubled over the past few weeks.
Either way, I was looking forward to the interrogation. From inside the safe confines of my power-armor, of course.
Chapter 22: Honing A Razor
Akantha was almost glad these star-river bandits, the ones the Caprian’s liked to call ‘pirates,’ had attacked this system.
She knew in her head that her Protector had obligations to this unappreciative rump-Confederation, whatever that was. He’d explained it to her, but honestly it was hard to differentiate the Empire from the Confederated Empire, or the Confederation or the rump-Confederation.
The weeks away from her Argos, knowing that the system her Protector’s people called Tracto had just been attacked in force, were taking their toll on her ability to think straight.
Everything inside her burned to return home and see with her own eyes that her people still lived. The Sky Demons (or Bugs) were fearsome foes and the certain knowledge that they wanted to eat every last one of her people along with all other living things on her world was galvanizing, but also sickening.
Where was the honor in such actions? But of course, she reminded herself, Sky Demons had no honor. That’s why they were called Demons.
Dressed inside her armor and accompanied by her honor guard, Akantha marched into Lancer territory.
As usual, Lancer Colonel Hansel Suffic was easy to find. He was always yelling about something, you just had to listen for the sound of his voice and follow it back to the source. He was an acceptable leader of men, she thought. He probably wouldn't last a month in Argos, though.
The Lancer Colonel stopped in the middle of his tirade. “Come to wish us a victorious journey,” he said, not sounding optimistic.
“In truth, I am eager to join your victorious journey,” Akantha said pointedly.
The Lancer Colonel closed his eyes and when he opened them he sighed. “I’m through arguing with you,” he said leveling a finger at her. “So go get that suit looked at by a technician before coming back for your shuttle assignment.”
“Make sure to assign me to whichever one will meet the enemy first,” she said with a cold smile.
“Be careful,” he warned, “eventually the Prince will get tired of you running off to get killed. He might replace me with someone more likely to reign in your notions.”
“He is welcome to try,” she said coolly. Then she tried for a gracious smile. “You’re the best Lancer on the ship.”
“I’m the only fully trained Lancer on the ship is what you mean,” he grumbled.
She continued on blithely as if she hadn‘t heard his last few words. “No one can replace you. Who else could teach my people and your other ‘trainees’ the skills needed to master their suits and the fighting techniques taught among the stars,” she finished.
“I don’t have to be in command to train Lancers,” he said harshly. “The Admiral’s known for leading from the front when he sets his mind to it. I don’t know anything more likely to make a man do something foolish, like try to command both the ship and the Lancer contingent all at the same time, than having his wife running around boarding enemy ships.”
She narrowed her eyes and stared him down. “I will be part of the first wave,” she said evenly, leaving no room for further argument. She despised all of these words when action was called for. A significant failing in the culture of these 'Caprians,' she thought bitterly.
The Lancer Colonel’s mouth twisted. “As you say, Lady Akantha,” he bit out as evenly as he could.
“Indeed,” she said shortly.
The shuttle ride over to the crippled Corvette was just like the ride against the Hammerhead Cruisers. Uneventful, until the enemy started punching holes in the side of their little ship. But like every other assault she had witnessed here among the stars, there was no stopping them from reaching their quarry.
Once the shuttle was parked against the hull of the crippled ship, the tension of almost dying while they sat inside what could be their coffin faded away. In its place was an eagerness to come to grips with the enemy.
It was liberating to escape the confines of expectation. Even if only for a short while, she was no longer Akantha, Land Bride of Argos and Hold-Mistress of Messene. Instead, she was free just to be a warrior of her people and the Sword-Bearer of her fellow warriors' Warlord. She could make her own mark in this, the only available way.
Unfortunately, those warriors had their own ideas about what she could do, and her honor guard were among the worst. With so many warriors and very few enemies, everyone was burning to reach their quarry. Everyone, including her, but she was being held back by her own honor guard.
Naturally, she protested at their insistence that she wait on the shuttle, but she was outnumbered. And even in the heat before battle, she knew that she could not distract the other warriors from the task at hand. To do so was to endanger them unnecessarily, which is unacceptable to the people of Argos. Death is an accepted part of life, but unnecessary loss of life and resources is among the worst offenses imaginable.
Eventually, she relented and settled back to the simple boredom of watching a battle instead of participating in it.
When the enemy started to fight back in earnest and the long-talking devices started to malfunction, she couldn’t help a surge of hungry satisfaction. Maybe she’d get a chance at some of these enemies after all.
She did her duty, distasteful as it was, to sit there doing nothing but trying to make sense of fragments of conversation. She even tried to contact the Lucky Clover but there was no response to her hails. She suspected something was wrong and quickly bashed the long talker against the top of the table as she’d seen several of the star-born do.
Seeing one of the enemy board the shuttle, her heart quickened. She did her best to describe it, but then there wasn’t time for anything but combat.
She couldn’t suppress a thrill of excitement. If this one had slipped past her honor guard, there must be many more outside.
It had some kind of short but very wide vibro-blade. The weapon looked fittingly barbaric, since the creature definitely wasn’t human. Through the 'head bag' (she had learned the name of this device during her training aboard the Lucky Clover) it was wearing, she could see that it had a face that was mostly black surrounded by areas of very dark grey. It also seemed to have some kind of black hair-like fur. It must have been at least twice as broad as a man.
It also wasn’t wearing anything resembling power-armor. Instead, it had something that resembled nothing more than the familiar types of armor worn back on her home world. Interlocking metal plates and rings, fashioned to cover this beast's massive bulk composed the formidable suit of protection.
Leaping forward with Bandersnatch in her power-armored hands, the young Sword-Bearer delivered a punishing blow before the creature could react to her presence. The monster's weapon was extra thick and wide, so Bandersnatch only cut partway through the creature’s sword, but the strength of her servo-assisted arms was enough to push the creature back onto its heels.
Then they were clinched. Straining to force her blade into the creature, she grunted in unison with the whining of the power-armor servos. Slowly but steadily, she forced Bandersnatch towards the creature.
Realizing its doom, the demonic looking thing pulled out some kind of crystal bladed dagger and tried to stab her in the head with a series of strikes that came far more quickly than she had anticipated. It didn’t try to run or break free, instead it targeted her visor, causing it to crack and scar under the force of its blows. Then finally, her Bandersnatch pressed against its armor and with the high-pitched squeal of tortured metal, the vibro-blade cut through the demon's armor and forced its way into its vitals.
Looking down at the fallen creature, she was surprised at the look of resignation on its face as it lay gasping on the floor, blood leaking out of its body.
The thing might look like some kind of demon, but it was strong enough to fight Akantha in power-armor, and at no point had it displayed any of the ravening characteristics of other demons, either the ones out of legend or the Sky Demons who had taken her from her home.
She spoke her findings through the long talker, and then with a grin she turned to go join the storming of the ship. If the creatures were numerous and bold enough to reach the ‘shuttles,’ then every blade was needed. The arguments that she was endangering the lives of others, or depriving them of their chance at glory no longer applied.
She forced her way through the two stage airlock, and was out on the hull of the ship. A number of bodies floated or twitched around the entrance to the shuttle, their spasms accompanied by the release of blood from their wounds, which froze almost instantly in the impossible cold. However, not all the fallen were from the people who currently held the Corvette, she noticed grimly.
With a yell, she moved as quickly as was prudent on the hull of a star-ship and made to join her people in stemming the tide of these new demons.
She noticed with satisfaction that the gateway into the enemy vessel (called an 'Air Lock,' as she had learned in her studies) appeared to have been ruined by a massive explosion of some kind. Her warriors must have used one of their magical explosives to force the door, in much the same way her guard had opened the door to Jason Montagne's room. She grinned savagely and continued toward the battle.
There were a few demons fighting around the portal, obviously attempting to stop her warband from gaining entry. They would soon fail in their duty, she promised silently.
An occasional flash of a plasma or blaster rifle indicated the demons were equipped with more than just those unwieldy swords of theirs, but much like her own people, they preferred the sword.
Her blade flashed out at the nearest monster, but it parried the strike with its rifle, causing the weapon to be sundered and rendered useless. It quickly drew its blade and leapt toward her with its weapon raised over its head impossibly quickly. It obviously intended to cleave her in two.
She blocked the downward blow effectively, but her back foot lost purchase on the hull for a moment, causing her to adjust her stance and quickly parry the following attack from the demon rather than launching an attack of her own.
This was the type of battle that could be told in the shield hall without much tiresome explanation or irksome hyperbole! With a mighty overhand blow of her own, she knocked aside the enemy sword and sank Bandersnatch into the vitals of the foul creature. Pulling the blade free, she lurched as her side was struck by the blade of another demon.
The hiss of escaping air gave testament to the strength of these creatures and their weapons. Things were about to get interesting, she thought.
Chapter 23: The Interrogation
I was interested in interrogating this Glue. Very interested. Not to say I thought I could get anything out of the man, at least not anything of real value. I wasn’t a trained interrogator after all but Tremblay at least knew the basics, having been trained in intelligence. With the remains of the old security department offloaded in Easy Haven, he was the only one with any experience.
Oh, there were more than a few natives who might be interested in turning their hands to the task. Uncivilized bunch that they were, there was little I’d put past them.
So we had a medical team and the First Officer standing by in case, as was highly likely, this Glue refused to see reason. There was no need for hot pokers or whatever thoughts lurked in the brains of the native Tracto-an compliment.
Akantha was also off the ship still, I thought darkly. So there was no one on the ship to stop me from meeting this gene-enhanced individual. Out of consideration for my concerned command staff, I went to the interrogation room dressed in power-armor.
The verbal descriptions of Primarch Glue didn’t do him justice. I took one step into the interrogation room and stopped dead in my tracks.
Glue looked at me from his position seated in a reinforced chair, normally intended for a man wearing power-armor.
“Don’t look so surprised, base-stock,” the Primarch rumbled in an impossibly deep, gravelly voice. His mouth fell open, exposing his tongue in what I presumed was some sort of smile.
This…I suppose I still had to consider him a man and not a creature, unless I wanted to give the lie to all my talk of tolerance and understanding for gene-mods.
Anyway, this ‘man’ sat in his chair. He was covered with fur and must weigh almost as much as a man in power armor. Calling him a man was misleading, though. Glue was no simple gene-enhanced member of humanity.
Like everyone else, I’d heard the rumors of experiments performed by the AI’s before the end of the AI wars. Along with the majority of individuals on my planet, I’d dismissed many of those rumors as most likely false.
Now I had to re-evaluate everything I thought I knew about genetic experiments and what could actually be living out beyond the Rim of explored space.
Taking in his wide, black-skinned face, flat nose and fur covered body, a body at least two or three times as thick and wide as a standard human, I now suspected this Glue wasn’t even human.
Oh he was almost certainly of Terran origins, but he looked more gorilla than human. A gorilla with opposable thumbs and a strangely shaped head.
Seeing this Glue turn his head, I felt a sickening lurch inside my stomach caused by something entirely different from Glue’s strange genetic origins. Those origins were enough to cause a being like him to be hunted down and killed. Exile would only be possible if he was captured by open-minded Confederation civilian authorities instead of the much more purist Imperial military.
No, I considered myself in both spirit and fact to be a reasonably tolerant individual when it came to the issue of a person's heredity. What really sickened me was the sight of a number of harsh-looking implants. Crystal and metallic machinery had been installed across his skull. There was so much of it that the back of Glue’s head was almost entirely made of metal.
Whereas most unthinking bigots would kill this Glue for his racial and/or genetic origins, those of us that considered ourselves above such petty and outdated notions were just as likely to shoot this creature until it was dead because of all the implanted computer technology in his head.
Not since the AI wars had I heard of anything as intrusive as directly linking a human (or in this case I suppose the more proper term was sapient) brain directly to high tech computer hardware.
The hardware in Glue’s head was enough to ensure he was dissected after death to determine how far the technological infection had progressed, and determine what kind of threat he and his people represented to an AI-free humanity.
“Sickening,” I said coldly. I couldn’t help myself. Seeing a creature piloting starships, while it had no business being anything more than a semi-intelligent animal running around in a zoo or preservation habitat was bad enough. The fact that it was willing to put computer implants and other hardware in its head, and link that hardware directly into its brain was the crowning touch.
“This?” Glue waved a thick hairy finger at the back of his head and the technology implanted there, “Or my very existence and that of my people,” he asked thickly.
If I hadn’t known better, I would have said the creature was being deliberately provocative. On second thought, and another look at this Glue, I decided that I wasn’t giving this example of genetic uplift enough credit. Assuming this was Primarch Glue in the flesh, then the creature…or rather, the man was quite obviously intelligent and capable of higher social functions.
I grimaced in distaste, and for one of the few times in my life, I actually questioned whether it was those like Raphael Tremblay, with his unthinking pro-human bias that were right, and me with my more tolerant view that was wrong.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I forced myself back on mental track. If this was Glue, then the ‘man’ sitting here before me was none other than the most likely suspect for conquering a human system and stripping it bare of its most vital resources. To think of this thing as anything other than an intelligent and wiley opponent was the height of stupidity, arrogance and bigotry.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t begrudge you the right to exist and live a peaceful life. But piracy is beyond the pale, and that headgear you’re sporting goes against everything I believe in,” I said more grimly than I originally intended.
Glue shrugged. "Some of my people are born without the gifts a base stock like you take for granted. We see no reason for an individual to be denied the treatment needed to cure his condition. Or her condition,” Glue said with a shake of his massive head.
“Placing implants in your head is just plain wrong,” I said flatly.
Glue’s face scrunched up. “Why,” he asked.
I was flabbergasted and it took a moment to realize that, yes, Glue sounded genuinely curious as to my reasoning.
“Direct cortical interfaces were not only a significant step in the development of high functioning AI’s but also later, with the AI’s personally working on improving the technology, it led directly to the development of the slave implants of ancient times. Do you want to bring back the AI’s to plague us again? I say Man, not Machine,” I said, deliberately repeating a slogan learned in school.
Glue frowned and seemed to consider this for a moment before once again shaking his massive head. “My people have used this technology since the Sundering. When we become an intelligent people. This is before AI Wars. We have no AI’s in hundreds of years,” the creature said, apparently believing this would dismiss my worries.
“It's too great a risk,” I said reactively.
“For your people, maybe. Not for us, we have no problems. Maybe our technicians teach you safe techniques,” suggested Glue, and his eyes momentarily flashed like a predator's.
He seemed to expect my suddenly disgusted expression and proceeded to laugh in my face. It was an amazing sound, to be honest. Bi-tonal, with a bottom tone that sounded like a glacier grinding through a mountain, and the top almost perfectly human.
I did my best to keep my features under control and merely looked at the creature coldly. “What will you teach us next, piracy? Do you also honestly believe raiding the worlds of others is the right and proper way of doing things,” I demanded.
Glue held up three fingers. Using his other hand, he pointed to each finger individually. “Three times we settle our own world, beyond ‘Human Rim Space’. Three times your Empire comes and takes this world away, killing many. If we are humans, this is planetary piracy. If we are just animals, this is pest control or thinning of herd,” Glue said in what could only be described as an affable tone.
“Not my Empire,” I said reflexively. “Besides, this world is not part of the Empire. The Imperial Navy has completely withdrawn from the entire Sector. You can’t justify bad behavior because of previous bad behaviors by other people.”
Glue nodded and smiled. I didn’t particularly like that smile. It didn’t seem right. “So you are different humans from Empire,” Glue said, nodding with too much enthusiasm. “So when the Sundered, that is my people, go to your human courts and present case, you will fairly consider our evidence against Empire for Planetary Piracy times three and attempted Genocide? Or at least give us permission to settle uninhabited planet in Sector under your own protection?” he asked earnestly. I honestly couldn't tell if he was being genuine, or if he was trying to line me up for some whiplash in a moment.
I frowned at him. That was never going to happen. Even if he could get a fair shake in the courts, I seriously doubted the new rump-Confederation would find it politic to champion the rights of gene-uplifts against those of the Empire. Public opinion across human space, including inside the Spineward Sectors, would turn against the new government so fast your head would spin.
Nearly as bad from an individual Sector Government point of view would be the politics of openly supporting a colony of intelligent gorillas within the sector. It might not spark the sort of interstellar outcry as trying to prosecute the Empire in the name of the uplifted would, but it would just as surely be highly unpopular with the individual sector voters.
“From your silence I think your new and different base-stock government is not so very different from old one as you would like to think,” Glue said, a hint of growl entering his deep voice.
I went tense and eyed Glue cautiously. Reassured he wasn’t about to attack, I relaxed fractionally.
“I can’t stand by while your people ravage the border worlds, and wouldn’t even if I could,” I said flatly. “I don’t care what justification you use for your actions. People died and vital resources were stolen. Not to mention any slaves your people may have taken.”
Glue nodded his agreement. I was surprised. “It is good policy you have, base-stock. I would be same way if my people were on world when was attacked,” said Glue.
I just stared at the gorilla man for a moment. Then gave myself a shake. “Why did you do it then? Why risk being captured so that the last merchant ship could escape? We have determined, from speaking with the planet, that with only one Corvette and a small fleet of Gunships, plus the two merchantmen of course, you managed to knock out the entire local SDF. A force consisting of a light Destroyer and six Corvettes,” I paused to gauge his reaction, but Glue was giving nothing away, so I continued, “If you can do all that with so little, why not just withdraw and try again elsewhere?” I finished genuinely curious.
“Glue has his reasons, base-stock,” he said stubbornly, his face a blank gorilla mask.
“I’m sure you do but I’m serious here. What’s so important about whatever that second merchantman was carrying that you would let yourself be captured just to give it a chance to get away,” I demanded.
Glue seemed to hesitate before making a chuffing sound, and I realized this was the equivalent for him of releasing a pent up breath. “Sundered people need many things,” he said enigmatically.
“Obviously,” I said rolling my eyes.
Glue looked slightly stung. “With best parts of two factories and many trained technicians to show my people how to work them, more, many more Sundered will survive this year,” said Glue with what looked like a scowl on his face, but that particular expression was one of the harder ones to discern, at least for me.
“Surely you can always get more factories if you really are the one who organized the raid,” I said skeptically.
“My people do not have time for laters. Three times we try to take what we need but always your ship there to stop us. It must be now or never,” said Glue, glaring at me. “I cannot have the same risk again and again and always say I can do later.” His one fist crashed into the other for emphasis.
“Surely that can’t be all there is to it. You can’t be saying you just got impatient and threw your life away,” I protested.
Glue turned both palms up. I shook my head in disbelief.
“With this,” he said pointing to the hardware in his head, “No need for lots of Sundered to run old Corvette and little gunships. Many Sundered are needed on merchant ships and captured SDF. Few are on Glue’s old ship. Better that some should die today so that many are certain to live tomorrow.”
The Primarch looked fierce enough to leap out of his chair and attack when he added, “I do not put my value above that of my people.” Glue slumped back in his chair and looked resigned to his fate.
He sounded genuine, but his features were hard to read. After all, he was a gene-uplift. He could be feeding me a line and how could I tell? I mean really tell. Perhaps it was time for a little fishing expedition.
“You are the same Glue who spoke with me when we captured your former colleagues, Primarch Glue,” I inquired, a bit of steel in my voice.
Glue paused to consider my words before nodding slowly.
“You know the punishment for piracy,” I enquired.
“Spaced out airlock,” answered Glue.
“I can mitigate the sentence for you and your crew, to life on a primitive world,” I said.
Glue’s ears perked up, which was more than a little bit disturbing.
“Just answer me one question. Where are the stolen orbital factories,” I said, adding a hard edge to my voice. I put the weight of an Admiral behind it, or at least my best approximation of it.
Glue’s ears wilted and he shook his head. “Take me to airlock,” he said glumly.
I was a bit taken aback. Refusal I’d been expecting. A request to be spaced… now that was something I hadn’t planned on encountering.
“I can always have a medical team get the information out of you that way, by force,” I said playfully.
The pirate captain tapped the metallic implants on the back of his head and grinned. “No luck there, base-stock,” he grunted. Then half turned in his chair, exposing his back. It was crisscrossed with strips of patchy fur. Underneath some of the larger patches I could see raised and knotted skin. “Others have tried to beat information out of me. You can’t see now, but once they cut off all fingers on this hand,” he said, wiggling his right hand.
“My people are very skilled,” I lied, “besides, if you apply enough pain, anyone will break. Better ways of doing things are not the only way.”
The gorilla looking man grunted. “With implants I have no sensation of pain if I do not want it. The information you want is not here,” he said tapping the implants, “nor is it here,” he said tapping the front of his head. “It is half in meat and half in machine. Your people will have tough job getting what you want.”
I glared at the Primarch, none too happy at his apparent willingness to call my bluff.
“Besides, you do not want location of Sundered people,” he said decisively. As if he knew something I did not.
“Oh,” I said stiffly. “You claim to know my thoughts better than I do now?”
“Base-stock Admiral does not want location of few miserable ‘monkey-boys’,” the Primarch said in what I could only assume was a deliberate imitation of the derogatory comments of his former human associates.
“At the moment, that information seems right near the top of my list,” I glowered.
Glue tensed and shot me a glance before relaxing and then leaned back in his chair. “If big-time Admiral stops to think with his head instead of with fire in his belly, he will see that Glue is telling him truth,” said the big gene-uplift. He sounded cautious. Of course, as I said, it was hard to tell. Glue didn’t exactly sound like a human.
For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what type of head-game the gorilla man was playing at. “Enlighten me,” I said with a quick bob of my eyebrows, showing my skepticism.
“Glue will never give you way to find his people. Same-same with all his people you capture. If they know, they are like Glue and cannot talk. If not, then they don’t know enough to lead you to our people. But location of Sundered People not only thing being in Primarch Glue’s head,” he said with a smile.
“I'm listening,” I said, tapping my fingers on the desk.
Once again, the gene-uplift tapped his skull. “In this head are many secrets. Including the location of very big pirate base,” said the Primarch.
I made a throwaway motion with my hands. “Now you expect me to believe you are willing to turn on your pirate confederates. This pirate brotherhood I’ve heard so much about? More likely you are trying to lead me into some kind of trap,” I scoffed.
Glue placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. The way his elbows stuck up in the air made him appear even larger than he was. I had to stop myself from an instinctive reach for my sword.
“Glue only cares for the safety of his people. Pirate Clans will trade with anyone who is strong enough and has credits, but Sundered like Glue will always be ‘monkey-boy’ to them. My people take wrong step and,” he slammed his fist onto the table, “bang! Off to mines or straight to barbeque pit,” he said.
It took me a moment to absorb the implications. When I did, I felt nothing but disgust for the pirates. The other pirates we captured said something about roasting Glue on the barbeque, but I’d thought that was just an expression. Looking at Glue when he said the same thing, suddenly I didn’t think it was an expression anymore.
What kind of sick animal would willingly eat another sentient being? Repulsive is what it was. Assuming I wasn’t being played, I was starting to think I’d done the universe a disservice by not killing Glue’s former associates when I had the chance, even if it had been the smart play and netted us an additional pair of Corvettes.
“Let's say I wanted to believe you, how could I,” I asked bleakly. I was genuinely curious how he’d answer.
The Primarch squinted one eye at me and while his other roamed around the room independently. It was quite sickening. “Your worlds burn and you are in ship too slow to catch responsible ones. Even if you in same system. These pirates raiding and destroying decades of hard work over the night. Your Rim will soon be pirate territory if you can’t stop them. Like me, you must grasp any straws you can find,” Glue sounded entirely too smug for my taste.
“We’ll see about that,” I said turning to leave. I motioned for my men to open up the door to the cell and then stepped out into the brig. It was a relief to get away from the gene-uplift. Glue was a strange person, gorilla or no, that was for sure.
“You can’t believe a thing that AI slave says,” said Tremblay pacing back and forth in front of the monitor screen. He glared at the genetic-uplift and his mouth worked as if he was going to spit.
I sighed. It seemed my relief was to be short lived. I turned to face the head of the medical team on standby outside the cell. Anything to put off a conversation with the irate First Officer. Right now I needed to mull over what I’d heard from Glue, not have to deal with my XO.
“Get blood samples and let me know if he’s telling the truth about being able to resist chemical interrogation,” I ordered, glancing over to include a pair of Lancer guards in my instructions. The combined team nodded.
Tremblay threw his hands in the air. “This is insane. It doesn’t matter if he’s telling the truth or not. We should space that foul creature along with the rest of his unnatural kind. I’d say an airlock was too good for an AI slave like that, but we have to be better than our enemies or else what’s the point,” he said hotly before bursting out. “Let's just kill it and move on.”
I blinked twice and stared at the First Officer. To my mind the logic of his last statement just didn’t compute. Not knowing where to start I gave myself a shake, there was no point in explaining all the bigotry wrapped up inside that little outburst of his.
Irritably I waved him away. “I’d make a deal with a Droid if I thought it would give us a shot at taking down those pirates and saving the border worlds,” I said flatly.
Tremblay stared at me like I’d gone stark raving mad. “As First Officer I could not support such a decision,” he fumed, his fists clenched at his side.
I narrowed my eyes at him and resisted the urge to clap him on the shoulder with my power armored gauntlets. I’d knock him over for sure, which was why the thought was so tempting.
“I’m sure Parliament will be very reassured at your purity of thought. I, on the other hand, am unable to standby and do nothing if there is even half a chance that I could stop these raids,” I finished with more than a hint of superiority in my voice.
I turned and dismissed the First Officer from my mind and headed back up to the Admiral’s Quarters. My quarters. At least they supposedly were, when I wasn’t busy being ejected from them by my Sword-Bearer of course.
First thing on our agenda was returning to Tracto System. I’d reassess the situation and go from there. In the meantime I had a lot of thinking to do. It was infuriating running around in a big lumbering Battleship trying to catch all these fast little pirate vessels. The more I thought about it, the more appealing the thought of learning the location of a secret pirate base became.
It’d be a nice change of pace to go and smash them up where they lived for a change. The reports of at least one pirate group running around with a handful of genuine capital ships was disconcerting. On the other hand, all that meant was we needed to be more careful in our planning. I figured there was nothing in the hands of pirates that a Dreadnaught class Battleship like my Clover couldn’t handle with the right game plan.
Slowly a shark like smile spread across my face. Assuming we survived long enough to mount an effective counter raid on the pirates, I think I was going to have to take the captured Primarch up on his offer.
Chapter 24: A Heart-To-Heart
When I first heard she was coming back to the ship in a shuttle, I have to admit I was eagerly anticipating a long conversation with the Lady Akantha. Unfortunately, the next thing I learned was that her power-armor had sprung an air leak during combat with the gene-uplifts, or Sundered, as they called themselves.
All I could do at that point was order a medical team to stand by in the shuttle bay, ready to rush her to sickbay. Even though it was pointless, I found myself waiting with the medical team. There was nothing I could do the medical team couldn’t do ten times better, but I still couldn’t pull myself away. I had to be there.
As the Lancers pulled her limp body out of the shuttle and she was transferred to a stretcher for quick transport, I knew I’d made a mistake. I felt ten times worse than if I was just sitting in my quarters worrying.
Despite this realization, I followed the stretcher to medical. I kept trying the same thing and hoping for a different result. Was this the definition of insanity? To think that just by your very untrained presence, you could somehow will someone to get better?
By this point, the ship actually had a handful of people who knew what they were doing. They no longer needed my untrained presence on the bridge to give them the confidence, or fear. What they needed was to not panic and just do what needed to be done.
So I said to Hades with my responsibilities for a while. Instead of dealing with anxious planetary officials and overseeing the disposition of the remaining prisoners and single recaptured SDF ship, I parked my Royal rear in the infirmary.
When a doctor came over to give me the verdict, I had to brace myself to stop from demanding Dr. Presbyter. I had to remind myself that he’d been on the New Dream along with everybody else I trusted. Unhappily, I held my piece. The good Doctor wasn’t here when Akantha needed him because of my selfish plan, if it could be called that, and it was no good asking for something I couldn’t have any longer.
“Admiral, before we get started, I just wanted to thank you for waiting here so patiently,” said an older man.
Since all I wanted to do was grab someone by the neck and throttle them until they told me what I wanted to hear, I took a deep breath and confined myself to a curt nod. There was a pause that then went on slightly too long for me to tolerate.
“How is she,” I demanded. Then I was immediately disgusted with myself. I’d meant to just let him tell me, and here I couldn’t even wait half a second before jumping in.
“She’ll live,” he hastened to assure me.
“But I heard her suit was damaged and she ran out of oxygen,” I said, surprised to hear the desperation in my voice.
The Doctor’s brow furrowed. “That was only a temporary issue. As far as we can tell, the oxygen deprivation was already successfully treated in the field long before she arrived,” he said.
“Then why is she still in sickbay!” I barked. I couldn't help it, I was feeling completely helpless, and that was a condition which I hadn't experienced in quite awhile. It angered me more than I ever thought it would.
“Her battle suit received a number of hits during the boarding action. One of these penetrated around the same time she started running low of breathable air, at least as far as we can tell. The resulting blood loss and trauma are what we are currently treating. We didn’t want to risk her going into hypovolemic shock from fluid loss. So to counter that, she’s just received a massive transfusion of blood. The Lady Akantha will need to be closely monitored until we can be certain she won’t have a reaction to such a large transfusion,” the Doctor said, too matter-of-factly for my taste.
But then, the lives of thousands of colonists and the small issue of planetary piracy weren’t resting solely on his shoulders, should Akantha die. To say nothing of what my mother would say if she learned that I let my wife get herself killed in combat before I even got the chance to bring her home for dinner.
The doctor eventually let me into the room, with strict instructions not to disturb anything, and I sat at her bedside.
I leaned over and held her limp hand. I firmly reminded myself I was only concerned for the political and familial complications, and I even managed to almost convince myself. But the first time she twitched slightly in her bed, my heart leapt before crashing straight back down into the gutter as soon as I realized it was just an unconscious bodily reaction. I knew then that it was useless trying to convince myself why I was concerned.
This was not a good situation to be in, I tried to tell myself. But I wasn’t listening anymore. I mean what’s the point of listening to someone who’s just going to lie to you? I was better off sitting in mental silence. I didn’t need some false bill of goods.
***********
When her eyes fluttered open, my heart once again clenched and I wondered if I was having my very first heart attack. The sensation passed after a second as her eyes blinked then stayed open.
Akantha looked on my side of the bed and as her gaze settled down at her hand, she looked puzzled. I followed her gaze and discovered I’d been holding her hand so tightly that my own was turning white. Patting her awkwardly, I transferred my grip further up her forearm.
Her eyes bugged slightly as she became aware of her surroundings and beheld me.
I wanted to say ‘yes, I was the one squeezing your hand,’ but I didn’t.
“Hi there,” I said instead, with a small smile.
She stared at me in what I presume was confusion. At that very moment an orderly bustled into the room.
I settled back into the uncomfortable padded chair I was sitting in. The orderly ran a wand over her and then tapped on his data slate. After giving her a glance, and only now focusing on the fact she was awake, he then proceeded to ask her a series of standard medical questions.
Apparently satisfied, the Orderly left after admonishing her to remain in bed and not exert herself. This last included a stern look in my direction, as if I was a greater risk to the woman than she was to herself.
The break while the orderly did his thing gave both of us a chance to regain our composure.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Akantha said.
I frowned. “You’re my wife, where else would I be but at your side?” I asked with a wave, struggling to put a light, unconcerned and yet at the same time Regal air to the motion. All the while I was secretly hoping I hadn’t betrayed just how concerned I’d been while she was unconscious.
Her brow furrowed, so I rushed to fill the silence before it became uncomfortable. “Besides, I sincerely doubt you expected to wind up in the infirmary in the first place,” I babbled.
Her mouth quirked, but her eyes looked irritated at this reminder of her battered physical condition. “We were triumphant over these new demons that have the hearts of warriors,” she said coolly.
“Right, they call themselves the Sundered People, but they‘re really genetic-uplifts based on gorilla stock I‘m pretty sure. We’ll know more after the medical staff runs a few gene scans,” I said, covering a flash of irritation with a hand to my mouth. “The whole ship rejoices at your safe return, of course.”
“Of course,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a second. The previous hour, or however long it turned out to be once I looked at a clock, had been stressful enough. The last thing I needed or wanted was the old ice maiden rearing her contrary head right at this particular moment. Couldn’t we just have a halfway tender moment before diving back into our roles as Admiral and Land Bride?
“Look,” I began, shifting my weight so I leaned forward, putting an earnest look on my face but Akantha was having none of it. I must have shifted my hand when I leaned forward because she shrugged her arm out from under my grip. I leaned back nonplused.
“There is no need for such concern, Protector,” she said, frost creeping into her voice. “I feel quite well, your healers have once again worked their healing magic.”
My face started to harden at her tone, but I forced my features smooth through sheer force of will. “I’m sorry if I offended,” I said stiffly, “I was deeply concerned for your well-being, and only wanted to stay by your bedside until you’d recovered.”
“Well, I’ve recovered,” she said harshly. A tense pause filled the space between us. I wondered where I’d gone wrong? “So unless there was some other business between us, you are free to return to your duty,” she said, her eyes flashing. For a moment I thought she looked slightly ashamed before anger filled her face and I dismissed my previous thought.
“I see,” I said neutrally, making my face a courtly mask. Inside, I seethed with anger at this reaction to my frantic concern for her well being. “In that case, there is something else I would like to discuss with you.”
The blond ice maiden of my original meeting on the Bug ship seemed to have resurfaced under stress, although she did look a little taken aback at my utterance.
“What is it you wanted to talk about,” she demanded.
“Until the rump-assembly gets organized and gives its blessing on our endeavors, if you should die, tens of thousands of colonists, not to mention myself could all be executed for planetary piracy if you get yourself killed,” I said bluntly, staring deep into her eyes. I had wanted to take a more gentle approach to the entire matter, but her reaction to my presence at bedside made that impossible.
Akantha glared at me. “So you think I’m some kind of dainty castle flower that needs to be kept away from battle,” she sneered.
I was taken aback, I know I shouldn't have been as this was about par for the course. I guess I’d been lured into a false sense of security by the ‘new’ Akantha, but right now she was not the ‘new’ anything. This was the same pit viper of old, the same sharp-tongued damsel who’d put me into a state of physical and mental distress at each and every turn.
“I didn’t say that,” I said as soon as I found my voice.
“You didn’t have to,” she said her voice as cold as ice. “The same man who throws himself into danger, floats off the ship at every turn and has to be rescued before he dies, wants to tell me that just because I’m a woman I can’t go out and earn my own honor with the Lancers,” she ended with a snort.
“I floated-was knocked off the ship, one time,” I said angrily, thrusting a single finger in front of myself.
“You almost get yourself killed so often, if you didn’t have such amazing healers you’d be dead or permanently crippled by now,” she scoffed. “Who are you to tell me what to do, and whether or not to go into combat? I risk the Promethean and Caprian tribes who I granted life, sustenance and land right on Messene? You risk my entire planet! Each and every person, everyone and everything I’ve ever known, could be destroyed by the Sky Demons if you die, and you dare talk to me of staying away from combat,” she finished furiously.
I stood up and slammed my fist down on the movable tray table beside her bed. Water spilled and a control disc clattered to the ground. Akantha looked distinctly unimpressed. Another disadvantage of having a wife who was physically larger than myself.
I bared my teeth at her. “Fine. If you won’t stay on this ship while I’m leading boarding actions of my own, I promise to stop. I won’t leave this ship for hand to hand combat without asking your permission first,” I grated.
She shook her head disdainfully.
“As for being a woman, pfffh,” I made a spitting sound. “After the rump-assembly regularizes our status and gives its blessing, you can keep running around trying to get yourself killed, for all I care,” I roared, and stomped out of the sick-bay.
I felt a pang of regret as I walked out. She had a bigger point than perhaps I wanted to admit about the way I’d thrown myself into combat, first with the Bugs, then with the Imperials on the Strike Cruiser. That dig about floating off the ship on the other hand had been a low blow, and she knew it.
I tried to show concern and be a nice guy, and all she could do in response was throw it right back in my face. I was through being nice to that woman. At least for today, I reluctantly added, moderating my newfound resolution.
Chapter 25: Akantha in the Sickbay
She glared at her Protector as he ran away. 'Go on and run, you coward,' she wanted to shout at him, but as soon as the door closed shut on his stiff, angry back, the wind seemed to go out of her sails.
Akantha slumped back in bed and raised a shaky hand to her face. Why was it that this man had the ability to make her so frustrated she couldn’t think straight? He had no right telling her what to do and trying to keep her away from the fray.
Inside her head she listed all the many slights and wrongs he’d done her. Starting with forcing her to become his Sword-Bearer, all the way to killing her uncle and then running off to serve an unseen overlord, this 'rump-assembly,' when her people were in dire need of this ship to protect them. She ignored all the extenuating circumstances, like his not knowing the tradition of her people when he gave her a sword to protect herself and the other captives with, or the fact her uncle was trying to marry her off to one of his cronies (against her will) instead and started the fight.
About the time she was done listing each and every thing both large and small he’d done to wrong her and was getting ready to nod her head in self-vindication, she burst into tears.
Pulling the coverlet over her head, she lay back and shook with reaction. The battle for the Corvette had been terrible, not at all like when they captured that Medium Cruiser in Easy Haven. At the time she’d been filled with a fierce satisfaction at finally getting to face combat without her position as Land Bride and now Hold Mistress keeping her back.
But toward the end, wounded and gasping for air to breathe in the cold void between the stars, it had been much more…if she had to admit it, the feeling hadn’t just been intimidating, it had been absolutely terrifying.
The last thing she remembered was panicking with no air in her lungs. Waking up to the sight of her Protector’s concerned face had just been too much. The sight of that compassion, quickly masked instead of comforting, had only served to irritate her instead.
All she wanted was a few moment to gather her composure and take stock of her injuries, but she had to deal with Jason Montagne instead. He deserved to suffer for badgering her like this when all she needed was time, just a few moments to recover, she flared. She sat halfway up before collapsing back onto her bed, pain flaring through her torso.
He deserved it. Everything she chose to lambast him with was something he deserved, that much was certain.
Why then did her heart feel like it was being cut out of her chest? She’d never before heard of a man willing to ask his Sword-Bearer for permission before striding into battle. It was like something out of a fireside tale.
She gritted her teeth because as usual, he ruined the grand gesture and goodwill he could have built up by telling her that she shouldn’t let being a woman stop her from going out and getting herself killed. She could go out to battle with his full support and permission.
What kind of man urged his woman to go out and fight where she could get herself killed? Did he really value her so little, or was he actively trying to get her to kill herself? He didn’t act like a proper man at all!
She hoped it was just because he was from the Stars. These Caprians, Prometheans, and so forth seemed unusually tolerant of women serving in their warbands, and not just steriles or ones that had already borne their children, either.
Then she was freshly furious. The thought of him not caring for her sent a pang through her chest, and it shouldn’t. She wasn’t some common woman. She was Adonia Akantha Zosime, Land Bride of Argos, Hold Mistress of Messene, and Sword-Bearer of Bandersnatch…
Another grand gesture out of legend, giving her a Dark Sword of Power. One that he also managed to ruin, she thought seethingly.
She was so furious she could scream. What was she supposed to tell her daughters when they grew into womanhood? Her love story wasn’t very conventional, and her Protector could just as easily be portrayed a villain as a hero.
The orderly returning to the room to ask her all sorts of embarrassing questions about her person and bodily function was actually a strange sort of relief, compared to being stuck inside this room with nothing but her own thoughts.
Chapter 26: Return to Tracto
“Point Emergence,” stated the Navigator, a hint of excitement coloring his otherwise completely professional voice.
“Baffling being extended…now,” reported Helmsman DuPont.
“Point Resistance?” asked Lieutenant Tremblay sounding cool, calm and collected.
“Minimal,” reported Jones, “An estimated 25-29 gravities in the sump.”
“Engine at 18% of maximum,” said the Helmsman casually.
“Shields modulated for breakout,” said a new man at the main shield console.
I was startled at the different terminology he used. The former shield man had been something of weak reed, so I wasn’t entirely surprised at the Officer of the Watch switching out the previous man on First Shift and swapping him with the Second Shift replacement. On the other hand, 'breakout' must have been what he was taught on the other shift, as it was mildly different from the 'sump slide' I was used to hearing.
“Engine at 25% of maximum. Secondary engines ready to go,” stated DuPont.
“Light them up, Helmsman,” instructed Officer Tremblay, referring to the twin secondary engines.
“Shield strength at 97.5%, shield regeneration is holding steady with the Point Resistance drain,” said the main Shield Operator
There was the barest hint of a sensation, nothing as abrupt as a bump or a lurch, and then I could feel we were free.
“There we go. We’ve broken free of the Inertial Sump, am I good or am I good,” asked DuPont, shamelessly fishing for compliments.
“Your efforts are becoming legendary, Helmsman DuPont,” I said, putting just enough mockery into my tone so he would neither get a swelled head, nor take offense.
“Sensors, what have you got for me,” asked the First Officer looking at the main screen.
As usual for a Tracto jump, we had appeared further toward the edge of the system than was standard. We were still feeling our way with all the Trillium deposits scattered throughout Tracto. Taking a 'better safe than sorry' attitude after that first, awful near-miss with a planet, caution was the watchword of the day when entering the Tracto System. If the natural hazards didn’t get us, the Bugs just very well might.
As usual, a tally of planets and nearby asteroids started populating the screen. Then shoulders relaxed and postures weren’t quite so stiff in the Sensor Section.
“I’m picking up a Corvette on a slow and steady patrol arc,” said an attractive female sensor operator I didn't recognize.
Quickly I glanced around, looking to see if Akantha had spotted my noticing the Sensor Operator. We were in an uneasy truce ever since the blowup in sickbay.
While I was looking, another operator from sensors, this one decidedly not attractive and also decidedly not female, reported spotting the missile defense turret still in orbit around Tract.
I briefly wondered if Akantha might find this sensor operator attractive, and I actually started to get jealous at the thought of her being attracted to him. Except on second look, I didn’t think he was going to be drawing the ladies into his clutches any time soon. Combined with the fact that these Tracto native girls seemed obsessed with rank and status, I figured a 'lowly' sensor operator like him wasn’t any threat.
My head still floating in the clouds of irrational jealousy, I forced myself to stop giving the rating a hard look. It wasn’t his fault Akantha and I were on the outs right now.
“Lieutenant, let's send out a hail and make sure everything’s been okay since we’ve been gone,” I ordered, deliberately channeling the semi-professional Admiral, instead of the jealous and frustrated husband.
“Yes, sir,” said Tremblay and turned to relay the orders.
The response to our hail was a combination of the welcoming and the alarming. Captain Johnson painted an unhappy picture.
“The Bugs attacked twice while you’ve been gone, sir. Both times with Harvesters. We had to lure them to the planet and catch them in the crossfire between the Light Squadron and the Orbital Defense Turrets. There was no point in trying to take them out with our little ships,” the Corvette Captain said grimly.
“How are the new CR70’s? Did you get them worked into the rotation,” I asked in a somewhat demanding tone.
Fred Johnson pursed his lips before nodding his head. “The pirates ran them hard and put them away wet, but it was nothing we couldn’t take care of. It was the damage you boys did when you shot them up that was the hardest to overcome,” he said sourly.
"They were deemed ready for crew at the point we left the system, Captain,” I reminded him, “however, my question was really about the new crews assigned to them and how they turned out.”
“Nothing doing, Sir,” Captain Johnson said with a throw away motion. “There were a few bumps along the way, but for the most part the new crews jelled just fine. No,” he said changing the subject, “it’s the loss of the Multiplex that’s set us back over here,” he said gruffly.
My eyes bulged. “You mean the Bugs got to it,” I hissed with sudden emotion.
The Corvette Captain drew back from the screen, his brow furrowed. “No, sir. The Assembly sent out some new Admiral to retrieve it. I guess they want to return it to its owners in the 28th Sector,” he said, shooting me a look to see how I reacted.
For my part, I tried to present only an image of mild to moderate interest in the events that had transpired while I was gone, acting as if I hadn’t a care in the world. “Too bad they didn’t stay,” I said simply. It really was too bad they’d taken off with the Constructor and its little army of robotic workers. I just had to hope that the people I’d left in charge back here in the Tracto System had managed to strike while the iron was hot. I sighed subconsciously, since I’d been planning on having the Multiplex here when I returned to the system.
The Corvette Captain nodded, and then proceeded to shatter all my preconceptions into tiny little pieces. “The Admiral left one of his Corvettes here along with an Assembly Representative,” he gave me a look I couldn't read, “they mean for you to return to Easy Haven as soon as possible, Admiral. To deliver a full report.”
I sat back stunned. It seemed the long arm of the Rump-Confederacy was reaching out to draw me into its clutches, to justify my actions much sooner than I’d been expecting. Well…at least much sooner than I was ready for anyway, I thought cracking a wry grin. I’d been half expecting it ever since I departed Easy Haven with the Constructor Multiplex in tow. Somehow, I’d managed to push it into the back of my mind between then and know.
“Thank you for the timely report, Captain Johnson,” I said formally, bestowing a Royal nod of approval in his direction.
Fred Johnson squinted at me, as apparently this wasn't the reaction he’d been expecting to see. Or perhaps, hoping to see would be a better adjective.
The Lucky Clover was still on its way in system when a Corvette I’d never seen before broke away from the planet and the protection of the two defense turrets orbiting Tracto VI.
Other than confirming I was aboard the ship via the Communications Officer, there was no further communication except for a request to dock as soon as possible after invoking the Rump-Assembly’s authority. All attempts to raise either the Captain or Governmental Representative failed.
There was nothing further to do except wait for the arrival of the strange Corvette.
Chapter 27: A Royal Welcome
Hours later, the fleet-footed Corvette met our sluggish Lucky Clover, in what was technically the outer edge of the Star System.
The aged Battleship hardly had to slow down, so deft was the Corvette’s captain, or at least her helmsman at sidling alongside the Clover and matching speeds.
From DuPont’s reaction at the Helm and the hushed comments he exchanged with Navigator Shepherd, I gathered this was quite a feat of helmsmanship. When my Helmsman was envious and trying not to show it, it meant the other man must be quite good.
If the Captain of the C.S.S. Errand, which was the name of this nimble Corvette, and his Representative thought that ignoring me and showing up my pilot and old warship was the way to earn my attention, then he was correct. However, it was an unfavorable regard, and I’d be blasted out the airlock before I let them know it.
I wasn’t some ham-handed rube fresh off the farm, I was a battle-tested Admiral. One who’d cut my teeth on courtly intrigues. This had the stench of a man with small reproductive organs intent on playing petty little games, and I knew just how to handle little woodpeckers with too much time on their hands.
So instead of going down to meet the Representative and his posse of sycophants, I dispatched the Lancer Colonel along with a detachment of our Lancers. If I was a fool and this was all some cunning maneuver to get me to lower my guard while they snuck a team of power armored specialists onboard, then they would soon find they had met their match. If I was right, then we’d see how pompous and overbearing this so called Assembly Representative was with my Honor Guard dogging his every step.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned during my time at court and on this ship, it's that being surrounded by guards not in your employ can be one of the most nerve-wracking experiences imaginable. Always sitting there wondering what their orders were, or what they’d go ballistic and lose their minds over if you took a wrong step.
Maintaining your composure when dealing with Honor Guards provided by someone outside of your control took more than just a small amount of experience, or some really great composure. Either of which would tell me something about this new adversary. If this Representative even qualified as an adversary at all, and not just some lickspittle little minion.
I pushed aside the knowledge that I needed the support of the Confederation Assembly, or at least the newly forming Assembly out here in the Spine. My need was perhaps more immediate than ever before, and while I was a large step closer to the limelight, back home at court I’d learned that your fortunes always depended on the good graces of someone else.
Crawling and licking that person’s boots was more likely to earn yourself a swift kick in the teeth, just on general principle, while respectfully baring said teeth and showing you weren’t just another spineless pushover ran you no greater risks than the previous option. You might even come out better off if they did decide to turn their gaze away from you.
That’s why, after posting additional battle-suited lancers in and around the Flag Bridge, I decided to meet them inside the Admiral’s ready room. Let them walk through my ship. Come to the center of my power. Along the way they would see a fully functional Battleship, one that was still formidable, instead of whatever falling apart lash-up they’d been expecting. Once they were in the center of my power and had time to absorb things, let them come and try to beard me in my own lair.
After the grand tour, they’d be less likely to see a far too youthful-looking man, and instead they would see a Confederation Admiral. Then let them attempt whatever power grab they were interested in. They wouldn’t find me an easy target.
It was a tense twenty five minutes once I knew the Assembly Representative and his party were on the way up to meet me. I struggled not to squirm or pace. I needed to be perfectly in control. Not only of myself, but my surroundings. It's hard to do that when you are filled to brim with nervous energy.
To quiet my nerves, I pulled up the data dump from Captain Johnson and started going through his Captain’s Log. Going through the record reminded me that I hadn’t even started a Log of my own. That was something a real Admiral would do, and maybe it was time I should start.
I meant to skim ahead to the parts I was most interested in, namely the Assembly Representative I was about to meet, as well as this other Officer who’d come to take away my Constructor. Unfortunately, I got diverted when my eyes skimmed across Captain Johnson’s entry and were snagged by mention of a battle with another Bug Harvester. Last time the Lucky Clover had been here for most of the heavy lifting. I couldn’t imagine how they’d manage to deal with not one but two of those ships. Well, I could imagine, but nothing I was coming up with filled me with anything but anxiety.
The blow by blow account and accompanying sensor files had me on the edge of my seat as I scanned through them, even though I knew with total certainty that the Captain and his ship had both survived the encounter. It was then that I noticed something in the footnotes of the report listing the assets involved in the battle, and I'm sure it made my face turn red.
I had never looked up the full designation on all of these CR70 corvettes we had been encountering, but right there in Johnson's report it was listed as clear as day: Cornwallis-Raubuch Series 70 Corvette. I had no idea who Raubuch was, but the fact that the Cornwallis family was so influential as to be co-founder of one of the more popular lines of ship design in use out here in the Spine made me fume. There wasn't anything I could do about it, but my mind raced with the potential implications of this little factoid for a few minutes before I forcibly calmed myself and re-focused on the task at hand.
I was still reviewing the files and watching the little defense squadron flee to Tracto VI in hit and run style when the door chimed. I looked up in surprise, and before I had the chance to press a touch button on my desk and key open the door, someone outside overrode the lock and I received the surprise of my life.
A quick glance took in the figure in the doorway, stepping into my ready room like she owned it, revealing a young woman in Caprian Court Attire. The only nod to her supposed duties as a Confederation Representative was a rune-covered length of red silk that hung around her neck, reaching up from one knee and back down to the other. I knew enough to recognize the silk as part of an official Confederation diplomatic uniform of some type. Its exact provenance was difficult to tell because she wasn’t wearing the whole uniform, just the silk. The rest of her dress was pure Caprian, and more than that, pure Caprian Royal attire.
Even though I was more than skilled enough with our own native clothing to recognize who, or rather what she was simply from the cut and style of her clothing, I didn’t need to. The brown skin, black hair and feminine features were enough for any fool to tell she was from my home world. But that perfectly sculpted nose, and those razor-sharp epicanthic folds around the eyes could only belong to one person.
Stepping up to my desk, her lips twitched and she gave me a derisive look. “Well-well-well,” she said, turning her head to take in the room before rolling her eyes. “I always knew you were destined to hang, Flat-Nose, I just never figured you for the type to voluntarily stick your neck in the noose,” she sneered as she used an old nickname I had been slapped with during childhood. I had grown up hating it when they called me Flat-Nose, I actually disliked it even more than when the crew referred to me as the Little Admiral.
“I always pegged you as more the 'run for cover and hide while sucking your thumb' type, but I guess we learn something new every day,” she said when I didn’t instantly leap into the conversation. The sad fact of it was, I would much rather have been hiding out on my own little wine vineyard in some other sector of space than trying to hold the Rim of known space together with my bare hands.
And as fate would have it, at that exact moment, the only thing that could have possibly made this situation any worse walked right into the room along with her honor guard. I closed my eyes to keep from exploding. I had specifically not invited Akantha because I didn’t want her presence during what was sure to be a stressful enough affair without her taking offense at every little insult I received. Then I forced them open again and kept them turned away from my wife, and back to the woman in front of my desk.
“As stimulating a conversationalist as ever, Cotton-Mouth,” I said, resisting the urge to squirm in my seat and scowl, “barely through the door and already the threats start spewing out. Reminds me of the time back when you used to pay cousin Herald to come and knock me to the ground just so you could get in a few good kicks while I was down.”
While the Confederation’s Representative sneered at me, I made an obvious play out of ignoring her and focused on my Sword-Bearer instead. “My Lady Akantha,” I said, rising to my feet and gave her a courtly bow, one entirely too proper for a husband to his wife. “I have been too long without the light of your presence shining in my eyes.” From the confusion in Akantha’s face quickly followed by a look in her eye, I was certain she wondered if I was making fun at her expense.
Her eyes narrowed and she slid a glance at other woman in the room. “Protector Montagne-,” she started coolly, only to be cut off.
“Protector now, is it,” scoffed the Confederation Representative, a superior expression on her face as she sliced a glance over at Akantha. “Flat-Nose here couldn’t protect an ice factory in the middle of winter.”
Akantha’s eyes slitted and she started to turn white. It looked a lot like fear to me, but the next words out of her mouth knocked those thoughts right out of my head like a sledgehammer.
“Who is this person that speaks so familiarly with you,” she said abruptly, her hand creeping toward her sword.
Both the women in the room looked at me expectantly.
I gritted my teeth behind closed lips where no one could see it. When I’d mastered my jaw muscles once again, I put on my best court smile.
“My Lady Akantha, please allow me to introduce my Royal Cousin Bethany Tilday Vekna,” I said with a sardonic wave of my hand. “Bethany, this is-.”
My royal Cousin cut me off. “Whoever it is, I don‘t care to hear her introduction. Just tell the stooges to leave the room. We’ve got things of vast importance to the Family to talk about, Flat-Nose,” she said looking at me with a gleam in her eye. “I do not care to converse in front of the teeming masses.”
Akantha started to pull out her sword. I hastily raised my hand silently, telling her to stop, and for once she actually heeded my advice. I was shocked and amazed. This couldn’t be a good sign.
Unsurprisingly, Bethany took this gesture to be my indication that she should stop speaking, instead of being directed to the woman with the half-drawn sword beside her. My cousin looked irked and gave me a look that threatened retribution. Frighteningly enough, Akantha was giving me a similar look.
When I was certain Akantha wasn’t about to pull out Bandersnatch and try to cut off Bethany’s head, I turned back to my cousin.
“I trust my people, Cotton-Mouth,” I said, buffing my fingernails on the arm of my uniform. I turned to one of the ‘Honor Guard’, “Please send a yeoman for some tea. Enough for all of us,” I said as pleasantly as I could manage before turning back to my Cousin/Confederation Representative.
“I’m sure it must be quite some tale, how a member of the Royal Family ended up as the Official Representative sent to beard me in my lair,” I said curling my upper lip.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Bethany said sweetly. “But don’t flatter yourself, this rattrap of a system hardly qualifies as a ‘lair’. A Bug magnet and death trap, perhaps,” she finished, drawing out the last word.
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m surprised Parliament let you off your leash, Bethany. They’re not known for allowing members of the Blood Royal positions of power, even if it's only a symbolic post involving someone as harmless as yourself,” I said, acting disinterested.
“There’ve been a few changes back home, Cousin,” Bethany replied, looking like the cat that ate the canary. “Parliament is no longer the force it once was.”
I waved my hand in disbelief. “I find that hard to believe,” I said, rolling my eyes at the notion. “Everything I’ve heard says the SDF is firmly under Parliamentary control. With that kind of force behind them I seriously doubt anything will change, at least in our lifetimes.”
“Says the fringe Royal who somehow managed to gain command of a Caprian Battleship,” she said scornfully. “If an idiot Montagne like yourself can manage that, why do you find it so hard to believe that someone without the detriment of your name and bloodline could capture the loyalty of the entire System Defense Force?”
“I’m still not buying it,” I said, rejecting her line of space junk. I wasn’t some rube to be taken in, I needed proof before I took one step into that merry little fairy tale. “Still, you are here, so something is afoot,” I paused to think about it. “I suppose I could see how with all this confusion Parliament might want to send a member of the family to try to talk me down. Although, why they would bother sending you of all people, boggles the mind.”
For a moment she looked at me like I was crazy, then a calculating look crossed her face. I was instantly on my guard. “What do you mean by talk you down?” she asked, wiggling her fingers in the air, both trying and succeeding in portraying a light tone.
I looked at her flatly. "You know what I’m talking about. They sent you to convince me to give up my Confederation duties and return to Capria so that they can lock me away in the Royal retreat," I was fishing here, trying to figure out what they planned to do when I got back.
Bethany paused for a moment, then threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, that’s rich, Flat-Nose,” she chuckled. “It really is.”
“I fail to see the humor. Please enlighten the rest of us with the joke,” I said stiffly. This wasn’t going quite the way I’d envisioned...well to be honest, it wasn’t at all going how I’d thought it would when I’d originally planned to meet the Confederation Representative in the Admiral’s ready room.
“The joke is you, Flat-Nose,” she sneered.
Right then and there I decided I’d had enough. She thought she had some big trump card still to play. For someone like myself who’d grown up sharing many of the same tutors and school space with her, I could tell when she thought she had something up her sleeve.
“Call me Flat-Nose one more time,” I said holding up a finger before slowly turning it down and miming the push of a button on my desk, “and it will be the last time,” I threatened.
For once Akantha looked less than furious. Instead, she looked almost hopeful.
Bethany was taken momentarily taken aback, but quickly regained her composure. “You don’t have the stones for something like that,” she said, waving away my threat as if it were an annoying fly.
“Guards,” I said, cocking an eyebrow and indicating they should lay hands on my Cousin. They immediately responded and moved toward her.
“Unhand me you fools,” snarled Bethany after the guards grabbed hold of her arms. “What do you think will happen when the Confederation finds out what you‘ve done? Not to mention my Family. Everyone you care about will be-”
I should have remembered that one of the guards was Tracto-an. Bethany grunted and sagged in their grip when he gave her a gentle tap on the back her head.
“That’s enough, I think the point has been made,” I said a bit more hastily than I would have liked.
Bethany shook her head quickly and glared at me, but she couldn’t entirely hide the flash of fear at this treatment. “When King James learns how you’ve treated his envoy,” she threatened with only a slight quiver to her voice.
“Most of my Lancers aren’t from Capria. The vast majority aren’t even Confederation citizens, they are native to this system,” I said archly. I couldn’t resist the next dig. I know I should have, but it was beyond me. “In point of fact, they tend to listen to the Lady you’ve so studiously ignored so far, more than they ever have to me,” I finished smugly. Ah, the taste of petty, vindictive revenge. There’s really nothing quite like it. No one dies, no one gets hurt and there’s absolutely no guilty conscience afterwards to plague you. Not like there was when dead bodies were strewn all over the floor.
Then something she’d said floated to the forefront of my brain and my eyebrows started climbing for the rafters. “KING James, you said,” I exclaimed with dissatisfaction. “As in, your uncle James. The very same uncle who is actually two years younger than you are, and went to school with us, that King James,” I said incredulously. For the first time I actually started to think there might be something to this whole Royal coup notion. “What about the Queen Regent? Did something happen to her?”
By now, Bethany had recovered enough that her courtly mask was back and fully in place. “Your jewels may have finally dropped after all, Jason,” she spit out my name as if it were a poisonous substance she couldn’t wait to get out of her mouth. “But before all this temporary power goes to that normally impotent head of yours, you,” she put particular emphasis into the word, “need to remember the State of Affairs back home,” she gritted.
She didn’t say the words outright because she didn’t have to. The State of Affairs back home was the same as it had always been: A person’s family stood pledge to their good behavior. I thought I had a general idea just how far Parliament would go. But these were trying times, and if she wasn’t lying about this King James business… Enough turmoil back home might, in some royalist wet dream, have opened the door for a resurgence of the Monarchy.
Akantha must have seen something in my face she didn’t like, because the next thing I knew she’d cleared Bandersnatch from its sheath.
Bethany gave a cry and jerked in the duralloy grip of her honor guards, but she couldn’t get away from Akantha and her five and half feet of razor sharp, dark glittering metal.
‘No,’ I mouthed, and closed my eyes. There was no way Bethany wasn’t going to recognize Bandersnatch once it was out of its sheath. I had been hoping to keep the sword a secret. As soon as Bethany knew about it…
“It would give me nothing but pleasure to slit your throat just so we could all watch you choke to death on your own vile juices. Then, before you breathe your last, I’ll cut off your head and display it publicly, that all may know the full wage of rank impudence,” Akantha hissed.
You had to give Bethany this; whether it was an unwavering belief in her own invincibility or genuine starch in her belly, she didn’t break down and beg for her life like I realized I’d been half-hoping for as soon as Akantha put the sword on her.
“You’re a tall one,” Bethany said, her smooth voice in stiff contrast to the sweat that suddenly broke out on her forehead. “Tell me, do they grow them stupid as well as ugly where you come from?”
Akantha slowly drew back her sword and Bethany couldn’t help a squeal of pain as blood started trickling down her throat.
“My Mother works in the Palace, Akantha,” I said, quietly hoping I was able to keep the desperation out of my voice.
Akantha glanced at me sharply and her nostrils flared. A questioning look crossed her face and I nodded my head. I could see her arm tense as she looked back at Bethany.
Bethany’s newly triumphant smile said she thought she had us over a barrel. If it were just me, she might have been right, but with Akantha thrown into the equation it was anyone’s guess how this thing was going to play out from here.
“There will be a reckoning,” Akantha said quietly, before drawing back the blade.
I gestured to the honor guards, “Release her,” I said wearily.
Bethany’s eyes followed Akantha as she slowly drew back the sword and stepped away. “Who’s the space tramp, Cousin? Perhaps you should introduce us after all…” she trailed to a stop and sucked in a breath.
I could see the recognition dawning in her eyes, like the rising sun about to turn into a hot blistering mess and burn everything it touched.
“Bandersnatch,” she breathed and shot me another calculating look. My stomach sank. I didn’t like this look any more than I did the first. If I’d been thinking about it at all, this would have been one of my top reasons for not including Akantha in this meeting.
“Now you really will have to introduce us,” she gloated. “Oh, His Majesty and the rest of the Royal Family will be quite pleased when they learn what I’ve just found.”
I gritted my teeth. No matter how this thing played out, I was in it deep now. All the way up to my neck, with the fecal matter all set to rise up to my nose and beyond.
Now both women were looking daggers at me. Akantha’s the more blatant, 'I’ll gut you and leave you for the fishes if you don’t get on with it' and Bethany’s a more gilt-covered stiletto, the sort that was aimed at your heart and you just knew, a moment of inattention and she was more than ready to shove it in to the hilt.
My Royal cousin cum Confederation Representative took my slightly extended silence to try to cause trouble.
“You do realize why he calls me Cotton-Mouth,” she said, turning toward Akantha, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face.
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” Akantha replied disdainfully.
“Oh, but I am,” Bethany cooed, “has he bothered to mention that growing up, he gave a secret little name to anyone he squabbled with,” she waggled her fingers, mocking me, “the little whiner gave all of us nicknames.”
Akantha raised an eyebrow, and despite herself shot me a half-amused smile.
Bethany’s smile turned vicious. “Named each of us after a snake. The girls anyway, I never found out if he had any little pet nicknames for the boys. Did you know that the Cotton-Mouth is a highly venomous snake from old Earth, equally at home in water or on the land,” she paused before glancing over at Akantha, who was at this point rolling her eyes and looking bored. “I can already see from my short time in the same room with you two, that you seem to get along like peas in a pod. Which is why I’m wondering if he’s shared whatever little nick name he’s come up with for you,” she said sweetly. Then she glanced in my direction, the same as if she was slipping a dagger into my side.
Family, can’t live with them, can’t orbitally bombard them back to the foul, oozing proto-plasma they crawled out of, I thought grimly.
For the first time, Akantha looked uncertain. I could tell from the wrinkle in her brow that I didn’t want her remembering all the times we’d fought and thus the likelihood that I had indeed come up with a nickname for her. Which I had.
“Bethany, I’d like to introduce my-” I started but Bethany cut me off.
“My proper introduction if you please, Jason,” my cousin interrupted, trying for a stiff tone, but coming off more catty than anything else.
I blinked at this petty bit of senseless drama. “I had thought the familiar more in-keeping with protocol, but if you desire to be more formal,” I said waving my hand languidly, “then as you wish, of course.”
I stood up from behind my desk and gave a half bow.
“Princess-Cadet Bethany Tilday Vekna, Confederation Representative, Envoy of King James the 4th, Heir to the Tilday Demsene and so on and so forth,” I said, bringing my hand up as if to cover a yawn. From behind my fingers I observed Bethany turning pink in the face and suppressed a chuckle. “I’m truly sorry Beth, but you really must present your credentials beforehand if you are determined to receive a proper introduction,” I glanced pointedly at the leather messenger pouch strapped to her hip.
Bethany glared daggers at me, promising revenge for this latest slight. I turned to Akantha.
“May I be the first to introduce to you, my lovely Wife,” I said, gratified to see the look of shock she quickly masked, skittle across her face. Suppressing a smile I continued, “The Lady Adonia Akantha Zosime, Hold Mistress of Messene, Land Bride of Argos, ruler of over one hundred and fifty thousand subjects both in orbit and on land, then of course there is the most important part, at least to me personally,” I said with perhaps my first genuine smile of the whole conversation, “she is Sword-Bearer to one Admiral Jason Montagne.”
I met Akantha's eyes, and for a moment I imagined it was just the two of us alone, without cousins or anger between us.
Then, as it has a tendency to do when there are other people in the room, reality decided to clobber all over that perfect moment in time and I was right back to swimming in it.
Bethany slowly clapped her hands. I look up irritated to see a sardonic look on her face.
“Oh, you’ve gone and done it now, Dear Cousin,” she said mockingly.
Akantha’s face hardened and the moment was lost completely.
“Do tell,” I said biting off the last word, 'cousin.' I didn’t trust myself right at the moment, a flash of irritation shooting straight through me like a whirlwind.
“Bad enough you seized control over this bucket of bolts, but then you had to go shoot up an Imperial,” she glared at me, “an Imperial Cruiser!” she repeated for emphasis. “What were you thinking, Long-,” she stopped and shot a look over her shoulder, then looked irritated that she’d done so. “I mean, cousin.”
“I was thinking I’d much prefer my head attached to my shoulders in both instances, but I don’t see what that has to do with my getting married,” I remarked mildly, incidentally forestalling any further action by the guards with my calm demeanor.
She shook her head and when neither of the guards in the room made a grab for her, she glared at me. “Running around playing dress-up, pretending to be a proper Confederation Admiral and declaring Imperial Warships pirates is nothing to joke about!” she exclaimed.
I opened my mouth to compose a civil retort, but she cut me off.
“Mutiny, against the planetary Parliament at the very least, if not outright rebellion for taking control of the ship. You’re amazingly lucky the Re-Installment went down at exactly the right moment but honestly, there was no way you could have known that would happen beforehand. You’re a mushroom, Jason. Nothing but a stupid little mushroom kept in the dark and fed from the palace chamber pot, which is why you look like a complete idiot to anyone who actually knows the real score,” she said sticking out a finger and ticking off points, “Attacking an Imperial Cruiser which almost started a War; Planetary Piracy, just so you could try to make your own little power out here on the Rim; forced imprisonment of a Caprian Settlement ship,” my eyes widened at this last one.
There was only one Caprian Settlement ship that I’d encountered, and all I’d done was help them. Those bigoted ingrates, I had even made the Belters give them their main hyper dish so they could be free to leave if they wanted to. If I ever got my hands on the captain of that ship, someone was going to physically have to stop me from taking a neural whip to him. I wanted to show my appreciation for his efforts the same way he’d shown his for mine, only I was going to be much more open and forward about things. There would be no running around telling false stories.
Bethany continued, thankfully oblivious to my reaction. “Impersonating a military Officer; pressing real Confederation warships into this abortion you’re calling a fleet; pirating a Constructor and destroying another one through incompetence, ships that aren’t even from this sector! Do you have any idea how much those things cost to replace? The list goes on and on,” she said furiously. “What in the Name of the Great Annihilator do you think you’re doing out here, Cousin,” she all but shouted.
“I take it then, you’re here to bring me home,” I said, meeting her gaze steadfastly. After everything I’d been through, holding the gaze of one angry cousin was nothing. She’d put just about the worst spin on things you possibly could,
“Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been saying,” she exploded, unable to stop her face from turning a lovely shade of purple.
“I’ve been trying,” I said mildly. “The words just seem to keep spilling out though, so I might have missed a piece or two. I still don’t know what this has to do with my taking a wife.”
“You really have lost touch with reality,” she said sounding bewildered. “You almost start a war with the Empire and then instruct your Marines to lay hands on an Official Representative of the Caprian Government, the owner of the very starship you are currently gallivanting around the Galaxy in. It's suicide, and not only for you. For these Marines of yours as well.” She had recomposed her features and gained control of her blush zone by now.
“They’re Lancers, not Marines,” I corrected mildly, “and besides, I thought you represented the Confederation Government right at the moment, not Capria’s,” I scoffed before moderating my tone slightly. “The Guard who whacked you in the back of the head, like you so very much deserved, is native to this system. I sincerely doubt he cares what you say about him back on Capria.”
Bethany made a strangled sound and turned red. “Curse you Jason Montagne, do you have any idea the trouble you’ve caused…” she trailed off making strangled noises.
I wrinkled my forehead. “I still don’t understand what Akantha has to do with this-” I said as innocently as I could manage. I knew that she had a few points. Alright, a lot of points, but it was nice to see old Cotton-Mouth at a loss for words for once. Since there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about the past other than spin some PR damage control once she was willing to listen, I might as well have some fun twitting her.
“That’s just icing on the cake, as you know very well,” she said hotly, pointing an accusing finger at me. “I think we can all safely assume that marrying without the King’s permission is the least of your problems.” She threw her hands in the air dramatically.
I couldn’t help silently laughing at the histrionics. I knew I should be worried about the possible repercussions, don't get me wrong. Bethany represented both governments I had to worry about, all wrapped up into one abusive, hateful and high-strung representative. But I just couldn’t. Right now, all I could see was my oh-so-dear cousin nearing the end of her rope, and it was a place I think I had never actually seen her. At least, not since before she was a teenager.
“You realize that even if what you’re saying is true about King James and the fall of Parliament,” I said rolling my eyes, “the monarchy hasn’t controlled who we, the Royal Family, can and cannot marry for the better part of a century now.”
By now her eyes were pools of molten lava, she was so mad. She took a deep breath and seemed to slowly get herself under control. “If I were you, I’d be a lot more concerned about my good graces than you seem to be,” she said, her voice husky with the effort of controlling her emotions.
Bethany, being from the Vekna side of the family tree, never had been quite as or concerned with mastering her public emotions as those of us from the Montagne branch. We Montagnes were public whipping boys, and it behooved our line to learn self-control and deceit above and beyond what most members of royalty needed. It was rather amusing to watch this near-meltdown, even if what she was saying would probably have made me squirm if delivered by anyone else.
“By all means, elaborate, dear cousin,” I invited courteously. It was probably time to stop with the small digs as I watched her spin out of control and see what, if anything, I had to work with. I didn’t have high hopes, but barring tracking down the pirates and blowing them to space dust, this was probably the best chance I had of getting out of this thing without going into hiding or being sent to prison. Not that I considered it to be a very good chance, but I still felt that I needed to explore it, if only so I didn’t kick myself later.
Bethany blinked, clearly not expecting this response. “The Confederation Assembly is ready to string you up and have your guts for garters,” Bethany said cautiously. She saw what she believed was me lapping up her every word. She cracked a smile. I didn’t particularly like that smile, to me it held a hint of triumph in it, that I was finally bending to her will but if I was going to listen to her, it was probably best to let her think she had the upper hand. At least until I figured out what her angle, and thus Capria’s angle was in this big mess I’d landed in. “Capria is the only thing standing between you and the chopping block right now.”
“I find that hard to believe,” I said with a forced smile to take the sting out of it. “It seems much more likely to me that ‘Capria’ is leading the charge, so to speak.”
She goggled at me for a moment, then gave a slow smile. That smile said she knew something I didn’t or at least thought she did. “I forget how cut off you are from galactic affairs, way out here on the Rim.”
I blinked before giving her a quizzical look. “Galactic Affairs,” I grinned. “The ComStat network is down and now you’d have me believe that you’re still linked in after the Imperials set the network to self destruct?”
Bethany jerked and looked irked. “All right, Planetary and Sector affairs, if you want to get all technical. That’s still considerably more, how did you put it, ‘linked in’ than you can possibly be out here.”
My grin started to die and I let it. “You’re probably right about that,” I allowed reluctantly. With the loss of the Interstellar communications network, my world had shrunk. It was like the dark ages after the AI wars, before mankind linked itself together again. If she actually knew what was going on in the rest of the sector, most specifically that part away from the Rim and where the Assembly was meeting, then I needed to know it too.
Reassured of her place in the universe, more specifically her superiority in the information chain, Bethany breathed out a pent up sigh.
“As I was saying, Capria is the only thing keeping you in that ridiculous uniform you’re wearing right now,” she said, giving the space-cadet/bowler style officer’s helmet I was wearing a scornful look.
I wished I could get up a good head of steam about the helmet crack, but I knew how I looked and it wasn’t very fashionable. Not in the least.
So instead, all I did was repeat myself. “I still find that hard to believe. Saying the same words over and over again aren’t convincing me of much,” I said.
“Well, you’d better start believing it,” she chirped bluntly. “If the Imperials had asked for your head, the local Assembly would have given it to them by now. As it is, our Assemblymen argued passionately for you and barely managed to filibuster until the motion to remove you was tabled.”
I pursed my lips. “It still doesn’t scan. Why would Sir Krong and the government back home want to keep me out here,” I said quizzically. If true, this really messed with my whole world view as a persecuted scion of a distrusted house. “I’m a Montagne, for Murphy’s sake. Am I supposed to believe Krong or the government acted in my best interest, strictly out of the goodness of its heart?”
“Hardly, Cousin,” she laughed. “Prince-Cadets like you are a dime a dozen, especially when compared to old Battleships that could be better used back home,” she smirked.
“So then the question still stands. Why?” I repeated forcefully.
“You know, you really shouldn’t promote that silly little space superstition. It might give the lessers" (one of those haughty, superior terms too common to the inner circles of nobility used to refer to those not born with some lengthy title) "the wrong idea about the Family,” she said, changing the subject instead of answering the question. How I hated that casual smugness.
I frowned at her. She rolled her eyes and raised her hands like some kind of priestess in the midst of a religious experience. “Saint Murphy’s Sacred First Law quoted since time immemorial. ‘What can go wrong will go wrong,’” She intoned pedantically before changing back to her normal, deriding voice. “Then there’s that whole bit with the fly in the lubrication and monkey in the multi-tool. Or whatever that actually means, and however it really goes.”
“People who live most of their lives planetside worship the Pantheons, while those whose lives are spent in cold space, like the Spacers on this ship, have their own set of beliefs,” I said sternly. “Mocking them doesn’t help your case.”
“Don’t tell me you actually buy into that sanctimonious rattletrap and that I’ve offended your feelings,” she scoffed.
I gazed at her levelly. “If I’m not being recalled and you won’t tell me why, then I’m not sure we have much more to discuss,” I said, turning my gaze to Akantha. Amazingly, she had remained silent throughout this prolonged exchange, but she still looked like she wanted to take her sword to Bethany. Still, she seemed more than mildly interested in the conversation. She quickly blanked her face, hiding her emotions as soon as she realized I was looking at her.
Before I could finish dismissing her, Bethany cut back in, clearing her throat.
“Ah-herrrm,” she said and I was forced to look back at her. “I may have certain information that might interest you, if the price is right.” Her eyes were narrowed with concentration.
I smiled. If I knew my cousin, and I’m quite certain I did, being ignored was almost worse than being insulted. In court, they always said it was better to have more enemies than you could handle than it was to simply be ignored, as though beneath society's notice. And on this ship, this was the center of power.
“Go on,” I invited evenly.
“If you give me the sword, I’ll tell you everything I know about the inner workings of both the Caprian and Confederation governments,” she started but I was already shaking my head.
“Try again,” I said flatly.
“Don’t be a fool, Jason,” she said stepping up to my desk in one quick move and slamming her hand down.
“Tread softly, Cousin,” I warned, my voice lowered to a dangerous level.
“You need what I know, if you’re going to survive this little adventure of yours,” Bethany said flatly.
“I sincerely doubt that you are privy to the inner councils of either group,” I said dismissively, looking off to the side as if growing disinterested to emphasize the point.
“You would be surprised at who I know and just how much I’m privy to,” she said stiffly.
“Unless it's pillow talk from someone you seduced-” I started only to be cut off.
“Someone is going to get the credit for rediscovering the sword of King Larry the Founder,” she cut in, her voice rising. “Mocking me or implying I’m some kind of whore doesn’t change that fact.”
“You can leave now,” I said.
If it was just me, I’d surrender Bandersnatch so fast it’d make your head spin. However, the matter was no longer entirely up to me and my worst fears were being realized. Someone recognized it and now it was just a matter of time until the authorities back home stuck their noses into the situation. Really, they already had in the form of Bethany but she was pretty powerless right now. I was sure I could handle anything she threw my way.
Besides, there was Akantha to consider, and there was no way I could even broach the subject of giving away that sword without a major blowup. I tried for a moment to imagine that conversation: ‘Um. Hey Akantha, my cousin really wants me to give away the sword you consider your wedding ring and the symbol of our marriage bond. I realize that without it you probably wouldn’t consider us married but hey, I’m sure that after the divorce you’d be more than willing to save the colonists on Messene and also stand as a witness during my trial for planetary piracy. Right, sweetheart?’
That so wasn’t going to work, it made me ill just thinking about it. No, I probably would come back into possession of Bandersnatch going that route, I realized. Point first, of course.
“There’s no advantage to keeping it until it's forcibly removed from your custody and taken back to the home world,” Bethany grated, “Better to give it to me now. There’s no way King James or the government is going to let the public know you were the one who recovered it. The only choice you have is whose favor to seek in exchange for the publicity of its return.”
“Is this slattern actually saying what I think she’s saying,” Akantha broke in, unable to contain herself any longer. “I’m sorry if this is your cousin, but if she’s saying what I think she’s saying-”
I cut her off before she could say anything that couldn’t be retracted. “My Cousin is simply overcome with the knowledge that Bandersnatch has been re-discovered, and not knowing the entire situation, desires it returned to the Palace-” I soothed, only to be interrupted in turn.
“I didn’t really believe you before when you said you were married, but now I do,” Bethany said cuttingly. “Holding onto that blade will only get you killed, are you already so whipped by this great looming monstrosity that you’ll just let her tell you what to do-” she abruptly came to a halt and danced to the side of the room as Akantha cleared Bandersnatch from its sheath.
“Satisfaction,” Akantha growled, holding Bandersnatch up at head level with the blade pointed at the Confederation Representative masquerading as my Cousin. “No one tries to strip me of my sword and gets away with calling me a Great Looming Monstrosity.”
“Honey, think about what-” I started, but Akantha was past words and lunged across the ready room with a full-fledged snarl. “Protect the Representative,” I yelped, looking at the non-Tracto-an Lancer for help. I could tell the person wasn’t from Tracto because of their height and the size of the armor. I figured it was a lost cause looking to the native for help, as he or she would probably just take Akantha’s side and apologize to me later. After I had a dead cousin for a Confederation representative and it no longer mattered because we were all dead men walking.
The Lancer jumped forward, trying to get between the two women.
Bethany crouched and reached up in her hair. Quick as a wink she pulled a pair of razor-sharp chop sticks made out of Imperial Locsium crystal out of her hair. She stepped to the side and used the criss-crossed sticks to parry as she jumped and pushed her way clear of Akantha’s attack.
Spinning so gracefully at first that it looked like a dance move, Bethany launched a backhand blow of her own with one of the chop sticks.
Akantha leaned back to avoid the blow but couldn’t quite get out of range quickly enough and a line of red opened on her cheek. My heart suddenly went into overdrive. She could have been killed! The next thing I knew, I was throwing myself over the desk without a thought to the fact I didn’t have either a weapon or armor.
Before I or the Lancer could get there, Akantha made her move. Realizing Bethany was too close for her to use Bandersnatch effectively, while she herself was within two quick jabs of being stabbed to death, my Sword-Bearer didn’t try to use the blade of her sword. Instead she punched Bethany's face with the fist holding Bandersnatch.
Bethany was just drawing her arm back with the intent of gutting my girl when three things happened at once. Bethany’s nose splattered all over her face as the pommel of Bandersnatch connected with her face, I jumped off the desk and knocked Akantha out of the way and the Lancer grabbed Bethany in a bear hug, turning his back to protect her from Akantha and her vibro-blade.
I felt a stinging sensation on my back and bit back a curse. I started to get up but the tangle of arms and limbs was too much. I slipped and fell back on top of Akantha.
“Get off me,” barked Akantha, grabbing hold and bench-pressing me off her.
“My sweet, you can’t just go around killing Confederation Representatives,” I tried to smile, but the pain in my back was growing and all I managed was a half-hearted grimace.
Instead of replying, she threw me to the side. My back spasmed and I stifled a groan. I didn’t feel up to stopping my Sword-Bearer a second time, so instead I stayed down, trying to catch my breath and considered once again how strong my wife was.
I could have picked her up and thrown her to the side too, I told myself. That was if our positions had been reversed, although of course I would never do such a thing because it would have been ungentlemanly of me. That’s why we would never actually know who could throw the other farther. Although, maybe forty five minutes a day in the gym hadn’t been quite enough.
My serious contemplation of the facts and how to continue slating them into a world where a man was always stronger than his wife was interrupted.
“Let go of the Admiral’s cousin,” Akantha ordered.
“I’m sorry My Lady but I cannot,” said the guard. I received another shock. I had thought the Caprian half of the honor guard pair who’d come into the Admiral’s ready room was just another common Lancer. The ‘common guard’ was, in fact, the Lancer Colonel himself.
This could get ugly. The Colonel was a former member of the Caprian Royal Lancers. They were, or at least had been, considered fanatically loyal to the Royal Bloodline. I forced my arms under me, and ignoring my new aches and pains, I then reached up and used the desk to pull myself the rest of the way up.
“Don’t protect that honorless swine, Colonel Suffic,” Akantha growled after a short pause.
“May I reminded the Lady that when she first attached herself to this party, I told her that it was our duty to protect the visiting Representative from harm and that perhaps she might prefer not to join the Honor Guard,” replied the Lancer Colonel, his back still presented to Akantha, and his voice as tough as nails.
“Hansel,” she said, irritation in her voice. My head jerked up at this familiar use of the Lancer Colonel’s name. I took a step away from the desk but I became dizzy and started to sway, so I quickly returned my hand to the edge of the desk for balance.
“My Lady,” he said, not giving an inch.
I didn’t like this familiarity between my wife and the Lancer Colonel, who I was reminded had accompanied her on several boarding actions. He was old enough to be her father! I forcibly suppressed the surge of jealousy that shot through me, instead focusing on returning to my chair.
I sat down gingerly. My back still hurt, but at least easing into my chair made it feel better.
“So I am to be cast as the one in the wrong here, despite the provocation,” Akantha said, her breath hissing through her teeth.
“Get lost you, witch,” snarled Bethany from the safety of the Lancer Colonels arms, “and take your primitive self away while your betters have a ‘civilized’ conversation.” She might have continued, but the Lancer Colonels arms visibly tightened and she gave a muted yelp instead.
“Silence yourself long enough to stay breathing,” the Lancer Colonel told Bethany in a low, harsh voice.
“Place that person in the same room as myself and she’s a dead woman, Colonel,” Akantha said, sounding betrayed and trying to hide it, before turning on her heel and marching out of the room. She was followed by the native half of the honor guard.
“That could have gone better,” Colonel Suffic said flatly after the doors had hissed shut.
I wanted to say, 'put two vipers in a room and watch them try to kill one another,' but I deliberately held my tongue. Afterwards, I thought, I was surprised at myself. How could I allow myself to be distracted at a time like this?
“Yes, it could have,” I said simply.
Another power-armored figure, from the size this one another Caprian or Promethean, stepped into the room and the Lancer Colonel released my Cousin.
“That space-crazed, blasted…blasted…witch,” Bethany yelled, holding a pretty aquamarine silk handkerchief to her broken and bloodied nose. “You sure know how to pick ’em, your high and mighty admiralship,” she sneered. “This one is even worse than that mud-blood you were dating, what was her name? The one that wanted to run off and become a colonist?”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I felt my fists clench. “Not another word on that subject, cousin," I bit out. For once, I was surprised to see her jaw actually snap shut when I told her to mind her own business. “I think you’ve caused enough of a scene, if it doesn’t qualify as an out and out catastrophe,” I said, feeling weary all of a sudden. This was all I needed, to have to go and sooth each woman individually. “So if there’s nothing else, let's adjourn for the day.”
Her jaw unhinged and she once again became her usual, biting self. “No. We are not done, Cousin Jason Montagne. Are you really going to let that- that woman run around the ship, taking a historic antique to people whenever she feels like it,” she demanded, the fire returning to her voice.
“Yes,” I said flatly. I didn't feel like explaining the whole situation to her right at the moment.
“You’ll hand the Founder’s Sword over to some woman you barely know, but even though it might save your life, you won’t even consider giving it to me for significant political advantage,” she demanded disbelievingly.
“Yes,” I repeated. “Are we done here? Because I’ve got some pressing ship and system business to deal with.”
Bethany pressed her lips together. “No we’re not done here yet. I may have shared everything from the Caprian side of my brief, but I still have Confederation Instructions to relay,” she said, looking more irritated. If I knew my cousin, she was furious at the thought of being thwarted. “Don’t think for an instant that the issue of the sword is over and done with,” she warned.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied through gritted teeth, not feeling like playing any more of her games. I just wanted this thing over and done with. “Tell me the will of the rump-Assembly.”
“Provisional Assembly,” she corrected sharply.
I closed my eyes and just nodded my head, hoping my actions said louder than words that I really didn’t care and she should get on with it.
She huffed but after a moment continued. “By order of the Assembly, the Lucky Clover is hereby instructed to return to Easy Haven upon receipt of this message. Fail to make port at Easy Haven as soon as possible, and one Jason Montagne will no longer be considered an Admiral of the Confederation,” she said. It's hard to look arch when you're holding a silk handy to your badly broken nose, but she almost managed it.
“Is that all,” I asked blithely.
“I’m sorry if Instructions from the Confederation Assembly bore you,” Bethany said tightly.
“Provisional Assembly,” I corrected.
Bethany stilled and I could tell the little barb had got through her armor, however briefly. “Provisional Assembly,” she agreed. “In addition, you are also required to dispatch every element of your,” her mouth twisted bitterly at the next word, “fleet, to the Rim protection duties. There were preliminary reports of piracy and attacks along the border worlds before I was dispatched here.” At this, she turned and glared straight into my eyes, “Which was the better part of a month ago. As it is, I’ve spent nearly three weeks in this dump of a system under attack from Bugs while you took your sweet time out doing whatever it is you were doing.”
I nodded slowly. “If that’s all,” I inquired.
“If that's all,” she demanded in disbelief. “The Confederation Assembly gives you instructions and all you can say to the Representative is, ‘is that all?'” She stomped her foot and then winced as the vibrations caused her arm to shift over her broken nose.
“Since I take it you have nothing further to add at this time,” I motioned for the Lancer that wasn’t the Lancer Colonel to escort my cousin, the Princess-Cadet turned Confederation Representative out of the room.
“No, that’s not all,” Bethany said around the handkerchief, “I want to lodge an official complaint over the treatment of the Confederation’s Official Representative,” she huffed in a familiar display of pouting.
“Over yourself, you mean,” I said.
“Yes, over myself,” she exclaimed. “Assault and battery with a deadly weapon at the very best. Treason against the Confederacy and attempted murder, more likely. I’ve never been so poorly treated in my entire life! Do you have any idea how much this hurts, Jason Montagne,” she demanded, indicating her broken nose.
I paused as if to consider, and then reached for my Officer’s Helmet. It resembled nothing so much as hollowed out bowling ball. Carefully, I pulled it off my head.
“Dear lady of beauty,” Bethany said crossing her middle and ring fingers and holding them up at me in the sign of aversion. “What happened?”
“The worst of the scarring on my face has already been taken care of, but I’ll need some serious time in a healing tank to take care of the rest of this,” I said waving my hand at my ruined head.
“Disgusting as it is to see, and thank you for sharing that by the way,” Bethany sneered. I could tell she was trying to hide her shock through insults. “I have no idea why you’re showing your head to me.”
I cocked a brow at her and then slowly eased the helmet back over my head. Anyone who says I don’t have more than my fair share of vanity is lying. Even to disgruntle and disgust my sweet cousin here, I couldn’t bear the thought of purposefully letting everyone seeing how ugly I’d become for more than a moment.
“You asked if I had any idea how your nose felt, dear cousin,” I said mockingly. “Well, if getting hit with a plasma grenade after being buried under a pile of Bugs whose acidic juices had worked their particular wonders on my features has any bearing on the situation, then let me assure you, I’ve felt your pain.”
“So what are you going to do about it,” she asked, obviously wrongfooted.
“Let me see,” I paused as if to give the situation some serious thought. “It's in large part thanks to Akantha that I received all this scarring and lost my hair, and last time something like that happened, I got mad and married the woman,” I gave another instant of mock consideration. “Perhaps this time I’ll just give her a stern talking to. How does that sound to you?”
Bethany turned on her heel and stalked out of the ready room.
I waited until she was out of the room and the hatch had firmly closed before sagging back in the chair.
Chapter 28: A Royal Pain
“Murphy's hangnail, I thought she’d never leave,” I sighed, without realizing anyone else was still in the room until after I’d said it.
The Lancer Colonel cleared his throat. “Can’t say as I disagree with the sentiment,” he chuckled.
I groaned. “I said that aloud, didn’t I,” I asked despairingly. My Cousin had been on the ship less than an hour, and already I was feeling deficient, every move second-guessed, every display of emotion needing to be parsed for advantage. Good grief, I got away from the Court life because of these very problems!
“Afraid so, Admiral,” Colonel Suffic said courteously.
“Well, at least someone feels my pain. But I fear I’ll be getting short shrift from the two ladies for the foreseeable future,” I said. Which was only too true. Somehow I’d managed to tick off both of them, when my true desire had only been to discommode my newly rediscovered cousin.
The Lancer Colonel popped his face mask open and shook his dignified head. “Neither one left here thinking you were on their side. Which in my experience spells trouble on the home front as well as during any and all the family gatherings,” he commiserated. "On the other hand, it usually points to a successful arbitration process, if both parties come off equally upset," he offered.
“Well, there you have it,” I said squirming in my seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. “Space Gods, my back is killing me,” I over-exaggerated for effect.
“Do you want me to inform the Bridge for you,” Colonel Suffic asked.
“About my back?” I scoffed.
“Regarding the Confederation Instructions,” he corrected.
I looked at him sharply. “There’s a few things to take care of first before we immediately start jumping to the tune of the Provisional Assembly,” I said, making sure to stress the provisional part.
“Maybe the Admiral heard something I missed, but the directives couldn’t have been any more clear. Depart immediately, or be labeled rogues,” Suffic pointed out.
“No, I heard her clearly. The Lucky Clover must leave as soon as it receives the message. Well, I’ve yet to pass that message along to the ship,” I paused before continuing with the second half. “If we don’t get there as soon as possible, then I’ll no longer be considered a Confederation Admiral. Well now, that would be a crying shame,” I said sarcastically. “The Clover will leave as soon as I get around to telling her,” I finished, giving the Lancer Colonel a steely gaze.
“As long as you know what you’re doing,” Hansel Suffic said, drawing out the words as if considering them, before giving a sharp nod. “You’re the Admiral.”
“That I am,” I said flatly, “and there’s a few things I need to see to first.” I started to get up, but no sooner had I reached my feet than I fell over.
The Colonel rushed to my side. “There’s blood all over the chair and your shirt’s soaked through,” he said in surprise. “Medical emergency to the Flag Bridge! Send a team stat, the Admiral has been wounded by the Representative. You can find us in the ready room,” Colonel Suffic said, sounding very serious. He must have used the com device built into his battle suit because I didn’t see him activate my desk functions to make the call.
“I’ll be fine,” I tried to assure him, but he pushed me back down to the floor when I started to rise.
“You’re far from fine, Sir,” he said. “Just lay down there,” he turned me onto my side. There was a tugging sensation followed by a ripping sound as he tore off part of my blaster-resistant Admiral’s jacket. He then wadded it up and pressed it against my back.
“Just a little pressure to help slow the bleeding until we can get you down to sickbay,” he assured me.
I didn’t like being reassured. It stank, and frankly this wasn’t the position I wanted to be in. Receiving assurances, that is. It made me think that there was some reason not to be assured, which made me want to get to my feet and let everyone know just how fine I really was. As if by convincing them, I’d somehow miraculously find myself healed.
I was the one supposed to be reassuring people, not the other way around, I thought indignantly. I gave a mighty snort, or at least as mighty a snort as I could manage while lying down on my office floor.
“Are you okay there, Sir,” Colonel Suffic asked sounding slightly concerned.
“Never better,” I said breezily, fluttering my hand in the air making a throwaway motion.
“Please save your strength, Sir,” Hansel Suffic instructed sternly.
“Oh, whatever,” I muttered rebelliously before subsiding into a disgruntled silence. It's not like I was actually hurt or anything. The last thing I needed was a bunch of overbearing nursemaids. Why couldn’t they just leave well enough alone, or at least not make such a scene? I didn’t need to portray weakness right at this particular moment….
That was the last thought I had before waking up in sickbay.
Chapter 29: I Spy With My Beady Eye
Chief Bogart had taken a wrong turn somewhere. He was familiar with the Dreadnaught Class from his tour onboard the Armor Prince before she was decommissioned by Parliament and sent to the breakers, but none of that was helping him now.
He was lost somewhere in the bowels of the ship, in a place that only engineers and those nervous nellies over in Environmental where known to tread. It's not that he set out to get lost, it's just that on the Armor Prince cutting through here would have been a straight shot over to a junction that led to one of the maintenance crawlspaces for the port side gun deck.
The petty officers and gun crew on the port side were wise to his ‘random inspections’ by now, and they had posted lookouts on all the entrances leading into the portside.
Well, he was going to show them when he popped up like a weasel out of its box and turned up right in the heart of the port gun deck. Were those boys going to be in for a surprise, if he could ever find his way to the proper junction.
He refused to crack open the nearest data terminal and run a search for directions. Both because if any of the petty officers were on the ball and tapped in tight with the ship’s system analysts they would get wind of his presence, and also because if he did so he’d have to admit he was lost and get rather more than a little irritated with himself.
Instead he was about to give it all up as a zero sum game and go home in defeat when he heard what sounded like lowered voices up ahead.
Placing his footsteps carefully he walked up to the next junction in the corridor. Able to go straight, left, right or back the way he came, the voices were coming from the right. He stopped to listen to what they were saying, but they were still too far away. Easing around the corner he saw a pair of figures a ways down the hall.
“…harder to kill than a cockroach,” he heard the one turned away from him say. From his jacket he was just a common crewman.
The other…Chief Bogart blinked. It was the ship’s first officer, Lieutenant Tremblay. What the Hades was he doing out here in the middle of nowhere?
“The only reason we’re in the mess we’re in is because Security decided to exceed orders and act on its own initiative,” Tremblay said irritably, “we don’t need any more of that kind of space cowboy nonsense.”
Bogart clenched his hands into fists. 'Definitely up to no good,' he thought.
“Slow and steady wins the race, at least up until-” Tremblay paused his head jerking up as he spotted the Chief Gunnery Officer. "Bogart,” he said glaring at the chief officer in command of the gun deck.
“Why if it isn’t our very own First Officer,” Bogart said his eyes narrowing.
“I don’t know who else I’d be, Bogart,” retorted Tremblay with a sneer.
“And just who do you have here with you, Lieutenant Tremblay,” the Gun chief asked mildly.
The crewman’s back stiffened as he tensed.
Chief Bogart observed Tremblay’s eyes narrow and give a slight shake of his head, then the crewman took off down the hall.
“Your friend isn’t going to wait around to say 'hi,' Mr. Tremblay,” he said sardonically.
“It's First Officer to you, and don’t you worry about my ‘friend’,” Tremblay snorted, “Why don’t you tell me just what you’re doing down here in the middle of nowhere, Chief Bogart,” he demanded, stepping into the center of the corridor and blocking the view of the departing crewman, but not before Curtis Bogart spotted Armory patches sewn into the jacket of the rapidly departing figure.
“Was on my way to a surprise inspection of the Port Side gun deck when I got turned around,” Bogart shrugged, his offhand slowly creeping down to his side where the heavy duty spanner was strapped to his belt.
Tremblay looked at him through slitted eyes. “Carry on then, Chief Gunner,” he said, turning on his heel and stalking away.
Bogart cocked an eye as the First Officer departed almost as rapidly as his mysterious crewman.
Something was most definitely up, and whatever it was stunk to high Nirvana with all wretched odor of plotting and scheming. And make no mistake, it was Parliamentary plotting and scheming, if his experienced nose wasn’t leading him astray.
Whatever it was the First Officer was in, it was up to his eyeballs. But there wasn’t anything the Chief Gunner could do about it. Yet.
In the meantime he was just going to have to quietly put the word out to a few of the other old Caprian hands to keep their eyes open. From what little he’d overheard, this was a First Officer who definitely bore close watching.
Too bad he didn’t have anything definite to take to the Admiral. Otherwise he’d have wiped the floor with that scheming little pipsqueak and dragged him over to the brig for being the little plotting weasel he was.
Growling under his breath, the Chief Gunner stomped back the way he’d come. Now all he had to do was find his way out of this accursed place and back to the proper areas of the ship for a gunner. These back corridors were only fit of enviro-techs and engineers. A gunner needed outer hull battle armor and a gun sight look through.
Chapter 30: To Rest or Not To Rest. Not To Rest.
“Well Admiral, you sure know how to keep us on our toes,” someone said and I started, trying to quickly sit up.
“Careful there,” the man clucked his tongue as he pushed me back down. “No sitting up until we’re sure you’re stable.”
I shook my head to clear the fog from it and allowed myself to return to a lying position. “Where am I,” I asked, my thoughts still fuzzy. Almost as soon as I asked, I started to take in my surroundings. The blue stripes on their arms and the cut of the uniforms worn by the few people I could see gave them away as medical staff.
I had just touched the sheets and was feeling the gentle contours of the familiar looking bed rails when my attention was tugged back into reality with a jerk.
“I’m not surprised you’re still a little blitzed,” said the man I now recognized as the new Doctor in charge of Medical. “The healing agents do tend to have that effect.” He smiled down benignly at me.
I looked at him sharply. “I’ve been in medical a few times recently, and I’ve never felt blitzed...at least not like this before,” I said with a hint of a demand creeping into my voice. What the Hades was going on here? My mind wanted to instantly leap to finding a plot of some kind. Although for one I was too muggy to really exercise the kind of convoluted logic necessary for such conspiracy theories, plus there was the fact that most of my conspiracy fears in the past had been focused on avoiding Medical in case the officers and crew decided this was the moment, and it was time to make their move and keep me sedated for the duration.
“What’s going on here,” I said trying for a determined voice, the kind of tone people instantly leap to obey, but instead it came out whiny and annoying. I even sounded that way to myself, and I was the one who was genuinely concerned.
“Don’t fret yourself,” the doctor said sternly. “Let the professionals take care of your medical needs.”
“Hey, it's my body Doc,” I exclaimed, “if anyone has the right to fret, I think it’s the guy who just woke up in Medical.”
“Perhaps you need a sedative,” the Doctor said, obviously thinking aloud.
I sat bolt upright in bed. Who did he think he was!? I was the Admiral of this ship, for Murphy’s sake! The look in my eye warned him off when he came back with the intent of making me lay down again.
“That’s right, keep your distance,” I glared at him. “My need for a sedative is directly proportional to your need for a new job. So either you can drop the whole idea, or after you forcibly knock me back into lala land, when I wake up I’ll make sure you’re canned. We’ll drop you off at the next port,” I said harshly. The middle-aged medical professional looked taken aback, which prompted me to try reigning in my emotions. “Now what’s going on," I asked in a more measured voice.
By now the fog had mostly cleared. Perhaps it was the surge of adrenaline I was feeling, or maybe it was just the natural progression of whatever drug they’d given me. Either way, I didn’t think it was a smart idea to let my subordinates run around thinking they could sedate me at will.
The doctor narrowed his eyes and locked gazes with me. The force of his personality suddenly blazed through his otherwise professional veneer. However, I wasn’t some powder puff he could just run over and do whatever he wanted with. Not only was I a person, but this person had been through Bug-inspired Hades. I started reaching around for something to use as an improvised weapon.
“There are certain drugs that can take care of that problem,” he said shortly. “Short term memory, that is,” he clarified.
I sucked in my breath and went still. Poised on the edge of violence, I asked, “Who did you say you are?”
“I didn’t,” he said turning away and picking up his data slate. He tapped a few things on the screen. “But I am Dr. Torgeson and the fogginess you feel, which should be abating by now is the result of a liberal application of surgical heal.” He turned back to face me and after a piercing glance, went back to tapping away on his data slate.
“Bethany stuck me bad enough to require surgical heal,” I asked in surprise.
“Indeed not,” Dr. Torgeson said glancing back up at me before returning to his screen.
“Then why did you use it!?” Perhaps I was too like my cousin but being ignored, on my own ship no less, was beginning to torque me off. “It takes hours after the surgery to regain consciousness after an application of Surgical Heal,” I said, trying to contain my wild emotions and failing miserably. I think it's safe to say I was well on the way to working up a good mad.
Dr. Torgeson gave me an odd look. “The Lady Akantha expressed a desire to me earlier that something be done about the worst of your,” he waved a hand over the top of his head, “cranial scar tissue. Since you’d previously refused any medication that would require a loss of consciousness during the treatment, I thought this was an ideal time for a trip to the tank and a liberal application of Surgical Heal. Since you had blacked out from shock and blood loss already, there was no violation of your stated desires.”
I could feel my face flushing and my arms started to shake with fury as I clenched my fists. The moment my metaphorical back was turned, they overrode my wishes and did whatever they wanted with me! This was my body, but did that or the many previous refusals I’d made matter? No, it seemed it didn’t.
I knew I had been putting off a turn in the healing tank, as well as the use of anything more than a minute amount of Surgical Heal. There was also the fact that I’d stated to everyone who could hear that I fully intended to do something about the state of my current ugliness. Just moments ago, at least as far as my stream of consciousness was concerned, I had been self-conscious at the thought of anyone (Bethany for instance) looking at me for more than a moment.
Now I realized that I hadn’t been ready to be fully healed yet. Not only because it was a handy little bit of psychological warfare to point to my scars and in effect say, 'do you think you can top this?' I also understood now that on some level beyond the tactical plane, I hadn’t wanted to be healed. Maybe I thought I needed to suffer and be seen to suffer like all the men I’d killed or who had died on my orders. Maybe I was still working through the trauma of being betrayed and plasma grenaded on the Scout Marauder where I found Akantha. But whatever it was, the idea of being completely recovered as if nothing traumatic had ever happened to me left me furious.
“It's time for you to leave, Dr. Torgeson,” I said, my voice quivering with barely contained emotion.
“If you need something,” he offered, for the first time looking concerned for my well-being. Perhaps he’d mistaken my trembling voice for fear. That would have been a mistake.
“Pay careful attention to my voice. Leave, and don’t ever come back. If you try to treat me again in the future, I will not be responsible for the results,” I said in a detached voice, which was the only way I could restrain myself.
Dr. Torgeson opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. He turned on his heel and marched through the curtain.
I was too on edge to stay in bed like I probably should have. I used the call button built into the rail of the hospital bed to summon an orderly. “Clothes,” I barked, swinging my legs over the side of the bed as soon he stepped in the miniature little room.
“Admiral-,” he started, sounding surprised to see me up and about already.
“Snap it,” I instructed firmly, “run and get me something to wear or I’ll soon be trodding the halls of our Battleship in this open-backed hospital gown,” I said with relish.
It's not so much that I liked the idea of running round with my bare posterior hanging out for the world to see, it's just that I was in a mood for a confrontation of some kind. Anything to take my mind off of the hours I’d lost, thanks to Bethany, Akantha and their mutual desire to carve one another (and myself!) into little pieces of meat. More specifically, I needed my mind off Bethany and her little chop sticks before I went and did anything rash.
Akantha though, she was just as guilty if not more so… Now there was a thought. I’d been meaning to give the crew, or at least and perhaps most especially that portion of it either from Tracto or with family currently living on it, shore leave.
My sweet little wife, who stood over half a head taller than myself, had been visibly upset that I hadn’t visited her home world with her since that unpleasantness with her Uncle. A man who had been married to her mother, and perhaps most critically, a man I had killed after he’d challenged me for marrying his niece.
My experience so far with that planet wasn’t the best. It seemed I had to kill something every time I went there. It had previously seemed an unlucky place to go visit, but in my current mood the notion seemed surprisingly attractive. I realized in the logical part of my brain that one visit wasn’t the kind of sample size you wanted to use when generalizing an entire planet, but it had been a rather traumatic time for me, and I was willing to stand by my knee-jerk assertion.
So yes, Akantha, let's go to your planet and visit with the in-laws. I was in just about the perfect mood for it right now. So why not? My previous objections, which had kept me from visiting before, seemed to melt away like a block of ice on a hot summer day.
Chapter 31: On The Way Back
Muttering under his breath, Curtis Bogart marched down the corridor, head thrown back and shoulders tight with tension. Being lost in a Caprian-built ship of the line was worse than embarrassing, it was downright humiliating. He couldn’t wait until this whole terrible episode was done and over with.
Coming to another four way intersection he growled with frustration. All he needed to do was find the nearest lift so he could get out of here.
Something clanged behind him. Half turning he looked over his shoulder with narrowed eyes.
There was a flash of movement but it wasn’t right behind him, instead it was off to his right.
Instinctively rounding back, there was a flash of pain as someone or something slammed into him, smashing his body against the duralloy wall of the corridor, and icy cold fire seared through his side.
Once, twice, a third time shooting lances of pain erupted throughout his side as someone held him pressed up against the metal wall of the ship.
“Die, you old Royalist,” came a harsh rasping grunt as the other man… and it was a man, the Chief Gunner knew that much at least, breath coming in hard deep breaths.
'Oh, Hades no,' the Chief Gunner thought to himself belligerently. There was no way he was going out like this, ambushed in some random corridor by a Parliamentary hit squad, his body spaced or throw into a waste recycler.
With a grunt he brought up the hand at his side which had been idly playing with his auto wrench as he unwittingly walked into this trap. With as much strength as he could muster he brought it up and around, slamming it into the head of his attacker.
“Parliamentary scrum,” he gasped, fighting to catch a breath that just didn’t want to be caught. Lurching forward he swiped back and forth at the stumbling figure. His eyes blurred up something fierce and his legs felt like they were made of water, but he’d been on too many benders in his youth to let a little thing like an unsteady gait deter him.
“A knife in an alley, poison in the soup or a pillow in the dark, such has always been the Parliamentary way of curs like you,” he tried to snarl, but his breath just wouldn’t catch back up with him and it came out as a gurgling wheeze instead.
He took one last swing but by this point his attacker had regained his footing and Bogart overbalanced trying to extend his reach just that little bit extra needed to catch the other man. He unceremoniously fell to his knees.
“Stupid Royalists,” grunted the other man, knocking the wrench out of his hand with a roundhouse kick, “always ready to stand tall, just as stupid as any other old bull sent to the slaughter once it's outlived its usefulness,” he growled, grabbing hold of Curtis Bogart’s hair as the older man knelt in the corridor.
Bogart grabbed the other man’s wrist with one hand and threw a wild swing that connected on the shadowy figure’s midsection, but other than that failed to do much of anything.
Wrenching back the Chief Gunner’s hair in response, the other man drew back his free hand. Even through his increasingly hazy and blurred vision, Bogart could tell there was a blade of some kind in the other’s hand.
“Take pride in the knowledge that your blood, like that of so many others before you will water the roots of our glorious elected government, giving birth to a stronger, more vibrant Parliament, one that will never be removed from its rightful place in Capria and Galactic Affairs,” the other man said in a harsh whisper.
“Get ionized, you bloody…” the Gunner started but several things happened at once to cut him off.
A stream of foul cursing in that gobble-dy gook language of those overgrown Tracto nincompoops sounded behind him. Realizing he didn’t have time to stand around and posture any longer, the Parliamentarian quickly brought down his blade for a fatal slash. His vision tunneling, the old gunner brought his free hand around trying to block the strike. He wasn’t going out like some old timey pagan sacrifice!
There was a mighty grunt behind him and in front of him there was a loud thud and a crack, followed by a choked-off scream.
The hitman stumbled mid-stroke and instead of cutting Bogart’s throat open like he was some kind of goat about to be slaughtered, the knife flayed the Chief Gunner open from his forearm to his shoulder.
The force of the blow sent the Chief Gunner reeling to the floor, his head cracking against the hard metal grating of the floor. Red lines of fire shot through his vision.
There was the sound of another battle cry followed by feet pounding against the deck plates.
“Messene,” screamed the Lancer. Whoever it was, he was louder than a whole herd of elephants as he charged down the corridor.
“Barbarian oaf,” the Parliamentary man cursed. This was followed by whining sound of a sonic grenade being activated and tossed in past the gunner towards his rescuer, who was still screaming. Before the grenade went off there was a grunt followed by a clang and a ricochet sound.
Then the grenade went off. The Gunner realized he must be further out of it than he realized when the grenade didn’t go off behind him, but instead to his left down a side corridor.
The barbarian, still letting out a stream of native gibberish leapt over his body and pounded off down the corridor after the assassin.
Realizing he was safe for the moment, Bogart grasped at his utility belt and fumbled with weakened fingers. Trembling as if he’d been struck with palsy, the grey haired gunner shoved his hand into a pouch. It was the wrong one, and if he’d had the energy he would have shouted in frustration. Even weaker this time, he moved his hand and reached for the pouch his hands should have unerringly found the first time.
Rooting around inside he finally found what he was searching for. Exhausted by the effort he paused just a moment to regain his strength. A hand brutally gripping his shoulder and shook him from side to side like an enviro-rat caught in the mouth of a ship’s dog, roused him from an unintended slumber.
“Wake up, Chief Gunner Bogart,” said a native voice, a very familiar and entirely unwanted Tracto-an voice. However, unlike his earlier suppositions, it didn’t belong to a Lancer. Well, not technically.
“Come to finish the job,” he rasped, and coughed. From the wet feel on his lips and the inability to catch his breath, that Parliamentary hitman must have nicked a lung… or worse.
The Lancer punched him in the chest, and again. Raising a hand he tried to ward him off. “You really are trying to kill me,” he tried to growl but only managed to wheeze instead.
“You just died,” snarled the Lancer.
The chief shook his head, before remembering his backup wasn’t really a Lancer anymore.
“Put me down, you infernal grease monkey! All you’ll do is kill me if you keep on like this,” he said faintly as the other man started to pick him up.
“Have to get you to medical,” grunted the other man, “can’t let you die until I learn everything I can about gunnering, then I kill you myself.”
The Chief started to laugh but the pain it caused quickly ruined the humor of the situation. "I won’t make it to medical, my man,” he gasped.
“You want I should let you die then,” demanded the Tracto-an, letting Bogart fall back to the duralloy mesh decking with a thump.
“I have a stick of Combat Heal in my front pocket, you thickheaded fool,” grunted the old gunner before going limp.
“Better thickheaded than an old fool who lets himself gets snuck up on and stabbed,” growled the former Lancer, rifling through the Chief gunner’s pockets. Finding the, tube he jammed it into one of the wounds in the older man’s side, the same one that had been stabbed repeatedly.
At first nothing happened and despite his own first-hand experience of how Combat Heal worked, the former Lancer and current grease monkey was starting to get worried.
Suddenly the old gunner’s back arched and he started shaking and coughing out blood. Rolling to his side, Bogart wheezed and hacked before jerking spasmodically, as if he were having a seizure.
Using his superior strength, the Lancer grabbed the Chief Gunner and forcibly held him still until the fit had passed, all the while looking down grimly at his erstwhile superior.
Finally Bogart stopped twitching and went limp. A moment later he brought the back of his hand up to his mouth and dragged it across his lips. Looking at the bright red blood that covered it, he grimaced.
“Help me to my feet,” he said, his voice a rasping echo of its former strength.
The native shrugged and helped him up before stepping back and letting the older man go.
Bogart swayed for a second before regaining his balance and glaring at the monster of a man. Seeing the hint of a smile around the edges of the other man’s mouth, he refused to say anything that would give this native whelp the satisfaction.
“What’re you doing around this part of the ship,” he asked suspicious at the timely intervention of the native so soon after the Chief Gunner, himself had been attacked. “And don’t try to tell me you were taking in the scenery or trying to ‘get a feel’ for the ship."
The grease monkey grinned. “Warrant Officer Laurent put me to following you around. Can’t have the Chief Gunner launching surprise inspections without the deck boss and warrants knowing about it,” he said.
If he hadn’t just coughed up half a pint of blood, the old chief knew his face would have turned as red as a beet. “Blasted cocky upstarts,” he all but snarled. He was too weak or he really would have snarled.
“It saved your life,” shrugged the native.
“What’s your name, anyway,” Bogart demanded frowning fiercely, “I can’t go around calling you grease monkey and thinking of you as that glass-jawed native anymore, now can I,” he grumbled swaying on his feet.
The former Lancer didn’t move a finger to help him, which was how he wanted it, but also said something about the other man at the same time.
“Heirophant,” shrugged the native.
“Okay, grease-monkey, let's get out of here,” said Bogart, stumbling forward using one hand on the wall to help keep him upright, “ye-space gods, it's been a while since I used Combat Heal. Almost forgot how it felt… almost.”
“Supposed to go to medical after using the Combat Heal,” said Heirophant with a shrug.
“Supposed to do a lot of things. Doesn’t mean they actually get done, now does it, grease-monkey,” Bogart said shaking his head.
The native frowned, “Thought you wanted to know my name and not call me grease monkey anymore.”
“No, I wanted to know your name so that when I called you grease monkey, I wasn’t still thinking of you as that Murphy-crazed, uppity native,” Bogart said matter-of-factly.
The Lancer scowled at him.
Bogart turned forward to continue his limping course down the corridor, as well as hide the smile on his face. “Whatever happened to that sonic grenade,” he asked as the thought popped into his head.
The overgrown grease-monkey grunted, “Kicked it down side corridor so it was out of the way.”
Bogart wheezed a laugh but didn’t comment further.
For his part, the Lancer followed him without a word or offer of assistance. Too proud to ask, the Gunner limped and staggered his way out of enviro-purgatory under his own power.
Chapter 32: Expedition Infirm-um
“I’m surprised you agreed to come. I would have thought from your previous refusals that you had no desire to see my world or city again,” said Akantha, a familiar chill in her voice. At least it was better than the stony silence I’d been dealing with up to that point.
“The crew seemed excited at the chance to visit with family. Both Lancers and regular crew,” I said referring to the fact that most Lancers were natives, while both Promethean and Caprian Royalists which had family on the planet were all colonists. There wasn’t a native Tracto-an among the ship's regular crew, at least not yet.
“Yes, they were quite happy. As is only to be expected when a person is given the chance to visit those they care deeply for. People who may be far in body but close in spirit,” she said. I knew this was probably some roundabout dig at me for not agreeing to visit earlier, but I didn’t care to get into it. Better to let her have her little pound of flesh.
We’d see if she was still happy I’d come after some relative challenged me to yet another battle to the death. Although in fairness it might not be a relative, perhaps it would be another one of her formerly hopeful yet now jilted and violently spiteful suitors looking to claim my head and a place in her bloodthirsty heart.
“You never said why you refused to come for a second visit,” she said with a sharp sidelong look. “Since we have entered an era of truth at your urging, perhaps this is a good time for you to tell me,” she said with a sweet smile that was anything but genuine.
I clenched my teeth, closing my lips to produce fake a smile of my own. On second thought, she might actually enjoy it if I ended up fighting another one of her former suitors. The longer this went, the less eager I was for this little planetary diversion.
“I wanted some time for things to settle in Argos before risking a return,” I replied casually, looking off to the side.
“So my homeland is too big a risk for the mighty Prince of Capria,” she sneered. “Are you a man, or some gelded steer? Because a ‘real’ man fears not a little risk.” She rolled her eyes in a deliberately mocking manner.
I jerked. That barb actually stung for some reason. Who was this native wench to speak to me in this manner? “I didn’t say that,” I snarled. I couldn’t help myself, she’d finally gotten under my skin. It was all I could do to keep my face blank and the hurtful words I wanted to lash out with in return bottled up.
“If you don’t want to tell me how you really feel, then let's end this sham now...” she said shortly, deliberately letting her words trail off. The implication was clear: if I wasn’t willing to tell the truth, at least in her eyes, then our deal was done.
I glared over at her, outraged at the way she was forcing the issue. There was no benefit for either side to gain from the whole issue. What was she looking for, another reason to yell at me and call me names?
“I didn’t want to be forced to kill anymore of your relatives,” I said truthfully enough, but the disbelieving look on her face pushed me over the edge. Throwing caution to the wind along with the last threads of my discretion, I went on the attack. “But after the way you just tried to kill my cousin when she hadn’t even lifted a finger against you, I no longer care.” Akantha gasped. It was a quick half breath, quickly cut off and mastered, but the blow was telling. I knew I shouldn’t take such satisfaction in the reaction, especially since what I had just said was pretty awful. But if she wanted the full, unvarnished truth, and was willing to say I wasn’t a man, well let's see how she liked it when I put the worst possible spin on things. I was tired of the way she ran around doing whatever she wanted and then insulting me when I showed the least bit of concern, or asked for a small amount of discretion.
“So not only do you think I’m trying to get you killed by asking you to come to my home city, but you would take the side of your cousin over me as well,” she said with icy precision. “I thank you for the truth. I believe I am done with this conversation now.”
I felt my blood pressure soar through the roof. She had demanded, not asked but literally demanded that I talk even after I had politely requested the subject be dropped, but as soon as she got what she wanted it was time to stop the conversation.
That was the final straw, and the last vestiges of my control snapped.
“Where was my dear wife after my oh-so-beloved cousin stabbed me in the back? Literally, she stabbed me in the back,” I leveled a shaking finger at her and raged. “Oh, that’s right,” I roared, “she was too busy having another in a series of hissy fits to care whether or not I was about to die!”
Akantha stared at me, shock temporarily overriding her mask of icy disdain. For a moment I almost hesitated, since the knife had been really small and I wasn't even aware I’d been stabbed until the Lancer Colonel discovered it. Then my face hardened. She wanted the truths she was after and nothing more. Let's see how she felt about taking the truth by force next time, after I shoved the rest of this particular truth down her throat.
“I didn’t know…,” she said almost hesitantly, “I wasn’t aware-” but I was too hot to listen, and cut her off just as everyone seems to cut me off.
“Not only did I almost die, but I can’t even do anything about it,” I yelled hoarsely. “If she hadn’t stabbed me, then after the way you attacked her I’d have no leverage and the Provisional Assembly could even demand I turn you over to them for trial! When I refused, they’d then have the perfect grounds for relieving me of command and taking away the Lucky Clover. Which, I might add, is the only ship in the sector with a prayer of stopping the Bug invasion of your world,” I paused to recharge slightly before continuing on. It was time someone told her the way things were in the larger galaxy. She couldn’t keep running around trying to kill anyone who ticked her off. “Not that they don’t already have grounds enough after the way my ‘wife’ attacked their official Representative. Come on Akantha, I all but guaranteed her safety. How could you do this to me!?”
I was breathing hard and Akantha looked like some of this was almost getting through.
“She had no right to speak to me in such a fashion,” she said stiffly, “and threats do not excuse cowardice.” It took me a moment to realize she was still harping on the fact that I hadn’t come back to visit her people since my first abortive foray to the surface. Showing up to meet the folks only to be battered into unconsciousness and have your hand cut off will tend to make any guy leery of a return visit, at least in my opinion.
“And another thing, my dear Sword-Bearer: if I’m some gutless, gelded wonder for not jumping at the first opportunity for another death ride down to your world, especially after the way I was almost killed last time, then what are you? Some bloodthirsty, would-be genocidal savage? A savage who doesn’t even care enough about her own people to restrain-” the crack of her hand against my face knocked my head to the side and had me seeing stars. It was only for half a second but still, that woman was strong.
I felt around inside my mouth with my tongue and discovered where the force of the blow had cut the skin on the inside of my mouth on my teeth. I spat up some blood on the floor before deciding that was uncouth, and swallowed the rest.
Maybe I deserved that one, I decided. Although in fairness, it was pretty telling that when she lost her temper, I was the one who got stabbed in the back. But when I was the one losing my temper, once again I was the one bleeding and getting slapped. Clearly our relationship was based more along the lines of the 'Jason Montagne is a punching bag' show. It was all me, all the time.
I was reminded of the first time I met her. Again I was the one burned and battered to the point of unconsciousness while she just got to stand there looking pretty for the cameras. In the back of my mind I knew that wasn’t an entirely fair assessment, but thanks to her I had been burned, stabbed, dismembered and in all other ways physically battered into unconsciousness. Not just once, but twice! My reward was to be called names and physically assaulted, all while I was doing my very best to save her and her world from annihilation.
The threat to her world was a problem not of my making and strictly speaking something that was very much not the concern of a mere Prince of the Caprian Realm.
To top it all off when I showed concern for her, like during her recent visit to sickbay, I was the one who was pushed away. When I advocated for truth…well, I kind of did mess that one up. Still, I liked to think I’d put myself to the hazard often enough to have earned a little leeway but it looked like, according to the book of Akantha, that was not the case.
Akantha was the first to break the stony silence that had settled between us. “No Protector should speak to his Mistress so,” she said, her face as hard as a thousand year old glacier, her eyes focused on the forward wall.
I drew in a deep breath for an angry retort, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. The wind went out of my sails along with the knot of fury in my belly. In its place, all that was left was exhaustion. “Yeah. You’re probably right. The genocidal savage comment was way out of line,” I admitted with a sigh, “I apologize for that. But, Lady,” I said looking over and watching her face until I caught her eye, “when I was over there in sickbay with a hole in my back, and forget about looking after my stated intentions regarding treatment options, I woke up to a sour-faced medical professional. You couldn’t even be bothered to pay a visit to the man who took a knife for you? Or sit by my side until I woke up?”
“Oh,” she said, the color slowly leeching out of her face, her mouth making a small circle. Despite the fact the color in her cheeks was from anger, I had to say that little bit of extra color made her much more attractive. Something noticeable now by its absence.
“Yeah, 'Oh,'” I said not quite softly and not quite under my breath, but somewhere in between. Leaning my head back in the crash chair I was sitting in for the shuttle ride down from orbit to the surface, I couldn’t help it. Maybe I was emotionally exhausted, or more likely I was still recovering from my trip to sickbay, but whatever it was, my eyes felt exceptionally heavy and despite the gee forces, I was soon fast asleep.
Chapter 33: All Things Messene
The shuttle setting down brought her Protector back to wakefulness with a lurch. As she watched, he shook his head and looked around blearily as he reached over for the straps that chained him to the chair.
If she hadn’t still been furious with him, she would have reached over to help him release the ingenious little catches that helped keep a person safe during the trips to and from the ship
He fumbled around for long enough that she grew tired of waiting for him and reached over to pop the release. His look of surprise was almost gratifying, until it wasn’t and her fury with him returned. Akantha abruptly got out of her own crash chair and turned away.
“Let’s go see the family,” he said.
She stiffened before deliberately forcing herself to relax.
“We are stopping at Messene first,” she said coolly. She had asked the pilot to go to the island first in the hopes that Messene would be a better first stop. A hopefully neutral location, with sights and surroundings more familiar to a Warlord and Admiral of the Stars than Argos. Hopefully, this would help overcome his trepidation.
“Why are we here, I thought we were going to Argos,” he asked, clearly puzzled.
She frowned at him. Was it so hard to imagine that she desired to make his trip here as pleasant as possible?
“I instructed the pilot to take us here first,” she couldn’t help glaring at him, as she was clearly still furious with the man. How dare he insult her like that and then make her feel as if she was somehow in the wrong, when he was clearly the one at fault here!
He raised his hands. “Whatever you want, Akantha,” he said, shaking his head and looking to the side.
She narrowed her eyes, suspecting yet another backhanded insult. When she didn’t find one, only a studied look of disinterest, she suppressed a twinge in her stomach and held fast to her righteous anger instead. If only he would take that attitude more often, things would be fine.
“What I want is for your Cousin to suffer as she deserves,” burst out of her mouth before she could stop it.
She could see the anger clouding his feature and braced herself for another fight. She hadn’t meant to reopen the subject like this and so soon, but now that it was here she was more than ready for the fight.
She watched closely as he drew in a deep breath and that pleasant mask he used to hide his feelings crept over his face. She hated it when he did that.
Surprisingly, he didn’t immediately wade back into the recent conflict but instead paused. She was taken aback by the wry smile that crossed his face.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” he said, sounding affable for once.
“She does deserve it,” Akantha responded in equal parts surprise and agreement.
Jason nodded. “Now there’s a woman that’s needed a comeuppance ever since she was a child,” he said, waving his hand and looking off into past and something she couldn’t see.
They way he said woman had her suspicious, but she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. She instead focused on another thing about him that was irritating: the man just couldn’t seem to keep his hands still. Most of the time she found it mildly amusing when she stopped to think about it, but not today. Today it was just another reminder she was tied to a stranger. Strange in every sense of the word.
She wanted a good fight, and here he was trying to be semi-reasonable. At times she wondered what kind of man was produced out here in the stars. No man she knew of in Argos would just stand by while his woman slapped him and carry on as if nothing had happened. True, she was a Hold Mistress and not just an ordinary homemaker, but most men led with their fists and apologized later, if ever.
She couldn’t imagine he was a physical coward, whatever she might say in the heat of the moment. He’d faced the Sky Demons without flinching and slew her mother’s Protector, Uncle Nykator in a duel. True, he had a suit of this magical power armor, but even so he’d lost a hand and still carried on. She’d also heard tale of his exploits against the Imperial Marine Jacks. Everyone she’d talked with said the fearsome Jacks had superior weapons and armors, and in his role as Warlord, Jason Montagne had done better than hold his own. He’d fought and led his men to victory in the face of a superior opponent fighting in their own fortress.
She was actually more than a little bit jealous she’d missed out on that particular boarding action. She was also a little irked, but reminded herself it was only to be expected that he would have a more fearsome battle reputation. It was one of the few ways in which he actually met her expectations of a Warrior and man. The rest of the time, all this talking and arguing, it was more like being back home at mother’s court than being part of a war-band.
She shook her head to clear it.
“Speaking of childhood, did you really secretly rename all of your cousins after snakes,” she said, a hint of a smile playing around the edges of her mouth.
She could tell right away from the look on his face that as far as he was concerned, this was the wrong thing to ask about, but after a moment of reconsideration she decided she didn’t care. She knew so little about his life before they met, it was time to change that.
“Is it true that your family is holding your Mother hostage for your good behavior,” she asked, softening her voice slightly.
“Yes and yes,” he said abruptly.
She frowned at him, feeling more than a hint of anger rising at this uninformative answer. The whole point of talking was to convey information and communicate, not to shut things down.
“You really did name all your cousins after poisonous reptiles,” she said, more amused than anything. She could relate, as she also knew what it was like to have relatives you feuded with as a child.
“Yes. I did,” he said with a sigh.
“See, was that so hard?” she demanded, rolling her eyes at one of the few ways he really was like the males of her own people. One of the few ways in which she would have actually been happy to find him completely different. But it seemed that this would have been asking too much, even of the Gods. Still, at least now they had one more thing in common than they did before.
“Not yet,” he said giving her a stare she failed to cipher. Its meaning eluded her, which was another irritating point about him. Always hiding how he felt, when she wanted to find a way to bring them closer.
“Well then,” she said, unable to keep an edge from her voice at his continued evasiveness and generally uncooperative nature, “was she telling the truth when she said you had a secret name for me, too?” The hint of a look that flashed across his face before he regained control of his features spoke volumes.
“She, who,” he asked, acting like a child trying to evade a sticky question and coming off just as unconvincing. He tried to sound innocent, but the truth was so obvious his attempt to delay and avoid was just insulting.
“Now I really am curious,” she said, her eyes narrowed.
“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said gruffly, trying to brush past her and make for the hatch leading out of the shuttle.
She placed a hand on his chest to stop him from escaping. For a moment she thought he was going to keep going and turn the situation into a test of strength. Instead, he stopped and sighed.
“You did! Now I really must know,” she said. She cocked an eyebrow, foot tapping impatiently as she waited.
He stood there looking rebellious. Well, she knew how to deal with rebels. For a brief second she wondered if there was precedent for a Sword-Bearer to execute such a sentence on her Sword-Bearer, then she shrugged it off.
Giving him a stare she’d learned at the feet of her Grandmother, a fearsome woman if ever she’d seen one, she stood there willing to wait until he waved his flag.
He sighed and she could sense weakness. She felt a surge of triumph when he placed a hand on his forehead and shook his head. “It wouldn’t be much of a secret if I went around telling everyone,” he said. He was as stubborn as a pack-beast.
“Out with it,” she said, giving him back one of his own little hand motions.
His brow wrinkled and then his eyes narrowed in turn and he smiled. She didn’t like that look very much, and watched him like a hawk. He was going to try to wiggle out of it somehow, she just knew it.
“Here you are demanding all my secrets when you’ve offered nothing of equal value in return,” he said, sounding entirely too full of himself for comfort.
“We agreed on the truth between us,” she pointedly reminded him.
“Certainly,” he agreed with a nod. “However, that was for when we were alone,” he pointed back, like an Advocate standing in front of a Lawgiver. “Not only are we not alone, but if you are going to demand a secret from me, there should be reciprocity.”
“What do you mean,” she asked, her interest piqued along with her temper.
“I want something of equal worth. A secret, confidence, or so on,” he replied, sounding smug.
For the first time she glanced around self-consciously. Then she got mad at herself for doing so, which spilled over into being mad at him, the author of her discomfort.
“Not so eager to blurt everything out when it's you on the line and people are listening,” he said, his capacity for smugness seeming to have no bounds.
That infuriating, smug little man was right. Or at least, he had a small point.
She realized she was, if not bested, at least to the point that this game was threatening to grow beyond its original intentions. “Fine,” she said icily. He looked so triumphant she couldn’t resist the desire to stab his balloon. “When I think of something of equal weight, we’ll talk again.”
Outside the shuttle, a large crowd had gathered waiting to see them. Personal issues and a whole host of lesser problems emptied from her mind like water poured from a barrel.
A ghost of a smile on her face, she walked down to a receiving line of new Messene notables. This was the job she’d been trained for since birth. The fact that she’d been raised a Land-Bride of Argos didn’t mean her training as a Hold-Mistress was any less valid here in Messene.
These travelers from the river between the stars had come here as refugees with no choice but to seek her favor and to settle these lands. They had some very different customs, it was true, however all she had to do was look at the families with children and the differences faded. Whatever her Protector might think, she wasn’t about to abandon children to the inhospitable regions of cold space.
They were hers now and if there was one thing a Hold Mistress knew, whether she was young or a seasoned matron, it was how to hold what was hers.
On Tracto there was wealth to be found in both land and minerals, but any Mistress worth her salt knew that the true wealth of a land lay in its people and she wasn’t about to let go of tens of thousands without a fight, at least not if they wanted to stay. These people were citizens, not slaves, after all.
**********
It was amazing to look at her. Akantha worked the receiving line like she’d been born to it. Which I suppose she had. Sometimes I tended to forget that just because she didn’t grow up in the Royal Family of Capria or on another ‘civilized’ world of the Confederated Empire didn’t mean that she hadn’t received her own lessons growing up.
My erstwhile Sword-Bearer couldn’t hide her genuine pleasure as she moved through the crowd in that blithely reserved way of hers. Perhaps what I took for reserve was just a cultural difference in body distance ratios, I mused.
It was an established fact that different cultures often have varying distances. For instance, Caprians preferred a two and half foot distance between individuals. People from Quin, a world used by my former tutor as an example, preferred a distance of only two feet when conversing. In class one day, he’d demonstrated how someone from Quin would continually ‘crowd’ a local Caprian's personal space. It was rather comedic to watch as the Quin would slowly chase the Caprian around the room, as each attempted to find and maintain a culturally comfortable conversational distance.
Regardless of what the difference was, I needed to remember that while Akantha was still extremely deficit on her knowledge base and study of interstellar technological culture, she had been training her whole life to be the ruler of Argos. A position which, to my untutored eye, seemed to encompass everything except for the patriarchal dominated arena of challenges and warfare.
She worked the crowd like a master and soon had them in the palm of her hand. This realization spurred me out of my little admiration fest. Firmly reminding myself there was reason to hold my distance, I strode out behind her.
Large crowds (I estimated the gathering to be at least one or two thousand people) weren’t my specialty. I’d received the mandatory training but Sweet Murphy knew I was a Montagne after all. What gatherings, other than mobs, would I ever have the chance to practice on back home in Capria? Still, I wasn’t about to let that stop me.
Suppressing a big gulp, I put on a plastic smile as soon as I reached the line and started shaking hands and pressing flesh with the best of them.
“It's great to see both yourself and the Lady here at Messene Citadel, your Highness,” said a dignified man who looked like the epitome of a grey-bearded former Caprian. “We’ve worked hard to overcome the lack of startup materials and produce a place future generations can look back on and be proud.”
“You’ve done a fine job,” I assured the man, even though I hadn’t had chance to take a look around and see what had actually been done and what was still in the planning phase.
The next person was a middle-aged Promethean woman, “You take good care of our Hold Mistress, you hear,” she said sharply, causing me to look more closely at her. This seemed to satisfy the lady who gave the same look social dragons across the universe start to use as soon as they’re assured you understand they aren’t to be trifled with. I didn’t buy into the whole 'innocent older aunt or grandmother' routine and stayed on my guard until I could safely egress. I did make sure to commit her name to memory, as it's always important to know who would show up to a fund raiser or booster and politely gnaw on your ear until you threw in the towel, agreeing to support whatever pet project they were championing. Mrs. Costel, that was her.
As I went down the line, following in the wake of Lady Akantha who made everything look so effortless, I told myself to act natural and think of this as just another large artificial structure of some sort, like at the palace or inside the mess hall of the Lucky Clover and everything would work out fine.
There was no way any native, even one as talented and beautiful as Akantha, was going to outshine someone like me. Someone whose entire life's purpose and training regimen, up until joining the crew of the Lucky Clover, was focused on acting like a peacock and shining like only the most practiced politicians and skilled of social butterflies could manage.
“Great to see you,” I said, shaking the hand attached to another smiling face.
“Good to see you, War-Prince,” replied another Promethean matron.
“Glad we were able to save you,” I added, this time to a grizzled looking Promethean man. He looked like a tough character.
When I went to release his hand and move down the line, he held mine in a strong grip.
“We can handle the Stone Rhino’s well enough on our own, Sir. But what are we going to do about those Lyconese tools that have started raiding around the horn of the peninsula,” he said. From his tone of voice I understood that by ‘we’ what he really meant, was what are ‘you’ going to do about it. Since this was the first time I’d heard about any Lyconese raiders, I was momentarily stumped.
“I’ll look into the situation,” I assured him, scrambling mentally for the right thing to do to make him let go of my hand without causing a scene. For all I knew, this guy could be a man with a legitimate grievance or a psycho unhinged by the destruction of his Settlement ship and subsequent colonization of a primitive undeveloped world.
He held on, despite a second attempt to extract my hand.
“We need more than that, your Greatness,” the man said, his steely gaze fixed on my own.
“Look, Mister…” I began.
“Call me Bones, your Greatness,” the man said.
“I’m not a Greatness, just an Admiral,” I corrected, then continued with the main point I was trying to make, “Look Bones, I said I’ll look into it, and I will,” at least now that I’d had my nose forcibly pushed into the problem, for ‘Bones’ sake I certainly hoped it was a real problem, or he was about to find out just how difficult I could make his life. “If there is merit to your case,” I raised a hand to forestall an indignant outburst, “as I’ve no doubt there is, then it will be dealt with.”
“What the Hades does that mean,” Bones blurted, his outwardly respectful façade crumbling to reveal the hardened individual who had been so poorly concealed earlier. “I’ve had enough platitudes and promises from politicians to last a life time.”
For the first time I really looked at Bones. He'd caught my attention and for good or for ill, I wasn’t going to be forgetting this man anytime soon. He was on my radar screen now, and it was time to give it to him straight.
“It means I’ll blasted well get around to it, when I blasted well get around to it. Which will be sometime before I leave this mud ball,” I said, my lips pursed and my forehead wrinkled. “It also means that if you’re not some lunatic or flat-out liar, and the problem with these 'Lyconese tools' you’ve been raving about is real, then I’ll see about taking care of the problem. Probably send over some Lancers to straighten them out before I leave, or if worst comes to worst I can always drop a rock on their heads from orbit. And that’s just off the top of my head.”
By now, a small circle had formed around the two of us and several members of the native receiving line were starting to give me concerned looks.
Bones frowned but slowly nodded. “Sounds like straight talk, but only time will tell,” he said.
“Well, here’s some more straight talk. You can let go of my hand now, before I remove yours,” I said tightly gripping my hold out blaster weapon.
Bones stared into my eyes for a moment and then released my hand. Stepping back he said, “I’ll be seeing you around,” before fading back into the crowd.
After that, the ‘tour’ of the town, what the locals were now calling Messene Citadel, proceeded more or less to schedule. The worst holdup was when a group of primer children stopped listening to their teachers and wouldn’t leave, preferring to mob Akantha and ask for treats instead.
Many more of the instant buildings had been assembled by the Settlers than had been in place in the most recent images and reports from before we returned to the system.
“My new people are quick builders and very productive,” Akantha said to me, pride evident in her voice. “Soon this will become a thriving Agropolis.”
I looked around and gauged the progress from our vantage in the temporary City Hall.
“It seems well laid-out,” I agreed, gesturing to the uniform rows of temporary buildings in the residential section.
Akantha nodded and beamed down at the people bustling back and forth across the town square.
“Although,” I continued, trying to fairly compare the reality of what I was seeing against what I’d learned about colonial administration, “they seem a little behind where I’d have expected from a startup colony.”
From Akantha’s thunderous expression it was clear that anything she construed as an attack on her subjects was the same as a personal attack on herself.
“Although my knowledge of such things is all book learning,” I hastened to add, hoping to head off another fight, “and therefore strictly theoretical. I’m probably not accurately accounting for losing nearly half of their work force and most of their startup materials.”
“Our people have suffered a great many losses,” Akantha grudged. “We need to be as positive and helpful as possible,” she said pointedly. I nodded to show I understood, more grateful for avoiding another conflict than swayed by her logic. But if all she wanted was for me to be positive and supporting, I was willing.
“We should keep our eyes open in case we run across any equipment, automated factories and such that might help keep them on track,” I said carefully, unable to suppress the warm feeling I got when she said ‘our people’ as if we really were in this together.
“A good idea,” she said with a smile. Then just couldn’t seem resist one last dig, “Although it still seems to me, they’ve made incredible progress,” she added. Too overcome with excitement to continue with the petty banter, she pointed to just beyond the pre-laid out city grid, “It's amazing how much of the city wall is already up,” she gushed.
I did a double-take and looked at her again. Yep, she’d just gushed. Over a simple insta-create wall that wasn’t even finished, no less.
“Insta-create is pretty easy to form into structures and pretty simple to make. Just take the base powder, add water and you’ve got yourself instant building materials with the same strength as solid stone,” I explained. If I’d known a little insta-create was the way into my girl’s heart, I would have demanded a cargo hold full of the stuff from one of the Planets where we’d driven away the pirates.
It was nice to see her looking at me as if I actually knew something and had the answers. It might be about something as simple as a superior replacement for the lime and sand concoction used to make concrete, or whatever they called it around here, but for all of that it was still nice.
I spent too many hours each day like a student cramming for a big test, always behind, always playing catch up, so it was nice to feel like I actually knew something about what I was saying. There was also the nice fringe benefit of having a beautiful woman doing the looking.
Together we stood there, pointing out features of the new citadel. There was, of course, the wall being built on the edge of the proposed city grid. In addition, there were two main residential areas with a small manufacturing section slated to be wedged into the northern corner, and a straight road running between all three areas, which was intended for vendors and other businesses.
Akantha happily pointed out where a pair of large, heavily reinforced gates were scheduled to be built.
I wanted to roll my eyes. A modern individual shouldn’t have to rely on walls and gates to protect him, not when there were laser cannons and automated turrets, but I forcefully reminded myself that this colony didn’t even have a full colonization package, let alone enough weapons and other goodies to secure the area. So having a wall and gate system to protect against the large and heavily armored Stone Rhinos, as well as potential native human enemies, wasn’t the worst idea anyone ever came up with.
“There’s the desalination plant and the pipe which pulls water out of the ocean,” Akantha said pointing.
I already knew where it was, but nodded, happy just to share the moment with her and also impressed at how quickly she was learning about our technology. For once, we weren’t fighting or feuding or full of angst.
“It will be a,” I wanted to say lovely but this harsh unforgiving landscape wasn’t really the lovely type, “happy and productive place for the people here,” I said instead.
“Messene is a hard land, but I know that with your magical technology, hard work and perseverance, people will come to live on the island once again,” she said, leaning into my side.
“I’d say tens of thousands already do live on this island,” I said quirking my lips.
She grinned and then punched me in the arm. I resisted the urge to rub where she connected. That punch hurt, though.
“You know what I mean. No colony has managed to last more than a year, not since the reign of Hold Mistress Hecate at least, and that was over five hundred years ago,” she informed me.
“I stand corrected,” I said, matching her grin and putting my arm around her waist.
She shifted and looked down at me, her brow slightly furrowed. Then her features cleared and she leaned into my arm. For a while we just stood there silently. Eventually, she started back into pointing out the city features again.
“Why is it called Messene Citadel,” I interrupted. “I would have thought town or city, although that’s really too ambitious at this point.”
Her chin went down and she looked at me. “It's a fairly traditional name here on Tracto,” she said sounding slightly surprised. “Why wouldn’t they call it a citadel?”
“No reason,” I shrugged. “I was just curious.”
She smiled down at me happily and I thought that if we were going to do much more of this whole standing together looking at things, I was going to need some taller shoes. Don't get me wrong, it was a good problem to have.
“What do you know about a place or a people called the Lyconese,” I asked, trying to sound casual.
She stiffened in my arm. “Why do you ask,” she asked casually. Too casually it seemed.
I tried to exactly duplicate her apparent ease with the subject. “Oh, no particular reason,” I said airily, “just someone I met in the receiving line. He said the Lyconese were a bunch of tools and causing all kinds of trouble.”
At her blank look I figured maybe the colloquialism, specifically the word ‘tools’ had thrown her off her game. She was getting better and better with my language, to the point she didn’t need the translator more than half the time, but sometimes a little slang can throw a person.
“Raiding. He said the Lyconese have been raiding around the horn of the peninsula and wanted to know what I was going to do about it,” I said pointing in the general direction of where I thought the horn of the peninsula was. The natives called Messene an Island, but in reality it was still firmly attached to the main land by a narrow land bridge.
Akantha was now stiff as a board and I feared maybe I’d ruined a perfectly romantic mood.
“Look, I don’t know this guy from Adam. I’m just asking because I promised to look into it and take care of it, or punish him if he lied,” I continued, trying to salvage things. This Bones and his infernal problems, if he managed to ruin this perfect moment for me I was going to find some way to return the favor. It might take months or years, but no one holds a grudge like a Montagne. “He could be a crazy person for all I know.”
“That’s possible but unlikely. This Bones being a crazy person, I mean,” Akantha said, pulling out of my arm. Silently I shook my mental fist and started planning vengeance against Bones. “Far more likely he’s telling the truth and the Lyconese have started causing trouble again,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Again,” I said unable to keep the exclamation out of my voice. “I mean, blast those Lyconese, they should stay over there where they belong,” I added, trying cover my lapse. The last thing I wanted was her thinking I was being overly critical. I still had visions of salvaging the day, and starting a fight over an unintentional tone of voice wasn’t among those plans.
“Their line of Hold Mistresses has maintained that they have a valid claim to western Messene, which is not only illogical but also completely wrong,” she said coldly.
Cold again, I hated it when she sounded cold. “Okay. Those blasted upstarts,” I said, hoping that was the right response. I was dying on the vine here.
“It's illogical because the eastern side, the side we’re on is the more inhabitable, meaning it would be suicide for them to send a colony effort,” she said hotly.
“Right,” I said, trying to sound both supportive and like I understood what the blazes she was saying.
“Wrong, my line can trace our roots back to the last Hold Mistress to successfully hold the entire island, Hold Mistress Hecate. We of Argos are of the direct line, while they of Lyconese are just a daughter line,” she all but sneered, her face twisting into a very unladylike expression. “In addition, the last time they made those claims we defeated their army and drove them back behind their city walls, cowering in fear. They were forced to officially renounce their claims to the island at that time.”
“I see,” I said, starting to feel like I was getting a handle on the situation now. “They see your success on Messene and are airing out old claims in an attempt to get a piece of the pie.”
Akantha stiffened and frowned at me severely. “If they are going back on their word, they are oathbreakers and no better than common road bandits.”
I turned away slightly and then slanted my gaze back in her direction. “Something needs to be done,” I said.
“You’re right. Something needs to be done, Protector. The Lyconese must be taught a lesson they won’t soon forget,” she said fiercely. “When we’re through with them, blood will flow in the-”
“Okay there,” I said sharply cutting her off. This conversation had just taken a turn for the bloody and gory, and I knew it was time to nip this in the bud. “Let's not start a blood feud.”
Akantha started to open her mouth and I could tell nothing good would come of it if I let her speak. So I quickly continued. “Or let these Lyconese ruin my first trip to Messene, or my second trip back home to see your family,” I quickly added, putting on a winning smile and hoping for the best.
I could tell she wanted to strap into a battle suit and go destroy the Lyconese root and branch but surprisingly, instead of raging at me and demanding blood, she paused and bit her lip.
“I don’t want to ruin your visit,” she said, sounding surprisingly uncertain for the woman I occasionally thought of as my girl.
“Then let's not,” I said in a hopeful voice.
First she scratched her forehead and then rubbed at it, as if she had the beginnings of a headache. “Something has to be done about the situation. If I stand by and do nothing, every Polis within range of Messene Island will sense weakness and become emboldened,” she said sounding irritated and genuinely perplexed.
“Well, no one said we had to sit by and do nothing,” I trailed off. But since it sounded like there was no way I was going to get away with doing nothing, sending our minions out in our stead might work a trick.
“You have a plan,” she inquired with a furrowed.
Boy did I ever. I cracked a shark-like smile. I had a cunning gambit, one I couldn’t wait to test out. Hopefully it would allow me to dodge the bullet and also stay away from personal combat, this time.
Chapter 34: Queen's Knight to Queen's Rook Four
“Would you say that the exploits of our Tracto-an Lancers have spread as far and as wide as you would like,” I said narrowing my eyes. “On your home planet, I mean to say.”
“Why do you ask,” she inquired suspiciously. No doubt she suspected something was up. Probably because with me, it usually was.
“The Lyconese need to be taught a lesson and, no detriment to our people intended, but I would think our Lancers would like a chance to show their neighbors what they can do,” I said with a smile.
She nodded her head slightly. “Hearing of deeds done far away in the stars is different from seeing it yourself or speaking with the defeated survivors,” she said slowly.
“Especially when our people, the victors, speak of their own exploits,” I said shrewdly. “Sounding their own horn, so to speak.”
Akantha’s eyes flashed and she splayed her fingers.
“I’ll take that as a 'yes,'” I said.
“Take it however you want,” she replied. “I still haven’t heard anything like a plan so far today.”
I frowned at her. “How’s this for a plan? Let's round up a few volunteers and muster say…two companies of Lancers. Then, while you and I continue on our merry way to Argos, they stop over and say 'hi' to the neighbors. From the sounds of it, the Lyconese could use a visit from a few of our men in power armor to help set them straight,” I said.
Akantha looked torn. Clearly she wanted to be the one to personally beard the Lyconese in the heart of their lair. It was my hope that by sending some native Lancers in our stead it would both ease her mind and take care of the problem at the same time, all without exposing her or myself to the potentially lethal side effects of another round playing whack-a-mole with more of these genetically engineered, sword-of-superstitious-power-wielding idiots that seemed to pop out of the woodwork every time I set foot on this world.
This was only the second time I’d set foot on Tracto and already I was trying to avert some kind of war with the neighbors. A war which I'd been all but drafted into playing a starring role.
“It doesn’t feel right, sending others while we avoid the battle,” she said sounding reluctant. That’s when I knew I had her. If she was even considering the suggestion then the battle was already half won, all I had to do now was produce the final bit of convincing to push her over the edge and allow us to avoid this latest round of local squabbling.
“There’s no reason to give these Lyconese oathbreakers the satisfaction of our presence,” I smoothly assured her. “Our Lancers are better armed and better trained than anything they could possibly drum up. I have no doubt that they can get to the bottom of the matter and sort things out in appropriate fashion.” I figured that with power armor and advanced weaponry, our guys would tear through these Lyconese like a hot knife through butter and be back in time for breakfast, figuratively speaking. “That should also present the benefit of showcasing the superiority of our warriors and putting the fear of Larry into those raiding scum at the same time, by Saint Murphy’s mighty Wrench!” I finished with a passion I didn’t really feel. I mean, I believed in what I was saying but I wasn’t feeling this situation in the gut, at least not like Akantha was anyway.
Akantha started to nod or shake her head, I really wasn’t sure which, then stopped. “Larry?” she asked quizzically. “I know 'Saint Murphy' from my time on the Lucky Clover, but this other one, 'Saint Larry,' I have not yet heard.”
I flushed, embarrassed. “It's just a saying,” I explained, trying to keep the defensiveness out of my voice. “A figure of speech back on my home world. And he’s not a Saint.”
“Who is this Larry then, that you would put the fear of him into others,” she arched a brow.
“The uh, Founder of Capria’s Royal dynasty. King Larry One,” I said, still feeling red in the face. I know it was foolish but I couldn’t help it. Saying it would put the fear of Larry into them had been kind of a stupid thing to say in the first place.
A light went off behind Akantha’s eyes. “Yes,” she nodded, “I should have remembered. He was the first holder of Bandersnatch.”
“Right,” I said. It was a bit perplexing for a Caprian like myself to realize that for a Tracto-an like Akantha, the previous ownership of a sword made more of an impact than the founding of a world-spanning dynasty that ruled my home world for centuries.
“It’s good to show respect for those that came before,” she nodded in return.
“So what do you think,” I asked, trying to move the conversation back to before my embarrassing little verbal misstep.
Akantha suddenly looked pained. “Who to send to deal with these sorts of problems-” she looked to the side as she spoke, shielding her disappointment, “As Protector and Warlord, such decisions are rightfully yours to make. They are not within my purview as Hold-Mistress.”
I could tell from her expression that she wasn’t pleased with this state of affairs, which is why I kept my jumps of joy and backflips firmly on the inside where no one could see them.
“Then let us make it so and continue on with our trip to Argos, My Lady,” I said as gravely as I could manage. I knew that any sign of happiness on my part would be taken the wrong way and then cast in the worst light possible.
Akantha gave herself a shake. I could see it took an effort, but she somehow managed to produce a smile for me, and hand in hand we turned back to taking in the view from the top of the building that currently passed for the municipal hall.
Chapter 35: Lyconese Sensation
Akantha activated the longtalker and waited until it connected to the orbital booster that magically let her talk with people onboard the Lucky Clover.
“This is Hansel Suffic,” said the man with neatly trimmed gunmetal grey hair that appeared on the window in the little box.
“Greeting, Lancer Colonel,” she directed a nod at the screen and smiled.
“My lady Akantha,” he said raising his eyebrows, “this is a surprise, I was under the impression you were in the midst of a homecoming celebration. I hope nothing is amiss.”
“Things are most definitely amiss, Hansel,” she replied, her smile turning into a frown. At the Colonel’s surprised look she hastened to add, “Oh things here in Messene are well. I couldn’t ask for better, more industrious citizens!” she said her features momentarily brightening as she thought about all the hard work her new people had been up to.
“Then…?” asked the Colonel drawing the word out and looking slightly perplexed.
Reminded of the current problem, she clenched her hand into a fist. If only she hadn’t let Jason talk her out of dealing with this situation personally!
“It's those upstarts in Lyconesia!” she snarled, shaking her fist in the direction of their city state, “those motherless daughters seem to think they can lay claims and send in raiding parties without fear of retribution!”
The Lancer Colonel leaned back, “Raiders… now that’s a horse of a different color,” he said slowly. “Although, my lady,” he paused to allow the honorific he had just used to sink in, “I must say that I have been in contact with local officials in Messene as recently as today. They’ve said nothing about any raiding parties.”
“I’m holding in my hands an epistle restating their claims to half the island, Colonel and I’ve seen holo-images of outlaying farms mysteriously burned to the ground,” she said with icy control. “So either the locals haven’t made the connection, or they’re keeping it quiet and planning to use the militia to take care of the matter by themselves.”
He half shrugged before slowly nodding, “It could be as you say, as I’m not currently as familiar with Tracto internal politics as I’d like.”
“Listen, Hansel,” she said meeting his eyes, “I don’t have much time before the shuttle takes us to Argos. I need you to take care of this matter, personally. That way I’ll know it gets dealt with correctly. You’re the only one of from the River of Stars who I trust to handle this.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and met her eyes. “What do you want done, Lady Akantha,” he said evenly.
“As the World of Men is my witness, what I want is to see them crushed, their city destroyed and people scattered to the four winds,” she said harshly, “however since that isn’t an option, here’s what you’re to do instead.”
After she was done explaining what she wanted, Hansel frowned at the screen. “I’m not entirely sure the Admiral would approve this particular operation,” he said doubtfully, “perhaps we should bring him in on this.”
“No!” exclaimed Akantha, unable to keep the alarm off her face. Then she regained control and stared into the Colonel’s eyes. “You are both a citizen of Messene and the head of the ship’s Lancer Contingent. This is not a matter for the Lucky Clover and its Admiral, this an internal Tracto affair. Which is why, as your Hold-Mistress I am asking for volunteers from among my warrior subjects. If I choose not to involve my Protector in this…” she frowned, “then that is my prerogative as your Hold Mistress and not your place to question,” she finished, treading the line between what was customary and what was technically Hold Law very carefully. This might not be entirely proper, but it was within the Law.
Hansel’s frown turned thunderous. “Does my Lady particularly care how her desired outcome is achieved, so long as the mission is successfully completed?” he asked cautiously.
For a moment she felt torn. “No,” she grudged.
The Lancer Colonel nodded his head curtly. “I think we can do that, Hold Mistress,” Suffic replied before abruptly signing off the screen.
“Excellent,” she said, a hungry grin creeping over her features which remained until long after the connection had been lost. Then she whipped her face clean before hurrying out the door. She didn’t want to worry her Protector with this side issue, not when they were about to return home to see Mother. 'Best to avoid distracting him,' she thought.
Chapter 36: Argos in a Nutshell
The view screen built into the forward wall gave a striking panorama of the countryside passing underneath the shuttle. While I still didn’t want to be sitting in this seat, hurtling along at speeds that made the sound barrier self-conscious, I did have to admit Tracto had a certain wild beauty to it.
Landing in Argos, we used the same meadow for the landing field as we did during the first visit to the city. Or at least my first and until now only visit.
When the shuttle set down with a jarring bump, I sat bolt upright and glanced around self-consciously. Akantha looked at me with concern but I did my best to allay her fears with a smile. I could tell it wasn’t the best smile I’d ever produced, so I quickly turned my head to check on the honor guard traveling with us.
Akantha hadn’t said anything about them, but I was going to be fried in Bug guts and thrown in the reactor to be boiled alive before I risked Argos again without a heavy guard of power-armored Lancers.
If our Honor Guard was ten times the size it was onboard the ship and a resulting unseemly sight, I didn’t care. I bullishly stuck my jaw out and glared at the wall, silently daring it to say something. Being an inanimate object, the wall failed to say anything about my near-panic attack. Of course, if it had said anything I was prepared to put my power-armored fist through it and blast the remains to pieces.
Outside the shuttle there was a crowd of cheering natives. Pasting on a winning smile, I raised my battle-armored arm and gave them the patented Royal wave as I walked down the loading ramp and off the ship.
I came prepared with a translation device and mechanically gave stock platitudes to the masses. A quick scan showed that the peasants or townspeople, or whatever they called the working classes around here, were better dressed than during my previous trip here. I made a mental note to keep my eyes open and see if trade and access to the basic manufacturing and colony supplies on Messene were actually starting to improve things here.
Akantha seemed to once again blossom at the adoration of crowd, walking into them and in that stiffly formal way of hers, placing a hand here or bestowing a smile there and pressing a few coins into a hand.
Eventually we had worked our way through the little crowd and a line of warriors still dressed in that strange armor of theirs. Just like last time, from torso up, the local guard looked like they could have come from any of a number of old earth medieval societies. Those chain mail mini-skirts they wore on the other hand were unique in my experience, and once again I was forced to bite back a laugh.
Kastor Kephus at the head of the welcoming honor guard was a semi-familiar sight. I’d only been here once but the former commander of the outer gate warriors was decked out in that same pebbled Stone Rhino armor.
As we arrived at the line of honor guards, our own power-armored Lancers trailing along behind us, I turned up the wattage on my smile while Akantha gave Kastor Kephus a regal nod followed by a small smile after he matched the gesture.
“Hold-Mistress Adonia Akantha Zosime, it is good to see you once again. Warlord and Protector of Messene Jason Montagne,” he said in an official sounding voice, which came through clearly even over the dry mechanical voice of my translator.
“Protector of Argos Kastor Kephus,” Akantha said sounding happy, “Messene extends its greetings and warmest regards to its Mother Polis in Argos.”
Kastor Kephus being Protector of Argos was new information to me and I raised an eyebrow. My understanding of native culture was sketchy at best. Partly by design, as I had little interest in getting sucked back into the hornet’s nest of local politics, and partly due to a lack of time. I’d been focused on saving multiple worlds and keeping the border of this sector of the Confederation from going up in flames.
I shot a glance at Akantha. From the look on her face, my Sword-Bearer was in no way surprised by this development.
“All of Argos is overjoyed at your success, Hold-Mistress Akantha. Their joy only tainted by the knowledge that your success in Messene decreases the chance their Land-Bride will return to them,” Kephus said cutting a half bow in that stiff, pebble skinned, creaking armor of his. The smile on his face I judged as genuine.
“Warlord,” he said, cutting his eyes over to me.
“Protector,” I pasted on a smile, wondering if for a Hold-Mistress a Protector was both Warrior and Husband, like with Akantha and myself, or if I’d somehow misunderstood things. These native customs were maddening, at least when you were trying to sift through them for meaning. But if my speculation was right, this might be the new father-in-law of Akantha. Her mother sure hadn’t wasted any time grieving over the loss of Akantha’s Uncle, but such was politics.
“I give thanks for the kind words,” Akantha said, a small hint of color blooming on her naturally pale cheeks.
I gave my girl a sharp look. Was she only happy at the words like she said or…I glanced back and forth between Akantha and Kastor suspiciously, before firmly reminding myself that the man was probably my mother-in-law’s next husband. Jealousy was not the hallmark of a man in command of himself and in control of the situation, I reminded myself.
“Please allow me and my men escort you to the Palace,” Kastor said, sounding just like what he was: a competent warrior fully in charge of both himself and the men around him.
“Certainly,” I cut in before Akantha could say anything and then motioned for our own men to fall in behind us. “If you would lead the way, we would be happy to follow.”
Akantha shot me look that was two parts puzzlement and one part irritation before turning back to Kastor with a gracious smile.
Kastor gave me a nod and Akantha a grave smile, one appropriate for an honor guard who might be her new father-in-law, and started barking orders to the native Argos honor guard.
While no one was looking I took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. I probably mis-stepped when I agreed to let him lead us to the palace. Must have been more off my game than I expected.
There were bound to be a few holdovers from the old regime under Hypatios Nykator, former Warlord, Protector and Uncle, and I was sure they would love to cause me no end of trouble if given half the chance. In Akantha’s culture it was probably expected that a man didn’t worry about insults and simply cut his foes down in the challenge ring if things got out of hand. I, however, had no interest in fighting a bunch of bloodthirsty natives with revenge on their mind.
Avoidance of blood and carnage was the watchword of today. A shadow moved across the street as we walked through the city. Glancing up at the sun, I winced as I watched a passing cloud and took in the position of the system primary. It was getting late. We’d spent more time in Messene than I’d expected, standing there holding hands and taking in all the improvements and activity in the new citadel.
I just hoped Akantha didn’t expect us to stay the night at her mother’s castle. My mind could all too easily imagine all the myriad ways the locals could try to put a spike in my Montagne wheel while I was out of my power armor and ensconced in bed with my lady love. Which instantly brought another worry. Akantha’s mother had seemed to approve of our liaison and Akantha taking me on as her Protector, but what if I was wrong? What if sleeping in the same room upset her somehow?
I started sweating bullets as every nightmare scenario my brain could come up with flitted across my mind’s eye.
Almost before I knew it we were through the main part of the city and standing at the main gates of the palace. The harsh stone exterior leading to an entrance filled with murder holes failed to improve my mood, but there was nothing for it. I couldn’t very well bail out now and return to the Clover.
There was also the small fact that with Bethany now on board the Flagship, that my every character flaw, failure and indiscretion would soon be known back home on Capria. I would be eviscerated by relatives in every conversation, with the juicier bits being inevitably relayed to the media for my public embarrassment.
I couldn’t help the whoosh of air that escaped me once we were past the murder holes and out of the kill corridor leading to the main hall.
Akantha shot me a look of concern. Perhaps she was afraid I was going to do something to embarrass her. “Do not shame me in front of my Mother, or I’ll gut you like a river fish,” Akantha hissed out of the side of her mouth.
I looked over at her tight features and glared. “You’ll try,” I muttered back.
Akantha’s nostrils flared, “You have to sleep sometime,” she threatened, her features icily perfect and composed.
I was about to reply with something appropriately scathing when we made our way into the Grand Hall.
Like before, the walls were covered with weapons, shields and tattered banners, some with old bloodstains that were never cleaned off them.
The milling crowd of courtiers from before was no longer milling. This time they all looked expectantly at us from the very first moment we entered the hall. The path down the center of the hall was clear, all the better to bring me to my waiting doom.
I gave myself a shake. I needed to get a grip and smile for the metaphorical cameras.
The same scheming old advisor as before was standing on the dais behind and to the side of Akantha’s mother, the Hold-Mistress of Argos. I think his name was Nazoraios and he reminded me of my Royal uncles, far more than was comfortable.
“Hold-Mistress Polymnia Sapphira Zosime greets her Daughter, the Hold-Mistress of newly re-settled Messene,” said Nazoraios with a sanctimonious tone in his voice I didn’t particularly care for.
Akantha surreptitiously kicked me in the foot, which meant the thunk of metal striking metal as our two power armored boots clanged together was very much audible.
I was upset at once again being forced to make things up as I went along, but I did my best to improvise. “Hold-Mistress Adonia Akantha Zosime greets her Mother the Hold-Mistress of Mighty Argos, whose name echoes even among the river between the stars,” I was trying to lay it on as thick as I could to make up for any mishaps I made along the way. On the outside I’m sure I looked cool, calm and collected but on the inside I was sweating bullets.
A glance over at Akantha’s face revealed I’d made a mistake somewhere along the way, but from her reaction it was only an irritating one. I didn’t think it was going to cause problems here and now.
“Akantha, my little thorn,” said her Mother rising from the imposing and elegantly carved wooden chair and coming down the steps, her arms raised as if for a hug.
“Polymnia, Mother,” Akantha replied with a sweet smile of happiness. I found myself wishing I had the ability to put that kind of pure joy on her face.
After their embrace Polymnia, Hold-Mistress and Mother-in-law, turned to me. I resisted the urge to gulp. She still looked like a person more suited to grace and fine music than a warrior, but I wasn’t about to underestimate anyone who was a product of this culture and able to survive for multiple decades as the leader of a city-state.
“Despite the fact that my little thorn is a grown woman and Hold-Mistress in her own right,” said Akantha’s mother with a warm smile, “I hope you won’t take it amiss when I say I’ve never seen her so happy.”
My eyes widened in surprise. I couldn’t help it; those words were so very unexpected. “Thank you, Hold-Mistress,” I managed to stammer formally.
“So proper,” she said, before lightly placing a hand on my shoulder. She dropped her voice and continued in a softer tone, “I also hope you don’t take it poorly when I say that should that light in her eyes ever wither and die, my own brave Kastor will be coming to pay you a visit, River of Stars or no,” she said with the same warm smile still on her face.
“I understand, my Lady,” I replied, my courtly training throwing out the wrong title for her in a moment of stress. And boy did I ever understand her. Not that this was entirely unexpected, but the way my mother-in-law managed to deliver a threat like that without blinking and acting as if we were just in the middle of a pleasant conversation. She played the musically inclined, slightly ethereal and partly not of this world Lady of the Realm very, very well.
She reached up and placed her hand on my cheek. “Such a good boy. I have no doubt you’ll make a fine Protector for my daughter,” she said giving me a second pat before turning, light on her feet as if a dancer, and with deceptive speed captured Akantha’s hands in her own.
“Come, it's been too long since we talked,” her mother said, sounding for all to hear as if she had not a care in the world.
I was not deceived. Especially not after her mother took Akantha away for a ‘private’ meeting and I was left in the Great Hall, surrounded by Argos courtiers.
Chapter 37: Scream Like an Eagle, Drop Like a Rock
Flying in diamond formation, the half dozen shuttles screamed through the atmosphere on a high speed orbital insertion.
“If we’re going to do this, we might as well get the benefits of a proper training exercise out of it,” growled Hansel.
“What was that, Sir,” yelled the shuttle pilot over the atmospheric turbulence.
“Steady on, Coxswain,” he yelled back sternly.
“Aye, Aye, Sir,” shouted the Coxswain before focusing back entirely on his task.
The six shuttles currently engaged in the combat drop insertion were a company and a half of the men he’d handpicked for this assignment. Each and every one of the men he’d ‘volunteered’ for this job was among the steadiest of his native compliment.
Hopefully that would be enough once the shuttles came down and they all got their blood up. It wasn’t going to be a pretty sight if he had to personally kick the butt of each and every one of his volunteers in order to keep them in line.
After all, he could only be in so many places at the same time. Who knew what kind of mischief the ones temporarily outside his reach could get themselves into while he was busy cracking heads together with the other half?
Lady Akantha had been careful up till now, not to put his oath of service to the Admiral in direct conflict with the duty he owed her as a newfound citizen of Messene, but that woman loved to ride right up along the ragged edge of it.
He used to think the tales his Grandfather told about Queen Abella before she settled down to service and the crown to be complete fabrications created specifically to get his goat. But after having to deal with the Admiral’s Lady, he wasn’t entirely sure his Grandpappy hadn’t been giving him the straight download from the get-go.
“We’re just about here, Colonel!” yelled Coxswain.
He would have clasped the shuttle pilot on the shoulder if he wasn’t wearing power armor; instead he gave the man a nod the pilot completely missed, as he was rightly focused on the task of not crashing the shuttle into the planet.
Staggering out of his chair and back into the hold containing his Lancers he activated his suit to suit comm. device.
“All right boys, listen up!” he barked over the channel, “The Lady gave this assignment to me, because she says I can do the job and get it done right. I’ve called on you blokes because I feel the same way about you, so don’t go making liars out of the both of us,” he paused.
“You can count on us, Sir,” growled one of his Caprian non-com’s, “we won’t let you down.” This assertion was quickly followed by a rumble of agreement from the rest of the men in the shuttle.
“Alright then, the lot of you seem to think that since you beat an outnumbered foe on the Imperial Cruiser and smashed a bunch of pirates and up-lifts that you’re pretty hot stuff,” he said in conversational voice.
There was an echoing silence. When he had first said things like that to the men, especially the Tracto-ans, they’d been full to overflowing with bravado and bluster, but now however they were somewhat more cautious. Not that it would save them now.
“That being the case,” he grinned, “you won’t mind qualifying on a piece of technology, so sturdy and reliable, not to mention durable, that my Grandpappy would’ve been proud to call it his own,” he said with a laugh.
“What in the World of Men,” muttered one of the Tracto Lancers over the open channel.
“We’re not on the World yet, boy, but we soon will be,” he roared, “I’ve told the shuttle pilots 'thanks, but no thanks' for his fancy taxi service down to the surface,” he said as the shuttle shook and lurched around them, “no need to strap on a Confederation-style gravity harness or fancy-pantsy Imperial grav-belt for stone cold killers like you lot. No Siree Bob, the Caprian full body gravity sled is more than adequate for our purposes.”
“What are you talking about,” muttered another native Lancer, “is this mission being aborted already?”
The Lancer Colonel signaled for the Shuttle pilot to cycle open the hatch at the back of the shuttle.
“World of Men,” cursed a number of Lancers, surprise and concern entering their voices.
“Get the emergency seal,” screamed another.
“Time to learn how to fly, boys!” hollered the Lancer Colonel, “that six foot metal surfboard behind your chairs is real simple to operate: once your arms are locked in, there’s no way it will release until you hit pay dirt!”
When no one moved to get out of their seats, Suffic first turned white, then red with rage.
“Did I just hand pick the yellowest bunch of bona fide cowards this World has ever seen, for a mission personally handed to me by the Hold Mistress of Messene herself!” he snarled, “or are you lot about to show this world you’re some of the meanest, baddest, most rootin'-tootin' killers this galaxy has ever seen!”
When this still didn't do the trick, he drew himself to his full height and stood unmoving on the turbulent deck, no easy feat during a fast approach like this.
“Anyone too chicken to leave the safety of these metal walls behind, just stay inside,” he snapped, grabbing hold of his own grav-sled and heading for the rear, symbolically turning his back on the lot of them, “you are free to go join the gunnery department when we get back. They like to fire their weapons from behind the safety of hull-strength battle armor, and are more than willing to take any dropouts who can’t hack it in the Lancer Contingent!”
So saying, he clamped his arms onto the grav-sled and using his power armor assisted strength, pushed through the wind turbulence and jumped out the back of the shuttle.
A few seconds later he started hearing shouts over his short range channel.
“Clover and Messene!” screamed a number of Lancers as they learned how to fly for the first time in their lives.
Suffic grinned as the only truth he'd ever known was proven by the rookies behind him: the only way to lead men like this was from the front.
Chapter 38: Separation Anxiety vs. The Circle
I waited while the vultures circled, reminding myself that these carrion eaters often confused themselves with raptors and were known to not wait until their prey was down before going in for the kill.
I maintained a haughty expression on my face. Surreptitiously I looked around for Kastor Kephus. Instead of his steadying presence, I found Nikomedes Minos, the former owner of the Minos Blade which was currently strapped to my back. I never let that sword far from my person when I was in potentially hostile territory.
I unintentionally caught his eye and Nikomedes turned to lock gazes with me. While cursing myself on the inside, I let a slow smile creep across my face.
I gave him a lazy two finger salute, hoping he didn’t take the eye contact as an invitation to come over. My hopes were quickly dashed.
“Greetings Jason Montagne,” said the overly large warrior in an even voice.
“Greetings Nikomedes Minos, I see you are in good health,” I said mildly.
A hint of sneer flitted across the other’s features. Another person might have thought they imagined the expression, but not me.
“I no longer bear the Minos name, and you’re looking far less ugly than the last time we met,” Nikomedes said sardonically.
“Our healers are very skilled,” I said casually. In retrospect, it wasn’t really surprising that after losing the sword he’d renamed the Minos Blade, he’d lost the name he’d given to both it and himself.
His eyes swept over my scars and he shook his head. “I think I’ll trust to the Healers of Argos, they’ve done well by me,” he said looking unimpressed.
“Your loss,” I shrugged, putting equal parts disdain and dismissal into the gesture. As far as I was concerned, this conversation could be over just about any time now.
“Let me warn you then, and be gone,” Nikomedes said gruffly.
I turned back to look at him. “Why should I trust you?” I asked genuinely curious. He was the first man to challenge me for the position as Akantha’s Protector, and for the life of me I couldn’t imagine a scenario where he had my best interests at heart. Especially not after the way I had defeated him and taken the sword currently strapped to my back. The so-called ‘Minos Sword’ had some sort of special cachet in this society. They called it a Dark Sword of Power and apparently most swords like that had something of a history. I would have said all, but then Bandersnatch appeared to be made of the same material as the Minos Sword. Of course, Bandersnatch had its own history, so maybe the distinction was not as accurate as it could have been.
Nikomedes just shrugged, apparently not caring what I thought of him.
“Kallistos,” he said pointing to a courtier in gilded half armor who looked to be in his twenties. Both the armor and clothing had been crafted to show off his best features. In any other culture I’d have said the man looked like a dandy. That he was still alive, and carried a sword in this culture, indicated to me that there was more here than meets the eye.
“Okay,” I said slowly.
“And Kapaneus,” Nikomedes continued, ignoring me as if I hadn’t spoken. Unable to help myself I once again looked where he indicated. Although both men carried themselves aloof, and moved like dancers, there was something about this second man that set off alarm bells in the back of my head. Perhaps it was the sneer that graced Kapaneus for the half second our eyes crossed, but I was instantly on my guard.
Whereas Kallistos was dressed in only the local best, Kapaneus' garb was fully functional. Battle scarred armor over serviceable pants and tunic. Whereas Kallistos sword had an elegant hilt with a jewel in it, Kapaneus sword looked like it wouldn’t have been out of place in the hands of a common soldier. The fact that the man and his sword were here in the court of the ruler of Argos argued that whatever he looked like on the surface, this Kapaneus had hidden depths. Whether these were composed of connections or ability, would have to be determined later.
“What of them,” I asked Nikomedes, deliberately covering my mouth with a hand, as if bored.
Nikomedes scowled at me for a half second. Then pointed at each man in turn.
“Both are full of themselves, but for different reasons,” he said, his mouth tightened as soon as he noticed the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Kallistos because he cannot imagine a world in which a female he desired would willingly choose another over him. He imagines himself to be the stuff that women dream of,” Nikomedes scoffed.
I took another look and shook my head. The man did seem taken with himself, but it was impossible to tell more without speaking to him directly.
“And Kapaneus?” I asked, intrigued despite myself. “I suppose you are about to elucidate his character flaws for me as well?” That ought to be mocking enough to get under his skin. It was.
“He’s an arrogant piece of work, believing himself to be better than any other,” Nikomedes growled as he scowled at me. “Swordplay, shield work, riding, jumping, throwing, there is not a manly skill of the field to which Kapaneus does not consider himself the most talented. Few are the individuals he considers his equal.”
“Is he any good?” I asked curiously. “Or just full of hot air?”
“If he didn’t have skill with a blade, Kapaneus would be dead by now,” Nikomedes grudged, visibly struggling to give the other man his due.
When he failed to say anything further I shook my head. “Amazing,” I said sardonically, “I can now consider myself informed on the subject of a pair of Argos court flowers.”
Nikomedes narrowed his eyes and his nostrils flared. “While I was away, questing for a sword of power to strengthen my suit with the Land Bride, this pair stayed at court and vied for her hand,” he said tightly.
I felt a sinking sensation. “Yes,” I said, beginning to see why it might be important I know who these men were, but still not understanding Nikomedes angle. “Are you saying these two are likely to be interested in causing trouble now that I’m within easy reach?”
Nikomedes shrugged. “Kallistos is likely to put great store in the wealth and position of his family, not to mention what he considers his great personal charm. For Kapaneus to overcome the perceived advantages of Kallistos, he would have attempted to gain the good favor of Hypatios Nykator,” he said giving me a meaningful look.
My stomach sank. “Akantha’s Uncle Hypatios Nykator,” I said, shaking my head at my fortune.
“Indeed,” Nikomedes gave me another meaningful look.
My mind raced. Kallistos thought he could gain Akantha directly, using a combination of his position and personal charm to woo her. Nikomedes had obviously thought that accomplishing a heroic deed and gaining a legendary Sword of Power to be the route to my girl’s heart, while Kapaneus on the other hand had become fast friends with the man most likely to be able to force Akantha into a marriage she didn’t desire.
Cast in this light, if Kallistos was as personally objectionable as he was made out to be, then Nikomedes was probably the most honorable of her former suitors. Kapaneus on the other hand was the worst. Even if the man had a heart of gold, my killing his good friend and/or mentor Hypatios Nykator was likely a big no-no in his eyes. After taking the warrior culture he’d grown up in into account, I suspected he was just itching to take a shot at me. Especially if he believed he was as tough a customer as Nikomedes made him out to be.
I gave my head a hard shake and shot Nikomedes a penetrating look. “I’ll say again, what’s your angle in all this,” I asked, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m supposed to believe you’re helping me out of the goodness of your heart?”
Nikomedes looked like a man struggling to keep himself from appearing annoyed and offended. He failed miserably. “I don’t expect you to believe me,” Nikomedes shrugged.
I looked at him levelly.
Nikomedes frowned and hesitated. Looking a little embarrassed he relented, “I’ve seen what those armor suits you’re wearing can do, first hand. The tales of your exploits among the River of Stars is farfetched and almost unbelievable. I want in. I want to see the truth with my own eyes,” he said shortly.
“You want to get your hands on one of my battle suits so you can take another crack at me,” I corrected, a smile on my face and my eyes as cold as space ice.
“I hear that you are taking warriors into your warband and issuing them Star Armor like the one you and your guards are wearing,” he admitted, and then he shrugged. “Yes, I want to wear one of your suits.”
Nikomedes looked like a man who didn’t expect a favorable result, but felt the need to try anyway. It didn’t make me like him more, but it gave me pause. Instead of instantly rejecting him like I should have, I hesitated.
Despite my better judgment, I replied after considering it for a few moments. “If I survive this latest visit to beautiful Argos, perhaps we’ll talk again,” I said pursing my lips before turning away from Nikomedes. I’d be the worst sort of fool to take the man up on his request. The very last thing I needed was a man who’d already tried to kill me once hanging around Akantha and joining my Lancer force. Then he’d be underneath the protective skin of my Battleship and free to hatch new plans to take Akantha away from me.
I was surprised at how much the thought of Akantha running off with this Nikomedes hurt. On the other hand, maybe all I was to Akantha was some sort of glorified consort, one with too much off-world power to really put in his place.
I’d started off with the idea of divorce when the crisis was over or setting her up on the planetary surface in style, maybe seeing her once or twice a year. When had the idea of having her stolen away by one of her former suitors become so painful?
Perhaps it was better she left sooner than later, if that was her desire. If Gants and the most trusted half of the Armory crew were still with us, I’d have set him to watching Nikomedes. Perhaps the Lancer Colonel, I thought with reluctance. Akantha and the Colonel seemed to get along, and he was nominally loyal to me. If I let him join the Lancer contingent and Nikomedes killed or allowed the Colonel to be killed, Akantha wasn’t likely to forgive him and he’d be smart enough to know that.
I hadn’t relied on Colonel Suffic for anything critical to my personal wellbeing in the past, mostly because I hadn’t needed to. In the back of my mind I’d been relying on Gants and his team for that kind of support. After Bethany literally stabbed me in the back, Hansel, the Lancer Colonel, had not only failed to finish the job, he’d called for medical support and done his best to help defuse the situation.
Gants wasn’t around anymore and wasn’t going to be, so perhaps it was time to expand the sphere of people I trusted. Even so, I had to be an idiot to even be considering allowing Nikomedes on my ship. I frowned. Perhaps it was the fact I was somewhat intimidated by a man who was willing to take on someone wearing power armor, when he had nothing more than a top end sword and primitive protection.
I honestly wasn’t sure if I could take this Nikomedes if it was a straight up fight. I worried my lip between my teeth before steeling myself to the decision. I was Admiral Jason Montagne, slayer of Bugs and Imperial Marine Jacks, not some frightened little boy. If the man didn’t try to kill me during this visit, or found to be part of some conspiracy, Nikomedes was going to be allowed onboard my ship. So long as he was willing to swear to me as his Warlord, of course. But I had to wrap up this family visit first.
For the next half hour I stayed where I was and watched members of the court circle around me. The men acted like a pack of wolves, the way they looked at me and circled.
The women were a mix. Some avoided looking at me like I had the plague. Others had a glint in their eyes that bespoke interest. The men sized me up like they were thinking of ways to butcher me, and it was more than a little disconcerting. In the Caprian Court we were less blatant about such thoughts. The women were also sizing me up, but for the most part with an entirely different purpose in mind, which didn't seem to improve the mood of the men.
No one other than Nikomedes actually came close enough to speak with me and I approached no one. It was odd to be so disconnected from the swirl and whirl of court, even a court as foreign and strange as this one. I was at the center of the spotlight and at the same time, almost completely cut off from everyone else.
I was used to being on the outskirts, struggling to avoid attention or battling for scraps off the societal table. Being front and center was a new experience, and this time I wasn’t half out of my mind with head trauma.
The translator picking up fragments of conversation didn’t help either. I could look at people speaking behind their hands or glaring and confronting one another and I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. They were too far and I didn’t know how to focus the translator on their position.
I was just grateful no one took this opportunity to challenge me to single combat in the circle.
Chapter 39: Jinx
The court stirred in a way that put me on edge. It was different from my experience at Capria, to be sure, but the way people appeared alternately agitated or unnaturally still and interested in my position tripped all sorts of internal alarms.
“Keep a sharp eye out,” I instructed my honor guard of Lancers.
“Yes, Sir,” the Sergeant muttered in a low voice. He was a Caprian veteran, and the sound of the familiar accent helped more than I would have expected.
Eventually, Kallistos and Kapaneus pushed through the crowd, followed by a number of other men. I wish I could say this turn of events in some way unsettled or shocked me, but really it was more of a relief. If a few more native blockheads wanted me to tear them apart with my power-armored gauntlets, who was I to rain on their parade?
The pair stopped a few feet away from me. Kallistos looked at me with his nose in the air, while Kapaneus gave me a once over and sneered. Conversations stopped as other people spotted the confrontation.
When the pause had grown uncomfortable, I widened my eyes as if just spotting the pair for the first time. “Something I can do for you boys,” I asked with just a hint of condescension and a carefully calculated smirk.
Kallistos scoffed but Kapaneus flushed, an angry red color creeping across his face.
Kapaneus stopped and looked at me appraisingly before giving a quick shake of his head as if shrugging off an annoying insect.
“It has been long since your last visit, too long, Protector,” Kapaneus said, emphasizing the last word, almost as if he was it into a slur. “We of Argos have been waiting for you with anticipation.”
“And here I am, to ease your anticipation,” I said in a calm and deliberately superior voice. I wasn’t sure how much came through the translator, but I knew he was catching some of it even with the lag from the device.
“You must think you are so much better than us, man-from-the-stars,” Kapaneus spat, an ugly expression marring his face as he spoke.
“I didn’t realize the warriors of Argos were mind-readers as well as masters of the blade,” I said keeping my expression even and my voice so mild as to be deliberately insulting. Kapaneus’ face grew darker by the moment.
“You are brave to insult the warriors of Argos from within your enchanted suit of armor,” Kapaneus said scornfully. “I wonder if you would be equally so if we were just two men with nothing but our weapons.” He spat at my feet.
It appeared there was at least one blockhead who didn’t want to face me while I was wearing power-armor.
“I don’t remember seeing you among those arguing how unfair it was for Nykator to challenge a man who’d just been through a challenge circle, and before that was wounded to the point of unconsciousness saving Argos’s very own Land Bride from the Bugs, your very own sky-demons,” I remarked, allowing a look of confusion to sweep my face.
“Are you accusing me of something,” Kapaneus demanded placing a hand on his sword. “Speak plainly or prepare to perish.”
“I’m just asking, why the sudden change of heart?” I asked innocently. “Where was this sense of outrage before it was to your personal benefit?” If this thick-thewed idiot thought I was going to conveniently peel out of my power-armor just so he could have the advantage, with his foot of height and the better part of a hundred pounds on me, he was wrong. Dead wrong, if that was a necessary part of the equation.
As soon as the words translated, several members of the crowd gasped and started relaying the words to those behind them.
Kapaneus grinned as if he’d scored some kind of major point. It was a savage grin without even a hint of compassion or remorse.
“You have insulted me and cast doubt and aspersions upon both my honor and my warrior spirit,” he strode forward and punched me in the face.
Using both hands I pushed forward, and slamming my gauntlets into the chest of the native dunderhead was deeply satisfying. The eight feet he went flying back into the crowd even more so. The fool was just lucky I was feeling restrained.
I could see from the reaction of the crowd they were surprised at how strong I was in the armor. Well they should be, since the last time I’d been fighting what was probably their biggest, strongest warrior. What they didn't know was that since then, I’d been training every day. I’d improved and Kapaneus, while big and strong, was no Nykator.
“Stay down you fool, before I knock you into the next world,” I said disdainfully.
He ignored me, climbing to his feet with a bloody grin. He must have cut the inside of his mouth when he fell because I didn’t touch him anywhere near the face.
“I challenge you,” Kapaneus cried loudly enough to be heard over the sudden buzz of the crowd. “I call on the great Protector Jason Montagne to face me in the Circle, in Extremis Naturale,” the words were followed by a buzzing sound from the translator indicating an imperfect word equivalent, “face me or let any and all present know you for the cowardly dog you are. Your infamy will spread far and wide until men will be shamed to have had their name associated with yours,” roared the irate warrior.
I smirked at this bit of hyperbole and glanced over at my honor guard just to make sure they weren’t taking any of this self-serving tirade to heart.
The Caprian sergeant looked ready to kill Kapaneus as soon as the order was given, but the native members of the body guard had a different look to them. They appeared grim and concerned. It was a look that chilled my sense of satisfaction and caused a sinking sensation in my belly. I might have just made a serious miscalculation.
Chapter 40: Blow up any Mountains Lately? Nah, just an oversized mole hill.
“Chief,” yelped a Caprian grease monkey running up to the Turbo-laser turret Bogart was currently ensconced in.
“Now what you’ve got to do is line up the cross hairs projected on the holo-screen with these other moving lines over here that shows where you need to aim to hit the thing,” instructed the Chief Gunner.
“The lines keep moving,” grunted Heirophant, the former Lancer turned grease monkey and now would-be assistant gunner-in-training, as he adjusted the controls in either hand causing his seat, and not incidentally the entire turbo-laser the seat was attached to, to swivel back and forth.
“The bad guys don’t generally stand still, you fool,” the Gunner started in a rising voice, but by the end of the statement was wheezing instead. Those blasted lungs hadn’t fully healed up yet after what that Parliamentary murder had done to them, Combat Heal or no.
The former Lancer growled in response.
“Oh, blow it out your evacuation port,” Bogart snapped, simultaneously smacking the overgrown oaf on the back of the head.
The Tracto-an started to rise out of his chair and the Chief Gunner pulled out his auto-wrench and leveled it at him.
“Get back in there before I stove in your head with this wrench and knock your spirit into next week,” he said grimly.
Heirophant hesitated before plopping back down in the seat. “They still move too much,” the native said grimly, “I can’t follow them yet.”
“Of course not,” Bogart said rolling his eyes.
“Chief!” said the Caprian grease monkey still standing behind him, who was hopping from foot to foot by now.
“Now what you need to remember here,” instructed Curtis Bogart, leaning back and gesturing at the touch pad in front of the gun-chair, “is that everything, even a planet, moves all the time. Everything in the universe in constant motion and it can take a lifetime of learning, and sometimes even with that isn't enough, before you’ll be able to hit a target on manual. That’s why we have the auto aiming feature built into this puppy. The Caprian Turbo-Laser Mark 1.3 has all the same features as later models but without-”
“CHIEF!” shouted the little grease-monkey right behind him.
The Gunnery Chief whirled around, “Do you think I’m deaf, pipsqueak! I don’t have time to hold your hand right now, so just spit out your message and move along, you greasy pipe-swinger!” he roared.
The young crewman just stood there gobbling, his mouth opening and closing but nothing resembling actual words coming out.
“Now as I was saying,” continued Bogart turning back to the group of uppity little grease monkey’s sitting at the various Turbolasers in this battery, but still focusing on the native Tracto-an as he spoke, “it's got all the features of newer models, but without the override that lets the bridge Tactical section project a big flashing red update on the side of the targeting screen.”
“Why is that,” asked one of the other trainees.
“Because earlier versions were more AI paranoid than some of our later models,” Bogart said in disgust. “Apparently even a completely separate system linked to its own dedicated projector, when all it does is show what Tactical in its ossified wisdom thinks is the primary target, was too ‘linked in’ for the designers of the 1.3,” he said rolling his eyes.
“So they can’t shoot our weapons for us,” demanded Heirophant.
“Son, they can’t even put a big flashing update on the side of your main screen,” Bogart said condescendingly, “let alone fire this beast from the comfort of their padded seats and temperature controlled workstations.”
“Huh,” muttered the former Lancer, still playing with the controls, rotating his seat back and forth as he chased the illusive lines on his screen.
“So do we just pick any target we like and fire away,” asked one of the dumber students in this lot.
Bogart sighed, “While each laser has its own completely separate and very much stand alone targeting computer, the bridge issues firing instructions through a combination of your headphones here,” he said tapping the helmet each would-be gunner was wearing, “and the monitor here,” he said pointing to small screen built into the touch panel in front of every gunner.
“You take the firing coordinates and input them into your targeting computer. Engage the autotracking feature built into said non-networked, non-linked computer and fire as she bears!” he instructed.
The little pipsqueak behind him finally found his voice. “The Lancer Colonel is beaming up the coordinates right now. He says you can fire anytime you like,” he said.
“Now the next thing you need to know,” started Bogart.
“I said, the Lancer Colonel-” started the grease monkey standing behind him.
“I heard you the first time, I’m not deaf,” said the Chief Gunner continuing ignore the pipsqueak, “now run along and rustle someone else's tree, I’m sure your warrant officer has a new job for you.”
The grease monkey looked like he was caught between a rock and a hard place, but reluctantly turned away.
“As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, is that before you can do any of this, you need a key, one just like this,” he said holding up a command crystal, one which by virtue of the fact it belonged to the chief gunner, keyed to every single gun and turret on the ship, “that overrides the auto-lockout feature and lets you fire your gun.”
Ignoring the pain shooting through his side as he did so, Chief Bogart leaned over the native trainee and punched a series of buttons on the touch screen.
“Here are the firing coordinates for this little exercise,” he said pointed to the screen, “here is the zoom feature that lets you see things much closer than your mark one eyeballs could ever manage, and this,” he said leaning back and slotting his gun chief crystal into a slot built into the arm of the gunnery chair, “removes the override so you can fire your weapon.”
“Now all we need to do,” he said after removing his crystal, “is set up each of your weapons for a five minute burn before the auto-lockout feature reengages.”
He started over to the next turbo-laser when the chair the trainee was sitting in adjusted, and the harsh burning sound of a turbo laser being fired followed.
“What in the green blazes!” he roared turning around, his eyes widening in shocked disbelief. His eyes widened even further as the brackets on the targeting screen went from yellow to green, indicating the weapon was firing directly on target while under full manual control.
“Stupid lines,” muttered Heirophant, so focused on his target that he didn’t notice the Chief Gunner come up and slam his override crystal into the slot. Immediately, his Turbo-laser shut down.
“Hey, why you turn off my gun!” demanded the massive trainee.
“You ever fire a weapon on my deck without a direct order from me or the Tactical officer and you’ll be spending the rest of your short time on this ship in the Brig,” said the Chief Gunner pulling out a cigar, biting off the end and spitting it into the native’s face.
Heirophant looked shocked.
“Pull as stunt like that ever again and they’ll never find your body, since I’ll kill you myself,” Bogart said in a low voice filled with dire promise.
Heirophant held his gaze, but left it at that.
“Now as I was about to say,” the Chief Gunner continued, turning back to the rest of the trainees, “it doesn’t matter if you can hit your target without the auto-targeting feature like this overgrown grease monkey over here. You wait for my order to fire and you use the auto-targeting feature. We don’t need to burn down any of those mud-crawling Lancer boys while they’re down on the surface. So we watch our shots and use auto-targeting, even on as easy a shot as a planetary target.”
Chapter 41: Fireworks
Most of his Lancers had landed without mishap and after concentrating back together and forming up into units, the reinforced company he’d assembled marched to within eye sight of the Lyconese Citadel.
Even using vibro-blades and holding back on the handheld firepower, demolishing the natives sent to roust them out of the nice little roadside toll house he and his men had commandeered had been the work of but a few minutes, and the survivors had been sent reeling back to the relative safety of the city walls.
Which was why after carefully picking his target, he’d sent the coordinates along with a message to fire anytime they felt like it up to the ship’s tactical section.
It was five minutes later and Gunnery was taking its own sweet time about the whole business.
About ready to lose his cool, the Lancer Colonel was ready to get back on the horn, when a single shot streaked down through the atmosphere.
Starting literally right outside the city gates, the green beam of light had moved up the road in a straight line, demolishing said road for several hundred meters before abruptly cutting across country to land on the target he’d actually selected, a small hill easily seen from the city walls of the Lyconese citadel.
The beam cut out and he could almost hear the shocked pause on the other side. After nearly a minute's pause, just when one would think the attack was over, four more beams of light shot through the atmosphere, this time landing on the small hill.
They were soon joined by every single beam weapon in the ship’s broadside. Smoke and superheated rock shot up from the hillside until the pile of dirt and rock was obscured from view.
The orbital pounding continued steadily for several minutes before slowing down to a series of individual strobing lights illuminating the dark smoke from within.
Eventually the barrage came to a stop and after awhile the dust started to clear.
In place of the hill that had previously graced the city with its scenic portion of the panorama, there was now a large, smoking crater.
“Alright boys,” ordered the Lancer Colonel over the local communications push, “time to head on over to the city walls. The Hold Mistress wants us to relay a message.”
“And what would that be,” snarked one of the native Lancers, to the mirth and merriment of his squad mates, “a request for their unconditional surrender?”
After the laughter had died down, the Colonel caught the eyes of the men nearest him. “Lady Akantha would like us to extend an offer of employment to any warriors who would care to join the Clover’s Lancer contingent,” he said with a penetrating glare.
“What in the World of Men are you talking about, Sir,” demanded one of his Lancers, “We’re supposed to let those traitorous Lyconese join the Warband instead of just killing them like they deserve. Why, that’s-” whatever he had been about to say, the Lancer wisely remembered whose idea he was talking about and quickly snapped his mouth shut on the words.
“That’s what the Lady wants, and so that’s what the lady gets,” Suffic said, making a note of the members of this little peanut gallery. They’d be under his watchful eye from now on.
Showing up at the city gates and delivering the pitch like he was on some kind of standard recruiting drive was anti-climactic after jumping out of a shuttle and watching a hill get turned into a crater.
However, the Lyconese response was far from anti-climatic. It came as no surprise to Suffic. He knew, his new Hold Mistress knew, and even the Little Admiral seemed to know that men like these needed to be led from the front.
Chapter 42: Letter vs. Spirit
Standing stark naked in the middle of the Argos Great Hall with nothing but a sword and what little body hair I had mustered, I suppressed the urge to shiver. It wasn’t fear that was causing me to twitch, it was the cold. Even in a hall surrounded by Argos’s warrior courtiers I could feel a chill from the door.
“Get ready to die, star-spawn,” Kapaneus leered malevolently.
He was just as naked as I was, but seemed much less effected by the cold and weight of the stares we were receiving.
“Today there will be no enchanted armor to save you,” he grinned, twirling his sword for the audience. “This time, you’ll die like you should have when you first dared to set a dirty foot in these hallowed halls.”
I stared at him impassively. He was really starting to get under my skin. Bad enough I’d been out maneuvered by an oaf like this, but now he had the audacity to gloat about it.
“Cat got your tongue,” Kapaneus taunted, “or are you too busy shivering with fear to disguise the tremors in your voice?” He whirled his sword in a complicated figure eight pattern.
That tore it. I turned to my honor guard, ignoring all people looking at me like I was a piece of flesh at the market and tittering behind their hands, or looking superior and shaking their heads at my physical deficiencies. Next to these six and a half foot white-skinned gods, I was short, small and brown, but I had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Remind me of the rules governing this farce,” I asked lazily, looking past my guard and glaring at one of the crowd who had a hungry look on her face. Bad enough if it had been a different kind of hunger, but it was clear as day that all she wanted to see was blood and lots of it.
There was a short, almost embarrassed pause. “Two men, no armor, no clothes, naked as the day they were born, step into the circle and do battle,” said one of the more talkative of my native honor guard.
I could see doubt in the eyes of my Lancer Guard. These men had fought beside me and seen us victorious on the Imperial Strike Cruiser, but now that they could see Kapaneus and myself side by side clad in nothing but our skin and hair, they began to waver. How could I defeat a man so much larger than myself?
“Unarmed?” I asked, already knowing from the way Kapaneus was twirling his blade that this wasn’t going to be the case.
“No,” the Lancer confirmed, as Kapaneus stepped into the circle and roared, calling me a coward if I backed out now.
“Am I limited to a sword like his?” I asked, ignoring Kapaneus and his posturing, keeping my gaze focused on the Lancer.
The Lancer looked at me like I was daft and shook his head. “No,” he said slowly, “you are limited to one weapon. So if you wanted to take a dagger, an axe, a spear, a staff,” he shrugged, “even an arrow would be acceptable. So long as you take no more than one weapon.” From his expression and posture, he all but begged the question why a person would take such an alternative when he was carrying one of Tracto's legendary Dark Swords of Power.
“Excellent,” I said, handing the Minos Sword to the Caprian Sergeant and taking a much smaller, less imposing weapon (much like myself, I realized with a grin) from his belt. “This should be over quickly,” I said, checking it once. Satisfied with my assessment, I nodded to myself.
The Lancer sergeant looked surprised, but after a quick glance at his men, gave me a wink and a half-smile. The Tracto-an Lancers were taken aback and seemed at a loss for words, not that I hung around long enough to pay them any mind.
Kapaneus was still standing in the center of the circle, twirling his sword and making intimidating noises.
Stepping into the challenge circle I raised my arm in his direction. I shook my head and said, “Game over, you big oaf,” even as Kapaneus gave a yell of outrage, realizing his peril, and charged.
With a gentle squeeze, the pistol fired and struck my overly eager opponent in the chest. The first shot wasn't enough to stop him, so I fired another shot, and another, hitting Kapaneus seven times before he finally keeled over and fell to the floor. I’ll give him this: he must be strong as a horse to keep coming forward after a Caprian man would have already been motionless on the floor after no more than two direct shots.
Shaking my head and raising the barrel, I mimed blowing non-existent smoke out of the tube. I regretted that it was over so quickly, and that I’d pulled a sonic weapon from the Sergeant's belt instead of a blast pistol, like the one I would have preferred.
All around us, the leading citizens of Argos drew back in shock and dismay. Apparently they’d never expected the challenge to be over with so quickly, or that I’d win in such a crushing fashion without my ‘enchanted armor' to carry the day for me. Well, they’d obviously forgotten or dismissed the rumors about my mighty magic weapons, a mistake of the first order.
From the dark looks and angry muttering starting among some of the warriors, I might need to rethink the idea of a sub-dermal, one shot blaster implanted into my finger. I chastised myself, since concealed holdout weapons were something to be considered far in the future, while irate natives moving to surround me needed to be dealt with right now. I actually would have preferred to avoid a confrontation, standing there naked as a jay-bird with all my parts and fiddly bits hanging out for the world to see.
I didn’t think they were going to allow me to get back in my power armor before the next angry hot head moved in on me, which I could understand. They were never going to get a better shot at me.
Someone named Iksar was pushing his way towards me, along with several of his friends, when the large metal-bound doors the ruling Ladies otherwise known as Akantha and her Mother had gone through opened and Kastor Kephus walked back into the room.
Chapter 43: Irritation From On High vs. Boys Will Be Boys
The current Protector of Argos was closely followed by Akantha and her mother Sapphira.
The Hold-Mistress of Argos still had that otherworldly look about her, but irritation was clearly shining through.
Akantha crossed her arms and glared first at me and then at the people surrounding the challenge circle, then (as was only to be expected) right back at me, taking in the fallen form of Kapaneus. Her mother looked down at the fallen warrior before staring at me. “Is he dead,” she inquired mildly.
I could tell she was upset. Her daughter had been away for months, and the first chance they had to talk privately had just been interrupted. Who knew how difficult it was to clear her schedule and block out time for a family reunion? Of course if she hadn’t wanted a scene, that begged the question, why leave me among the wolves? Surely this result was not entirely unexpected.
Not wanting to disappoint her, yet unwilling to stick my neck out too far, I turned my palms up. “Should be fine after a little less than day. Awake and complaining long before then, a few hours maybe,” I said, trying to down play the situation.
Kastor Kephus had taken up a protective position on the dais, between Sapphira, Akantha and the rest of the court. He was just one man, but a big one.
The sight of him standing there sent a shot of embarrassment through me and I shot a quick angry look at my protective detail. I was once again being attacked left and right in this crazy Citadel, and Akantha was running around unprotected. I was used to being the recipient of protective measures, not directing them.
“Make sure Akantha has someone assigned to stay with her, from now on they don’t leave her side,” I muttered to the Caprian Sergeant. I was going to say more on the subject but was interrupted.
“Is there a reason you’ve decided to pursue an ancient form of challenge in the middle of my Hall, at this particular moment,” Hold-Mistress Sapphira inquired, a hint of steel in her voice. I didn’t like the way she seemed to be blaming me for starting the fight, but whatever. I’d known going down here was a mistake but had come anyway. I had no one to blame but myself.
“Kapaneus seemed to think the only way I could beat him was if I hid behind my magic armor like a coward,” I said, holding up the pistol and waggling it in my hand. “He forgot about my enchanted weapons.”
Sapphira stiffened and looked at me like I was an insect, while Akantha narrowed her eyes and gave me a look that promised we’d talk later.
“Perhaps some clothing is the order of the day,” Sapphira said, her mouth tightening.
I gave a start and refused to look down. Ignoring the heat starting to creep up my neck, I was reminded that I stood naked in front of not only the entire court, but Akantha’s mother as well. I must look quite the midget compared to this genetically-engineered planet full of Nordic heroes.
I gave my best attempt at a courtly bow and gestured my willingness to be led to a changing room. I wasn’t ready to jump from foot to foot putting on my clothes in front of everyone.
Sapphira motioned for a pair of guards standing near the wall to escort me out of the room, and behind me the Honor Guard from the Lucky Clover picked up my armor suit and clothes.
I strode out of the room with my head high and my nose in the air. The sight of one of the servants staring bug-eyed at me as I was lead to a side room almost undid me. The blush and hand quickly covering her mouth, no doubt hiding an emotion I didn’t want to examine too closely, more than I could bear.
With a quickening pace I ducked off into the room indicated by the Argos Guard and stuck a hand out, snatching the clothing from the gauntleted hand of one of my Lancers.
I was still busy putting my battle suit back on when one very angry Sword-Bearer came storming into the room.
Chapter 44: Red Sky In The Morning...
Half in and half out of my power armor I stopped, straightening up to meet Akantha.
She didn’t appear pleased.
“My Lady, what calls you from the Great Hall,” I asked, trying to play it cool.
“You had to do it, didn’t you,” she glared.
“Do what?” I arched a brow and inquired mildly.
“You had best wipe that look from your face, Jason Montagne, before I remove it for you,” she snarled. I drew back and glared, feeling the thunderclouds gathering on my face. I did nothing to disguise them. “You deliberately ruined my visit home,” she accused.
“Kapaneus-” I grated, only to be cut off.
“To the pits with Kapaneus!” she exclaimed, her right hand jerking into the air as she leveled a finger at me. “I leave you alone for a few moments and the next thing I know there you are, on display for all the world to see, in the middle of the circle with some thick-skulled idiot like Kapaneus!”
I waited with my arms folded, tapping a finger against my arm. I wanted to make sure she was done. She glared at me but didn’t say anything further, which was indication enough that it was now my turn to say something, if only to give her a chance to interrupt.
“You abandon me in the midst of a hostile court filled with your former suitors, men just itching for an excuse to take my head off, and then you want to complain that by defending my life I cut short your mommy time?” I asked darkly.
The slight pause before she returned to my verbal evisceration indicated something, I just wasn’t sure exactly what.
“You didn’t want to come here in the first place, so as soon as you see an opportunity, you go out of your way to ruin things,” she flared.
“Sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you,” I said stiffly, drawing myself up.
“You’ve done more than inconvenience me,” she said, her naturally pale face flushing. “If you had to fight, why couldn’t you just meet him in the circle, honorably,” she said, her anger suddenly replaced with pleading.
My forehead wrinkled at this emotional shift. “I did meet him in the circle and, when I asked, nothing seemed to forbid advanced weaponry like a pistol,” I said, not wanting to touch on the fact that I didn’t think I could take the other man in a straight up fight.
“You cheated,” she said flatly, “worse, you gloated about it afterwards.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say…,” I trailed off as I recalled what I’d said. Well, maybe I had gloated about my victory a little, but only right at the end.
“You broke the rules like a word-smith, turning a plow into a sword,” she said despairingly. It was almost enough to make me regret not stepping into the ring with a man carrying a foot of height and a hundred pounds on me with nothing but a sword. Almost.
“All you had to do was ignore him, or ask his deeds and then say if he wanted to challenge you he needed to come back once he was worthy,” she said, taking a deep breath as if to steady her nerves.
I had to work to keep from giving her a hard look at this latest information, “I wish someone had thought to share this bit of protocol with me before I was challenged to a duel,” I said quietly, struggling to keep the flare of anger I was feeling bottled up on the inside where no one could see it.
“If you had to fight, why didn’t you just kill him,” now she sounded almost pleading with me. As if there was anything I could do now that the challenge was over and done with.
I closed my eyes. “I just grabbed the first thing on the Lancer Sergeant’s belt. I was hoping for a blaster pistol, actually,” I said with a shrug. I didn’t like the idea of letting my enemies regroup and recover so they could have another chance at yours truly, but after Kapaneus went down it had just seemed wrong to keep shooting him over and over until he was dead. Not to mention I hadn’t been sure if such an un-sporting action would incite the crowd to violence.
I felt a gentle hand on my cheek and I opened my eyes. Akantha stood there looking at me warmly. In that moment I realized that I’ll never understand women, especially this bloodthirsty, Tracto-an version.
“I’m happy you were victorious,” she said, her eyes locking with mine. I gazed deeply into their blue depths, and for a moment I was lost. I felt a surge of attraction and wondered if she felt the same. She slid her hand off my cheek and while I was wondering if this moment was about to lead to something else, she reared her hand back and slapped me. To add insult to injury, it was on the very same cheek she’d just been gently holding.
“Ouch,” I protested, covering my face with a hand and using the other to ward off any further blows.
“Next time kill your enemies, don’t let them recover,” she said icily. Without further niceties, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room with an angry flick of her hair.
I have to admit I was slightly distracted from her dramatic exit, by the shapely motion of her hips as she walked away.
“We’re not done with this,” she called from just outside the room. I could also tell from her voice she was getting further and further away.
I gave my head a shake. So much for satisfaction of the baser impulses, that dream was out the window. With a sigh I returned to putting back on my battle-suit.
This was going to be a long visit.
Chapter 45: ...Sailor's Delight?
I’d been quietly escorted to a series of interconnected rooms. I had the sinking feeling these were going to be our sleeping accommodations for the night. I would have kicked a chair or scuffed the floor with my boots, except that they were power armored boots and I didn’t want to be accused of causing gross physical damage to the furniture or the structural integrity of the citadel.
So I sat there and waited. And waited. And…waited. If I didn’t know better, I would think that the unsophisticated natives of this world didn’t think I was safe to be let out to mingle with the local society.
“We can retrieve some refreshments if you would like,” offered one of the native members of my guard contingent.
“I do believe I’ll wait, thank you though, Phstophes,” I said with a thankful smile. Personally, I’d rather go hungry than risk eating something prepared in Argos. Not because I thought the natives couldn’t cook, but because after the smashing success that was my first visit followed by the wonderful second impression I’d just made downstairs with Kapaneus, I didn’t trust someone not to try poison as the next in what I imagined to be a long line of attempts on my life. After all, history is filled with accounts of high-tech visitors being done in by underhanded native techniques, rather than face the magic weapons and armor we often came decked out in.
“Whatever you decide, we’ll be here, Admiral,” said Phstophes stepping back.
I found a sturdy surface near the fireplace that looked strong enough and carefully lowered my power-armored rear. When nothing cracked or shattered under my weight, I leaned back with a sigh and closed my eyes to rest.
Before joining the Lucky Clover and subsequently taking command of the ship, I’d never have been able to fall asleep inside a battle suit like this. I wonder what it said about me that it was no longer the discomfort it would have been before, and the thought of acting ‘normal’ and actually getting out of my armor was more than mildly disconcerting?
I fell asleep to the sound of servos whining as the Honor Guard worked on improving their fine dexterity by playing cards with their gauntlets on.
I woke to silence. The lack of noise was actually what caused me to rouse. As I sat there blinking my eyes, I saw that Akantha and her mother were both present in the room and the Lancer detachment were gone.
I also realized I could understand what Akantha and her mother, the Lady Zosime, were saying. Without the use of mechanical translator. They were conversing in the ‘secret language of the Earth ancients.’
“I imagine the difficulties of starting a brand new hold-colony, in the middle of a Stone Rhino infested island like Messene are quite severe,” said Polymnia, Akantha’s mother.
“The speed with which the wizard engineers of the two new tribes on the island display is quite amazing, mother,” Akantha was saying with enthusiasm, “they do in days what it would take our people weeks, or perhaps even months to build.”
Polymnia nodded, taking a sip from a wooden goblet.
“That’s good then,” she said with a sigh, “just remember, if you need any help while you’re busy running around the stars with your new Protector, do not hesitate to call on us,” said the refined Hold-Mistress of Argos.
“Mother,” Akantha said with irritation. “I’ve told you why it's necessary I’m away from my Holding so frequently.”
“Oh, I’ve heard and believe you,” said Polymnia with a grimace in her voice. “First the Sky Demons came to plague us, and your Protector put a stop to them. Only they are not entirely gone and he cannot continue to slay them for us unless he is also able to fulfill prior obligations. If he fails, the world as a whole faces imminent destruction.”
“Then you understand why I must continue to do as I have,” said Akantha sounding resolute.
“In your place, I would do the same thing,” admitted Akantha’s mother. “I just wish that you were not the only one leaving her Hold unattended while she sees to the needs of all Men.”
I watched through half-lidded eyes. The woman I saw in here resembled the Hold-Mistress of Argos I’d seen out in the Great Hall. The refined look was still there, but the vague and dreamy demeanor was very much reduced. I wondered if I should interject myself into the conversation or if I should continue sitting here by the fireplace. Eavesdropping won out over making myself a convenient verbal punching bag for my wife.
Akantha shrugged. “Already word of the great wonders to be found on Messene have spread to our neighbors,” she said looking pleased.
“What about the Lyconese,” Polymnia muttered balefully.
“Making drama as usual,” Akantha said, no longer looking quite so pleased. “I wanted to go there personally, but my Protector convinced me to send a band of warriors from the Lucky Clover instead.”
“After seeing your Jason fight in that Power Armor of his, I can only imagine what a full war band could do,” Polymnia paused to consider, “It's an astute bit statecraft, which is surprising, coming from a man,” said Polymnia with serious contemplation in her voice. “You’ll want to watch that one carefully,” she advised.
“Never fear that,” Akantha said with a giggle, “I’m keeping an eye on him.” She paused, “I’m curious why you think it’s a good move politically, though.”
“Simple,” said Polymnia with a slightly surprised look on her face, “As long as you do not go personally, the conflict between Messene and Lyconesia stays a matter of men. That doesn’t mean that tragedies won’t happen, however, once the women get personally involved this thing could escalate out of control. As long as the Hold-Mistress of Messene does not beard the Hold-Mistress of Lyconese in her lair over these raids, the Lyconese can pretend this is just the action of small bands of warriors overeager to prove themselves.”
“I don’t see how that matters. If the Lyconese give us enough trouble, our men can crush them,” Akantha said fiercely. “We’ll storm their citadel, tear down the walls and geld any man who won’t swear fealty, then cast out those of the women who refuse to do the same. The survivors can wander, lost in the wilderness together for the next twenty years.”
Polymnia Sapphira Zosime drew herself up, looking every inch the Hold-Mistress. “The Lyconese Mistress is not stupid, at least not entirely so. There has always been a sort of base cunning to her designs.”
Akantha snorted, but when her mother shot a stern in her direction she reluctantly subsided.
“Adonia, my daughter,” began her mother, and Akantha looked slightly more rebellious at the use of this, her first name, but Sapphira continued, “if you make this a matter between Mistresses, then Hepatia of Lyconesia will just wait until you are away from your Holding and back among the stars. Like a barb-snake hidden in the grass, only then will she attack. It won’t matter who wins, whose claim is superior, or whose warriors are stronger. Eventually you’ll come home, and when you do, you will retaliate by conquering or destroying her city with your magic weapons.”
“As would be my right!” Akantha said with cold fury. That was my girl, always eager to destroy things. Although this bit about gelding the men and casting the women out to live with the bears and creatures of the wild lands was new and disturbing.
“And you would succeed,” Sapphira said agreeably, an arch expression on her face. “Your Protector would be hailed as a lion on the battlefield, and you a veritable mammoth among womankind. Meanwhile, every single possible enemy on our world would be sharpening their knives, as they plotted your fall in every Polis across the land.”
Akantha folded her arms and looked infuriated as she stared at something on the floor.
For my part, I would have liked to say I was only mildly interested in what was going on, but that would have been a lie. I know it was just local politics and we could crush every Tracto-an city on this entire world if we wanted, but something about the clandestine plotting and scheming seemed to get the juices flowing.
Unfortunately it did more than just sharpen my attention, it also caused me to unconsciously shift position. Scraping the bum of my battle-suit across the raised stone of the fireplace I was sitting on caused a very audible screech. Unfortunately, it was too loud to be passed off as something else.
Making a show of yawning and waving my gauntleted hand in front of my face as if covering my mouth, incidentally hiding my face from searching looks for any betraying expressions indicating I’d been eavesdropping. I looked over at the pair of them as if for the first time realizing they were in the room, the faintest hint of surprise plastered on my face.
Akantha’s mother glanced at me before looking at her daughter, “Close up he looks much better than he did the first time he came here. The scars add flavor to his face instead of making him look grotesque,” she said in a normal tone of voice, a faint smile on her voice. In other words, she looked like someone unaware that I could understand her.
Akantha closed her eyes briefly.
“Glad you like the new look, my Lady’s mother,” I replied in that language I had always thought to be a family secret.
Polymnia’s eye lids shot up and she turned to me in surprise. “I didn’t know you spoke the language of Men,” she said, her expression gradually changing until it returned to it that strange ethereal look she showed her court and the rest of the outside world.
“Learned it as a child,” I said, waving off the issue as if it was of little importance.
“Well. Since we can communicate without the need of that strangely stiff-sounding mechanical translating devise, how about we get acquainted,” she said.
“Of course,” I replied agreeably.
Akantha’s mother then proceeded to ask me a series of questions about my parents, my family, and what it was like growing up. Any attempts I made to try changing the subject were deftly diverted back to me. Akantha mostly observed as her mother conducted this familial grilling, however I don’t think I go too far when I say she had the demeanor of a cat lapping up the last bit of milk.
I didn’t learn anything of any further value that night except for this: her mother was a skilled conversationalist and much more proficient in the secret language of Earth than I.
Eventually the hour grew late, and the Hold-Mistress of Argos took her leave.
At first, taking off my power armor and finding myself expected to fall asleep in a strange new room filled with a giant bed, cushions and coverings made of native fibers and materials I’d never experienced before was more than a little disconcerting.
However, when Akantha asked for some help undoing the native court garb she was now dressed in, I was instantly distracted from such thoughts.
As with any man whose wife has just asked him to help her get undressed, my mind was quickly filled with thoughts and plans. Ones that completely ignored the troubles of city-states, worlds and the greater galaxy at large. It might not have been as productive an evening as if we’d sat up discussing state craft and troop movements, but it was infinitely more satisfying.
At least it was for me, and from the sounds of her reaction to my plans and their execution, she seemed to feel the same way. At that particular moment in space and time, anyway.
As we lay there sweaty and exhausted, she snuggled against my chest. “I knew you could beat Kapaneus,” she murmured. She semi-consciously nuzzled my chest before drifting into a deep sleep
I smiled. Despite a few surprises along the way, it really wasn’t hard to outwit a muscle-bound idiot like that. Then my smile froze on my face. The way she said it seemed to indicate she knew about it before it actually went down. If his challenge really was some kind of unplanned for, random event, she couldn’t possibly have known anything about beforehand.
Maybe I was reading too much into this situation, or maybe she heard about the fight but for some reason couldn’t come to watch. But this latest attack might not have been as completely spontaneous as it appeared.
If she’d known Kapaneus was about to challenge me and had let me walk into the situation entirely unaware…I started to sweat. What had been a pleasant, relaxing episode in bed now had me stiff as a board in all the wrong places, trying to divine the deeper meaning of a handful of words. There was no choice for my suddenly frenzied and furious brain, and what I wondered left no room for any peace of mind.
If I couldn’t rely on Akantha, my wife, then who could I rely on? With cousin Bethany aboard the Clover, even the loyalty of diehard Royalists like the Lancer Colonel had to be suspect, to say nothing of Parliamentary holdouts among the crew.
More and more, it was looking like sending Gants and the better half of the Armory crew over to secure that Imperial Cruiser and the Multiplex Constructor ship had been nothing but an utter disaster from top to bottom. Who was I going to rely on down there in the Armory now… Oleander? That klutz? Hardly!
With Spalding out of the picture, after having sacrificed himself to save the ship from a core breach, Gants gone off into the murky depths of hyperspace, sent away by my own foolish orders, and Akantha suddenly back on the ‘let's put my beloved Protector in mortal danger just to see him squirm’ warpath, there was no one around who I could completely rely on.
Lieutenant Trembaly was just waiting to put a knife in my back. Most of my officers were decided unknowns, like the Lancer Colonel, now that Capria was back under Royal management and sticking its nose into affairs out here. I did have one decided advantage though: most of my new officers had their families currently living on Tracto VI.
And what was this whole King James business anyway? What a crock. He was closer to my age and generation, and therefore further from a true path of succession than dozens of people with their eyes on the throne.
As I lay there biting my mental nails and anguishing over everything that had and could go wrong, I was forced to wonder: what would happen if all my tropes and gambits failed?
I was in it deep, so deep I had no clue how I was getting out of this mess. 'Jason Montagne, your local uninteresting holo-vid repairman,' was starting to sound more and more appealing all the time.
Chapter 46: The Mechanics Of A Miracle vs. The Shroud
He was… (or was he?)
“We’re losing him,” screamed an orderly, panicking as he looked at the numbers displayed on the screen over the bed.
“Pull yourself together, man!” snapped the man overseeing the operation, his arms already covered in blood.
“Vital signs are crashing and his heart won’t settle down, he’s going into cardiac arrest!” gasped the orderly. “This is happening much earlier than projected in the model.”
““Hold on, blast you,” the surgeon yelled at the patient on his operating table. “Initiate chelation therapy, now,” he instructed the ashen-faced orderly.”
“Oh gods there’s no way he can make it, he’s going to die unless his heart settles down,” shrilled the orderly.
“Get the Hades out of my operating room,” snarled the surgeon, turning a withering look on the Orderly. “And send in your replacement,” he hollered at the other man’s retreating back. “Live, damn you! You’re too tough to die like this,” he bellowed at the patient on his table.
“What can I do, doctor,” asked the orderly’s replacement, sounding much more professional than the last yahoo to pollute the operating room with his histrionics.
There was a pause and he gave her a blank look before turning to glance at a screen being emulated by one of the most advanced medical programs ever devised. He didn’t like what he was seeing.
His face hardened. “Get me a laser scalpel and prepare to stand by for suction. His ticker’s too far gone, we’re going to have to jerk it and put in the replacement. Now.”
The new orderly’s eyes widened. “The patient’s still coming out of cryo, I didn’t know it was possible to perform a major organ replacement at a time like this and expect the patient to survive.”
The surgeon just gave her a flat look. “There’s a first time for everything.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice. Then she shook herself and nodded briskly, “Of course, sir. Anything you need,” she said scooping up the laser scalpel and handing it over.
The patient on the table was barely aware of anything but the searing line of fire down the middle of his chest, followed by a cracking noise and the voices started to grow increasingly distant. He also registered an ominous sound, as the previously consistent beeping suddenly stopped and became a harsh, continuous tone instead.
'That can’t be good,' was his first and only thought before spiraling into darkness.
“Doctor, he’s not going to make it, he’s already dead!” said the orderly, sounding excited for the first time since she took over.
“Not yet, blast it! We’ll just have to continue this surgery in the regeneration tank. If we leave the lid open, there’s no reason we can’t continue to operate,” barked the surgeon, feeling more alive in these few moments than in the previous handful of years combined.
“Space Gods,” breathed the new orderly, however she soon proved she was made of much sterner stuff than the previous wanker. “Of course, Doctor.”
“We have enough uncontaminated blood samples to replace every cell in his body, and a brand spanking new heart, to boot,” said the surgeon, sounding like he was trying to convince himself.
The orderly carefully didn’t mention the heart was still more than a touch on the immature side. Instead, she just nodded and rushed over to the tank.
With the click of a few buttons and a subsequent plop, the body on the surgical table sank into the tank.
“Stabilize the body so I can continue to work on him,” he said in frustration.
“Of course, sir,” she replied, not for a moment thinking to make the excuse that the patient was floating around in the regeneration tank because that’s what they were supposed to do. Instead, she grabbed an arm and a leg and held on for dear life.
Both medical personnel ignored the buzzing of their personal radiation alarms.
“Forget holding him steady,” the surgeon said irritably.
“But you said…” started the orderly.
“Never you mind that,” he snapped. “Place your hands here and squeeze,” he said pointing to the open chest cavity.
The orderly gave him a wide-eyed stare.
“Do it, now!” he barked.
Grimly, the Orderly placed her hands on the old heart still inside the chest cavity.
“Now squeeze, and use your hands as his heart,” the elderly surgeon commanded.
And she did.
Chapter 47: Back in Orbit
As I stood on the bridge and issued the final orders to depart the system, all my hoped for accomplishments tasted like ashes in my mouth.
“Point transfer coordinates locked and ready, Admiral,” reported Navigator Shepherd.
“Whenever you’re ready to give the order, Sir,” Lieutenant Tremblay said cautiously.
I glanced over at Cousin Bethany sitting at an empty console in communication section and gritted my teeth.
She of course chose that moment to look my way, and when our eyes met I forced a smile. She gave me back a serene smile with the barest hint of gloating concealed within it. Concealed that is, from everyone but me. I knew her too well. She was up to something, I didn’t know what, but I had my eyes on her and my ears open.
From her position on the side of the Flag Bridge opposite from our honorable Confederation Representative, Akantha glared daggers at my sweet cousin.
Stuck between these two prime examples of the feminine side of our species, it was all I could do to keep my eyes focused forward on the main screen and avoid getting sucked into their little turf war. Anyone who thought women couldn’t be just as ruthless and twice as vicious as a man had another think coming. A controversial philosopher once said ‘women don’t have the capacity for mercy.’ I’m not sure how much of that I was willing to believe, but just looking at the two of them out of the corners of my eyes completely shook my inherent faith in that philosopher’s wrong-headed nature.
I sat back in the Admiral's Throne and languidly waved a hand as if I had not a care in the world. “Engage the star drive as soon as she’s ready, Navigator Shepherd. We’re going back to Easy Haven,” I commanded as evenly as I could.
If only my tour of the surrounding inhabited star systems had produced better results, I thought bitterly, then I might have some cover when I returned for whatever little surprise dear cousin and Confederation Representative Bethany had cooked up. Because sure as anything, she was just waiting to put a spoke in my wheel the first chance she got. I was doubly thankful right then for the ‘honor guard’ I’d set her up with.
“Hyperdrive engaging, Admiral,” reported the Navigator and the Galaxy twisted around us.
Reality shifted and we point transferred from one star system to another, all through the wonders of hyperspace.
Chapter 48: Return to Easy Haven
“Point Emergence,” stated the Assistant Navigator, and even though he was the ‘Assistant,’ he had more time in grade and a greater depth of experience than Navigator Shepherd. Shepherd did have one thing going for him the other man didn’t, though. He was someone I knew and trusted to do his job.
“Baffling extended beyond transfer area, main engine is cycling up,” said Helmsman DuPont.
“Shields are modulated for Inertial Sump emergence,” reported the man at shields.
“There are an estimated 23 gravities to be overcome in this sump,” Science Officer Jones sighed, allowing the barest hint of irritation to color his voice.
“Shunting all sensor readings through Tactical,” stated the First shift Tactical Officer.
There was a pause.
Tremblay started tapping his foot on the duralloy deck plating. Tap-tap-tap.
I frowned at him.
He deliberately turned his eyes so he could later claim he never noticed my suppressive look.
I gritted my teeth.
“Main engine at 29% and climbing, both secondaries engaged,” reported the Helmsman. A moment later, “And we’re still locked.”
“Tactical has identified over two dozen military grade contacts,” the grey bearded tactical officer said finally.
I sat bolt upright in my chair.
“Two dozen,” exclaimed Tremblay.
“Is there any way they could have pulled two dozen ships out of mothballs in the time we’ve been away,” I asked doubtfully.
Tremblay and I shared a look of disbelief and then he snorted ironically before shaking his head.
“Right,” I said grimly, before bestowing a tight nod on the first shift Tactical Officer. “Find out who else is in this system besides Commodore LeGodat’s 209th Light Squadron.
While he was getting the answers I slitted a glance sideways over at my dear cousin Bethany. She had a small little smile flitting around her lips and was looking entirely too satisfied with this current turn of affairs. I didn’t like it.
But there was little I could do about her and whatever machinations she was a part of, at least not at the moment. Later on it would be an entirely different story, assuming we both survived whatever power-play she was plotting, there would be a ‘come to Murphy’ moment in her future. You could take that to the bank and deposit it.
“Is there a problem with the ship, Cousin,” she asked, arching a brow and bestowing a superior smile in my direction.
“Not at all, Cousin,” I stopped myself from grinding out the words and instead produced a superior little smile of my own.
“Oh,” she asked looking surprised, “it’s just that you had the most perturbed look upon your face but a moment ago. Knowing it isn’t anything to do with the ship relieves my mind entirely.”
“Perturbed, Cousin?” I said, arching a brow of my own and shooting her a piercing glance, all the while keeping my own smile firmly in place for any of the bridge crew that might be watching the exchange. “Surely you jest.”
“Cousin Shirley is back home on Capria, as you must recall,” she quirked a cute little expression before turning slightly more serious, “However, I will concede I must have been mistaken, after all you’re a high and mighty Admiral now. I’m certain there’s not a moment when doubt or indecision resides within you.”
“First it was perturbed, and now I am full of indecision and doubt. Really, Cousin,” I laughed a deep belly laugh, one I was quite pleased to pull off on the spot like that, “a powerful Confederation Representative like yourself needs to improve her skill at reading body language, or at least pick a conclusion and stick with it. In the future, you won’t always be dealing with family as forgiving as myself, so it is my heartfelt recommendation is that you pick up a few remedial courses at the palace on assessing micro-expressions before once again attempting to deal with the galaxy at large.”
The look she gave me could have flayed the skin off my body if it was any sharper.
“I fear it is not a lack of training, dear Jason, it’s that dreadful scar tissue you still have on your face. Not only does it detract from your otherwise adequate features, but apparently it ‘blunts’ an otherwise well-honed skill of mine,” she said her voice dripping honey.
Hidden within the obvious insult where she essentially called me ugly now and merely adequate looking normally, was the word ‘blunt’ which was a better-concealed dig at my nose. She knew how much I disliked how flat my nose was compared to the rest of the Royal family
I glanced over at Tremblay, who had a finger across his upper lip while his thumb rested on his chin. If he was trying to conceal the smirk he was sporting at the sight of a pair of Royals verbally tearing each other apart in front of the crew, then he failed miserably. That’s when I knew it was time to cut this little barb fest short.
I could always have the ‘honor guard’ I’d assigned her drag our dear Confederation Representative off the Flag Bridge. Tempting as it was, doing so right after we’d transitioned into Easy Haven System itself seemed worse than counter-productive. All my political senses were in harmony on this one, and agreed that it would be suicidal.
I needed an ace in the hole, something that would shut down that venomous mouth of hers but good. That’s when I had it.
I felt a vicious grin start to creep across my face. What’s more, I deliberately let her see it. “Oh?” I asked, quirking a finger and looking slightly past her as if meeting the eyes of one of the honor guard, “I thought the scars added distinction,” I drawled, turning my eyes to meet her gaze and look directly at her.
She paused, a better word might be froze temporarily and then fluttered her fingers as if to shoo away a fly. “Of course, my dear Admiral. I’m sure you’re right,” she said, doing her best to laugh off the subject.
“As you say, esteemed Confederation Representative,” I said still smiling at her. There was no way she could know it, but when I’d crooked my finger at her honor guard, as the Queen Regent was known to do with the Royal Guard when a member of the Blood Royal had gone entirely beyond her good graces, the guard I’d assigned her hadn’t a clue what I’d meant. There was no way to train them in the finer points of Caprian Court hand gestures. However, Bethany had no way of knowing that. To her, I’d as much as pointed a loaded gun at her and said 'one more cross word and my Lancers will clap you in irons and drag you off to the dungeon.'
The puzzled expression on Tremblay’s face made my day even more fulfilling than a mere temporarily silencing of my current familial opponent. The less he felt he understood things, the better, at least where our royal Confederation Representative was concerned. Cottonmouth could be a deadly enough opponent back home where the knives were mainly verbal and exile equated to death, but out here where the name of the game was real power and everything else was a desperate scramble simply to survive…no, he and the rest of the crew were better off keeping as much distance between her and themselves as possible.
“Sir, we’ve tentatively identified two main groupings,” said the Tactical Officer.
My eyes shot around to find the main screen, my cousin and her games momentarily forgotten.
“Yes, Mr. Laurent,” I replied, gathering my composure as my eyes frantically sought to make sense of the contacts on the main screen. “Please hit the highlights,” I instructed with a bit of irritation that he hadn’t just launched into a presentation. I wasn’t sure if I liked this new procedure of having all new contacts routed through Tactical. We’d done well enough before with the various sensor stations calling out contacts as they discovered them…hadn’t we?
“The first are broken up into two squadrons of six and five ships respectively. They are squawking the 1st and 2nd Squadron Formations of the 25th Sector Guard, at least according to their transponder codes,” he reported in a respectful voice.
“The 25th Sector Guard,” I wrinkled my brow, “We’re in Sector 25 right now, but I’ve never heard of any Sector Guard before,” I mused, allowing the puzzlement I felt to creep into my voice.
“Anything you’d like to add, First Officer,” I asked, turning to look over at Tremblay, “I mean from your perspective as the ship’s former Intelligence Officer, of course.”
Tremblay looked irritated, which would have been just about perfect, except I was sensing his irritation could mean a dearth of much-needed information for this ship and her leader.
“I was a junior Intelligence Officer, hardly the ship's only, or even its main or chief Intelligence Officer,” Tremblay corrected me.
I waved a hand irritably, motioning for him to get to the point. “Just out with it, man,” I frowned.
“As I recall…,” he said, his fingers tapping away at a console for a moment, “ah yes, in the early days of the Confederacy several of the wealthier Sectors near what was at that time the Rim of human space had their own standing ‘Home Guard’ formations. These guard units were at first on loan whenever they were called up or needed by the Confederation-at-large, and eventually simply absorbed into the Confederation Fleet proper as things got more organized in the post-AI war period."
I lifted one side of my mouth in what I hoped was a smile. It appeared I wasn’t the only one who could play fast and loose with archaic Confederation military traditions.
I rested my elbows on the arms of the Throne and steepled my fingers in front of my face. I sensed the fingerprints of a brand new opponent to my continued existence as a Confederation Admiral and still-breathing scion of the Caprian Royal Family. Perhaps what I was seeing here was the handiwork of whatever Admiral had come to Tracto and stolen my Constructor.
“A breakdown on their ships, if you please,” I asked mildly, determined not to leap to any ill-founded conclusions before actually encountering whatever passed for leadership among these new squadrons of warships.
“The formation of five consists of four Corvettes of various makes and models with a Light Destroyer at the head of its formation,” said the Tactical Officer.
“It’s the Flagship for that group, no doubt,” I said, drawing on my vast depth of holo-vid knowledge to reach this complicated conclusion.
“It could very well be, Sir,” the Tactical Officer Laurent said with a nod that vindicated my leap of holo-knowledge, at least in my eyes. I couldn’t say anything about the rest of them.
“The second group, the 1st Squadron Formation,” the tactical officer said with a straight face, “consists entirely of Corvettes, CR 92’s.”
“92’s?” I said quizzically. I didn’t ever remember hearing about the CR 92 class before.
“A new, well, relatively new model,” cut in First Officer Tremblay, clearly wanting to get in on the action and not pleased the Tactical Officer was hogging the spotlight. “It was the last of the old Confederation concept models to roll off the design boards. The Empire utilized the design with a number of variations over the years before finally moving to retire it from service in favor of a newer, tougher model, the Assassin Class Corvette we on the Rim have heard so much about, yet being away from the Gorgon front, seen so little of.”
The Tactical officer shrugged at this interruption and nodded his agreement. “The First Officer’s got it right,” he said signaling his agreement.
I shook my head. We were getting off the main point. It was nice to know there was an entire squadron of 6 Corvettes that made anything we’d run up against so far look like the older models they actually were, but these were still just a bunch of Corvettes and one light Destroyer, weren’t they? What could a nearly dozen of these small units do to a big Battleship like mine?
Hopefully, I’d never have the chance to find out. I glanced over at cousin Bethany who was back to looking entirely too smug for my comfort and peace of mind.
If that little serpent wasn’t nestled right here in the heart of my Flag Bridge, I might feel comfortable enough to ask what Tremblay and our Tactical Officer thought of our chances at taking these two squadrons of lighter warships in a fight. As it was, I needed to be careful what I said, lest something untoward get back to the ears of whoever Bethany was reporting to. Such inconvenient information most surely would find its way to wherever it could make the most trouble now that we were back in contact with civilization. Well, what passed for it out here at Easy Haven, the only Confederation Star Base to escape the Empire’s scuttling charges.
“The remainder seem to either be independent, or are associating themselves with the Wolf-9 Star Base,” said the Tactical Officer.
I blinked and looked at him blankly for a moment before the nature of what he was saying started to process.
“The remaining…warships,” I asked my eyes narrowing in thought. “How many do you read," I demanded. As Tactical Officer, he should have known to simply include such information in his report. Was this some kind of subtle turf war action, in response to Tremblay stepping on his cape with the CR 92’s, or was it something else entirely and I missed a signal? Perhaps I was just paranoid, it's not like I was an expert in military reporting.
“Three purpose-built hulls, ranging from a pair of Corvettes to another old style Hammerhead Medium Cruiser,” at this my ears perked up but the Tactical Officer shook his head. “Not the old Fire of Prometheus, nor according to its transponder, any other member of the Promethean System Defense Force. According to its transponder, it’s from the Aldenburg SDF,” he said.
“All right,” I said nodding in understanding. I had absolutely no clue what this all meant at the moment.
Seeing Bethany looking on with keen interest as my officers reported their findings, I forcibly stopped myself from gritting my teeth. If only I could have left her off the Flag Bridge for this transition. Unfortunately, this was the one transition where I didn’t feel I could keep her confined to her cabin or in any other way denied access.
“The others are all squawking Confederation transponder codes. In addition to the old dungeon ship, that pirate Heavy Cruiser we handed them and the two Corvettes that were here as part of the original Light Squadron stationed, I’m seeing three converted merchant freighters. Thinly armored, but bristling with recently installed weaponry. I’m also seeing three old-style Confederation Destroyers being worked up at the old Star Base’s shipyard complex, a surprising amount of which is active compared to our last visit here. They’ve really been busy,” he said raising his eyebrows.
“How much of the system industry is back online,” I asked quickly, eager to discover this key point of information.
I’d specifically ordered the three civilian constructors to work on fixing up the old mothballed Easy Haven infrastructure as long as they remained in this system. Possible kudo points with Confederation High Command and the rump Assembly were in short supply, and anything I could hang my hat on and get extra credit for would be a blessing.
Unfortunately, before I could get an answer, the external communications technician chimed in.
“Admiral, we’re being hailed by one of the two squadrons of light ships. I have an Admiral Yagar of the 1st Squadron, 25th Sector Guard Detachment on the horn,” he exclaimed, sounding far too chipper for my taste.
“Admiral Yagar,” I drawled to calm my sudden surge of anxiety, putting a very liberal dose of unhurried senior officer into my voice.
The Ex-Com Technician must have taken my tone as a personal criticism because he hurried to add. “Yes, Sir, he’s listed as a Rear Admiral, Admiral, sir.”
I stopped from rolling my eyes as the Ex-Com proceeded to verbally stumble all over himself. Then I smiled. “Rear Admiral, is it?” I asked, unable to keep a hint of satisfaction at this small nugget of information from creeping into my voice. After all, technically speaking, a Vice Admiral outranked a mere Rear Admiral. I was actually quite clear on this part, having made it a priority to look up the various types of Admirals on the table of organization.
“Put him through, Ex-Com,” I instructed in a firm, no nonsense voice. It was important to begin as you intended to proceed.
After a minute, the image of a balding man with white hair and a strange uniform I’d never seen before appeared on the main screen.
“Admiral Yagar, I presume,” I greeted, working at projecting a sense of comradery and bonhomie in my voice.
“Just what have you been playing at, Montagne!” barked the infamous Admiral Yagar. Big, bushy eyebrows beetled on his forehead in a way that told me this man likely had to pluck to keep from having one of the dreaded unibrows. In addition to his eyebrows and strange uniform, this Admiral Yagar was white-skinned, slightly on the portly side and came equipped with an imposing nose that reminded me of nothing so much as a hawk’s beak.
“Playing,” I asked in mock surprise, drawing back in my chair, my own eyebrows climbing for the ceiling.
“They give you the keys to a murthering old Battleship, and suddenly you think you can just run around doing whatever the Hades you want, is that it?” he demanded.
“I’m not sure I care for your tone, ‘Rear’ Admiral,” I said placing heavy emphasis on the first part of his rank. Between his words and his nose, of which the more I looked at it the more insanely jealous I became, I was really beginning to hate this man
“Let me tell you a thing or two, Mr. Honorary Vice Admiral,” he snapped, “The border of this Sector’s on fire, and here you are running around in granddaddies uniform playing dress up!”
“I think you need-,” I started to say coldly, only to be cut off yet again.
“You, Sir, are nothing but a rank imposter! An im-pos-tor-e!” he declared repeating himself for effect. “A pimple-faced little pipsqueak who knows next to nothing about space force operations, and who’s entirely too big for his britches,” sneered Admiral Yagar, leaning forward into the screen. “I don’t know how they do things in that posh little palace of yours, but out here in the real world-” It was his turn to be cut off, as I suddenly found myself out of my chair with a finger leveled at this Sector Admiral.
“Silence yourself, Mr. Yagar, and do so with all haste. Not one more insubordinate word, do you hear! Lest I suddenly decide to shut down this little Sector Guard experiment you have going on here and put you out of business permanently, like we did with the last set of yahoo’s," I said, jerking a thumb over my shoulder, "who thought they could roll in here and order around a Confederation Admiral in a Confederation held Star System!” I could feel myself going red in the face, and the vein in my forehead popped up and started throbbing. For a split second, I was surprised that I actually had a vein throbbing on my forehead. That never used to happen before I was burned and then fixed against my will.
“Read. My. Fax,” said Admiral Yagar violently pressing a button on the arm of his command chair. A chair, I noted, that was not nearly as large or imposing as my own Caprian built Admiral’s Throne.
My mouth twitched superiorly at this pleasant little thought.
“And you can get that smug little smile off your face right now, Honorary Admiral,” said Admiral Yagar, looking rather smug himself. The man actually had the audacity to throw a smug look in my face!
The console on my Throne chimed and a body of text appeared on the little screen built into the arm of the chair. I glanced at it with irritation and scornfully shot air out the side of my mouth in a dismissive little gesture before locking gazes with this Yagar individual.
“For an ‘Admiral’,” I said stressing my rank, “who, according to you, knows next to nothing about ‘space force operations,’ I still managed to hand a top-of-the-line Imperial Cruiser its head! And capture a pair of mutinous Medium Cruisers at the same time. Can you claim anything even remotely similar, Mr. Rear Admiral Yagar of the 'Sector Guard',” I sneered, putting all the Royal chutzpa that had been so laboriously trained into me behind the expression.
“By order of the 25th Sector’s provisional Confederation Assembly, you, Honorary Vice Admiral Montagne, are hereby ordered to place Lucky Clover, your entire order of battle, and any other assets you have floating around out there at the convenience of Inspectors from my 25th Sector Guard!” Yagar declared triumphantly.
I opened my mouth for an angry retort but Bethany, sweet Cousin Bethany, our Confederation Representative chose that very moment to inject herself into the conversation.
“I can confirm that the orders just sent to you by Rear Admiral Yagar are true and accurate, and that they honestly reflect the will of the Provisional Assembly,” she said, her voice sweet as poison, as she tried to break my focus and slip a metaphorical knife between my ribs.
I ignored her and stayed focused on Rear Admiral Yagar. If I’d learned anything in my time out here, it was how to spot trouble. He was the real threat out here. Bethany was just another annoying distraction, any physical threat she might have posed from her relatively close proximity to my person was negated by the guards I had stationed around her.
No, this Yagar was the problem here, him and his two squadrons of light warships. But I was hoping it didn’t come to that. I mean, I really couldn’t afford to pick a fight with the rump assembly too. Not after the way I’d shown my middle finger to the Imperials and burned a lot of bridges with Capria.
My mind raced as Yagar and I continued to lock gazes. It was the slightly contemptuous look he was giving me that sent my mouth shooting off, where a wiser man would have feared to tread.
“Oh?” I said a hint of mockery in my tone, “I’m surprised the representatives from Sector 24 are so eager to return the Medium Cruiser I dispatched to investigate their section of the border,” I said, turning the palms of my hands up. In truth I hadn’t sent a Medium Cruiser to check the border of Sector 24. I hadn’t sent anything, in fact I’d specifically given orders to the captain of the Pride of Prometheus to stop going in that direction if things got too hot. But no one here knew that. Even on the bridge, no one could gainsay me. After all, I could have given the Captain of the Pride secret orders before they left.
In short, I lied. But it was really good lie, because no one could call me on it.
At this new piece of information, Yagar blinked. That’s when I knew I was going to survive this thing. This inquisition, or whatever they wanted to call it. I really could use an update on LeGodat and his situation out here vis-à-vis the Sector Guard, I thought furiously. Was he still the Commander of Wolf-9 and Easy Haven, or had Admiral Yagar taken over? Was LeGodat locked up in the pokey, perhaps riding things out in his own dungeon ship along with the Imperials, or was he still in command of this system and manning a Corvette of his own?
I suddenly started to sweat. If LeGodat’s ships were really just puppets of this Admiral Yagar, and LeGodat was out or had rolled over for this new Guard Unit, the Clover could be swarmed by a combination of Yagar’s lighter units and Easy Haven’s aged larger combatants and repaired system defenses.
Was I being played? Perhaps my initial confidence was the sort of false reading I’d accused Bethany of not but mere minutes ago.
“I can’t speak as to the private deliberations of the Provisional Assembly. Nor to the makeup of its current membership,” Yagar said, a hint of stiffness in his voice.
Eyes that had drifted off into space as I second-guessed myself snapped back to his face. I searched his features for the slightest hint, the barest indication as to what was going on behind his eyes. My attempt to learn his thoughts failed to suddenly turn me into a mind reader, but I did get something from his reply.
Then I had it. The 25th Sector Provisional Confederation Assembly, the 25th Sector Guard Detachments. Everything so far was all 25th Sector, all the time. So either the rump assembly as it was currently constructed consisted entirely of representatives from the 25th Sector, or mostly from there with a few representatives from the worlds along the borders sprinkled in for flavor. There were plenty of sovereign sectors running along either side of us.
My eyes suddenly narrowed.
“While any and all forces currently under my command are more than willing to cooperate with and take advisement from the Sector 25 Provisional Assembly,” I held up a finger as Yagar opened his mouth to protest, “and we are of course with the newly-formed Sector Guard in the defense and patrolling of this Sector. Including,” I hastened to add before Yagar blew a blood vessel, his face was getting so red, “welcoming any and all reasonable inspection forces designated by the Provisional Assembly.”
“Glad to hear it,” growled Yagar losing some of his redness and starting to sound mollified. “You’re finally starting to see sense, it was time you pulled that young untrained head out of your-”
I gritted my teeth and cut him off before he said something I was forced to make him regret. “That said,” I stated forcefully, “until such a time as the current Rump Assembly represents more than just Sector 25, I have to consider any and all Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet forces beyond the borders of this Sector as outside its current jurisdiction.”
“Now see here, boy,” barked Yagar.
“No, you see here,” I roared back, “Sector Guard units have traditionally been subject to the orders of the Confederation Fleet and its Fleet Commanders, not the other way around, Rear Admiral.”
“My writ, which I have just forwarded to you, gives me complete authority over any and all Military Assets in the Sector of space, not the other way around,” said Rear Admiral Yagar, his voice turning cold as comet ice.
I decided to go high and wide. If I was going to defy authority in the form of this hateful Yagar, then I might as well do it in a proper, high-handed fashion. “This Fleet, this Star Base and all of Commodore LeGodat’s forces are Confederation Assets, not individual Sector Forces,” I bit out, hoping against hope that I was right, or at least right enough that if I ever stood before a judge I’d have a leg to stand on. I didn’t know where this thing was going to wind up, but I was committed now.
On the outside, I was cool as could be. But on the inside, I had spontaneously developed a dozen ulcers as the implication of what I just said started to land like solid weights in my stomach. The last thing I needed was to be wrong on this technicality and be tried for a mutiny of my own, as well as planetary piracy if my enemies ever gained power over me! What I really needed was a half hour or so to speak with the ship’s lawyer and map out just how far I could push. Unfortunately, Yagar didn’t look like he was going to give me a half hour. He wasn’t even going to give me half a minute as he jumped back into the conversation.
“They are within this Sector, and thus under my authority! You, your ship and this holo-vid style organization you’ve been trying to form out here on the fly operate at, for, and by the pleasure of the Confederation Assembly!” yelled Yagar, his icy calm breaking into a thousand pieces as his face turned red and spittle flew out of his mouth. “To suggest or say otherwise is not only mutiny, it is treason against its lawful authority!”
I leveled my finger at him. “Yes, the Confederation Assembly, the very organization consisting of representatives from all 27 Sectors of the Confederation, so help us Space Gods,” I said throwing my arms wide in a mock evangelical, come-to-the-religion-of-our-forefathers moment. “How many sectors did you say were represented by this Provisional Assembly,” I demanded and then promptly cut him off before he could reply, “that's right, you didn’t. In fact, you specifically said you wouldn’t speak on its internal makeup, something that is normally a matter of public record!” I didn’t know if anything I was saying was correct or not, but sweet Murphy, it sure sounded good!
“Listen up, you pampered space pup,” he growled.
“I’ll listen if and when you say something worth listening to!” I shouted over the top of him. “I respect its authority to inspect, request and direct those forces within this sector for the common defense. But that in no way means that this Fleet, or Star Base, will in any way submit itself to orders which would cause it to abandon our respective responsibilities to those Confederation Sectors belonging to the Spine,” I said in the most controlled voice I could muster.
Yagar bared his teeth, “Amateurs, they think they know what they’re doing, but they haven’t a clue! First you talk about 27 sectors of the Confederation Assembly, and how your 'fleet' of one ship is a Confederation Force, and then in the same breath you go on about how have responsibilities to only the 8 Spineward sectors. Which is it, boy?!” he demanded.
I was momentarily taken aback, but quickly rallied, “The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet is an organization created by the Confederation as a whole, but specifically tasked with patrolling multiple sectors of the Spine for the better part of a year prior to Rim Fleet up and abandoning its post and dropping its job in our laps as well!”
“Ha!” scoffed Yagar.
“And another thing, while this ship is the Flagship of the MSP, it’s hardly the only ship in the Fleet,” I retorted. I realized as soon as I said it I’d allowed Yagar’s childish ‘Ha!’ to goad me into a similar, almost childlike retort, but I couldn’t help myself. Envy of his nose had turned from a case of simple jealousy to outright hatred. No man this pig-headed and obnoxious should have such a wonderful asset and get to waste it so pompously.
For a moment we both just sat there taking deep breaths and glaring at one another.
“Honorary Vice Admiral Montagne,” Rear Admiral Yagar said in a formal voice, “do you submit your ship and yourself for inspection by a Confederation Inspection team comprised of Inspectors from the 25th Sector Guard.” He then paused and waited.
“As long as they don’t interfere with our ability to perform our duties to the Confederation as a whole, they are welcome to inspect away to their heart’s content,” I said, negligently waving a hand, not happy at the thought of this man’s lackeys under our skin, poking and prodding at everything under the sun as they looked for ways to torpedo us. But if it was Inspectors or an official break with the only organization still giving me a legal leg to stand on, I didn’t see how I had much of a choice.
“Honorary Vice Admiral Montagne, do you submit yourself, your ship and your forces, to authority of the Provisional Confederation Assembly in Sector 25,” Yagar continued in the same formal tone.
“Until such a time as the 25th can speak for the entire Spine, we submit ourselves to its authority in any way that doesn’t interfere with our mission to the Spine as a whole,” I said matching his formal tone.
The Rear Admiral hesitated and had to take several deep breaths to calm himself before he finally decided to continue.
“Honorary Vice Admiral Montagne,” he started and by now I was starting to get more than a bit fed up with this whole Honorary Vice Admiral Montagne bit.
“Yes? ‘Rear’ Admiral Yagar of the Sector Guard,” I asked.
He stopped long enough to glare at me before continuing down his laundry list of demands from the rump assembly. “Do you submit yourself, your ship and your forces to the authority of one Rear Admiral Yagar of the 25th Sector Guard, Acting High Commander of all Fleet and Mobile Space Forces within this sector by order of the Provisional Confederation Assembly in Sector 25?” he continued.
“No.” I said.
“Then you are officially refusing to obey a lawful order from the Confederation Assembly?” he demanded.
I steepled my fingers and stared at them while I composed my reply.
“Unlike the Imperial Senate and its Executives the Triumvirs, the Confederation Assembly does not issue orders directly to its military officers,” I raised a finger, “even its Fleet Commanders,” I hastened to add, since I’d studied some of this before coming back to Easy Haven. It looked like my time with the ship’s lawyer hadn’t been entirely wasted. “Traditionally and by law, the Confederation Assembly limits itself to the appointment of Admirals to Fleet High Command and the issuing of General Directives. Confederation Fleet personnel are sworn to obey the orders of their commanding officers, as appointed by High Command and ratified by the Assembly,” I said.
“Enough with the history lesson, son. Everyone present is aware of the formal process,” Yagar said stiffly.
“Then you are aware that since the Assembly only ever issues directives to High Command and replaces High Commanders who have failed to carry out those directives, I am not, in point of fact, refusing a direct order from the ‘Provisional Assembly’. I am simply failing to recognize your authority as High Commander of a single Sector, this sector, to issue binding orders to a Multi-Sector organization such as the MSP, whose mandate is Confederation-wide,” I was a little hazy on some of the particulars and essentially making it up as I went along, but hopefully by the time anyone realized I was baffling them with baloney I would be long gone from this system.
Yagar’s eyes bulged and he glared down his strong eagle nose at the screen.
“Treason! Mutiny in cold space,” Yagar declared, suddenly sounding more satisfied with the current state of things than truly outraged.
“My question for you, Rear Admiral Yagar,” I countered, going on the offensive after sensing a turn in the conversation I didn’t like, “is are you refusing to recognize my lawful authority as a Confederation Fleet Commander? Because as you are no doubt more aware than myself, traditionally Sector Guard units, where they have existed,” I said, eager to make the unstated point that up until now our Sector had never actually had a Sector Guard, such organizations being a thing of the long past, “have placed themselves under the command of Confederation Fleet Commanders during times of Hazard and Emergency.”
Yagar went red in the face, his goatee quivering with high emotion and the pot belly at his middle moving from side to side as he shifted position in his rather smaller Admiral’s chair.
“You’ve got some big brass ones, boy! To suggest your lawful Commander place himself under your authority! You, nothing but a pimple-faced Palace party boy!” Yagar was getting redder and redder by moment. “Clearly, you don’t know the first thing about the Chain of Command or proper lines of military authority.” He opened his mouth to go on, but someone whispering to him off screen caused him to close it again and then look like he was swallowing something sour.
“This conversation will be continued at a later date, Honorary Vice Admiral. Clearly you haven’t the slightest clue of who and what you are dealing with here,” he declared before slamming his pointer finger down on the side of his chair, cutting the connection.
All set to continue sparring with this long-nosed Yagar for an extended period, it was as if the wind I’d been leaning into was suddenly gone. It took a moment to sit back and regain my composure before I could once again focus on the Flag Bridge and people around me.
I used the controls built into the Throne to slowly rotate it, and my view of the bridge. “Well, that went well,” I said, trying to project as light a tone and easy manner as possible.
For a moment, Tremblay looked as if he was going to have a stroke, before shaking his head and shrugging as if to say, ‘why am I even surprised’. His mouth shaped something, I suspected it was ‘Montagne’s’.
Shooting my gaze over at cousin Bethany, I wasn’t surprised to see the spiteful look she was throwing my way. I was, however, both surprised and slightly disconcerted to see underneath that spite, a look of calculation. It was quickly hidden and after a moment I wasn’t even sure I’d seen it. However, if it really had been there, it didn’t make me very happy. Bethany thinking she, or at least the interests she eagerly represented still had an angle to play after I’d essentially told Yagar to go pound sand didn’t fill me with a warm fuzzy feeling
Feeling cold and worried wasn’t going to get me out of whatever mess my overactive mouth had just gotten me into. I now had to make sure and certain my mouth hadn’t just written a check my highly placed, honorary hind end couldn’t cash.
“Get me a channel to Commodore LeGodat, and do it now,” I snapped to the communications technician. I needed to get a handle on just what assets and potential assets I had in this Star System and do it fast.
“Tremblay, you have the Flag Bridge. Don’t lose the ship in the next ten minutes. Mr. Laurent,” I said turning to my tactical officer, “in my ready room, now.” I sprang from my Throne and made for the Admiral’s Ready Room.
When Bethany made as if to follow me into the ready room, which would have defeated much of the purpose of a private conference, I met the eyes of her honor guard and made an abrupt slashing motion indicating she was to stay right where she was. “Stay on the Flag Bridge in case any high level Confederation Communications come through,” I said, unable to keep a faint hint of scorn out of my voice.
However when Akantha, who’d actually managed to keep herself off of the Flag Bridge for the transition and subsequent verbal firestorm in place of a 'hail, well met long-lost brothers' greeting marched through the Blast doors and made a bee-line for my ready room, I had to grind my teeth in sheer frustration. Clearly there was a rat on board, I knew there was no way this sudden appearance of hers was a coincidence. Just as clearly, there was no way I could keep her out of my ‘private conference’.
Furious at the way everyone around me, both inside and outside the ship was either maneuvering directly against or around my clearly stated desires and interests, I would have given vent to angry emotion and slammed the door if such a thing had been possible. Fortunately for both my composure and continuing good reputation onboard the ship, these automatic sliding doors were amazingly resistant to slamming, kicking or any other form of tantrum I could come up with.
I paused and glared at the wall before shaking my head. I’d hit these walls before and while I was willing to risk a broken hand for momentary satisfaction, hitting solid metal just wasn’t as satisfying as splintering a panel of wood.
A mental light bulb went off. Yes! The Admiral’s desk in the ready room was made almost entirely of wood, I remembered with dark satisfaction. I could pound away on that thing and the worst that might happen was a little bruising to the hands.
Mind made up, and in a surprisingly better mood with the knowledge that I could pound on said desk for emphasis while I was talking with the various schemers that currently surrounded me and plagued my every waking hour with their incessant plots and demands.
“You wanted to speak with me, Sir,” asked Tactical Officer Laurant, after I was seated behind the desk and the pause in the room had grown uncomfortable.
“Yes,” I said shortly, glaring at Akantha’s waist to avoid a fight, but unable to let the matter go entirely. Then I took a deep breath. So what if Akantha’s family tried to kill me every time I set foot on Tracto, she wasn’t working against me here. I needed to get a grip and let these little maneuvers go. I sighed, releasing a load of pent-up frustration and then turned to Laurant, giving him my undivided attention.
“How does the Clover stack up against a dozen light warships, if we’re attacked and it comes down to the hazard,” I said abruptly. No sense beating around the bush. Laurent had been there along with the rest of the Flag Bridge while Yagar made his threats and claims to supreme authority. There was no cute way to approach the subject. Better to come across as a straight shooter, rather than some kind of plotting Palace schemer too wrapped up in his own web of delusion to realize the people around him had brains of their own and could figure out what I meant to ask all along.
“We can take any four Corvettes without breaking a sweat, they’d never even get through our shields, I don’t care what tactics they tried to use,” the Tactical Officer said with ringing finality in his voice, but this talk of four Corvettes being easy prey when I was talking about ten plus a Destroyer wasn’t painting a picture I liked.
“A squadron of six,” he pursed his lips and moved his head from side to side as he considered the matter, “unless they got real lucky and crippled our engines early on in the game, we’d take ’em,” he said snapping his fingers for emphasis. “Probably be able to repair any damage they did with just our own Engineering department too.”
“And a solid dozen of them,” I demanded harshly.
Mr. Laurent met my eyes steadily. “That many ships and it doesn’t matter, even if they only have a handful of heavy guns per each ship, they start to match us in sheer firepower. Combine that with numerous moving targets versus our superior armor and shields and there’s no way they don’t manage to cripple our engines and, seeing as there is at least a squadron of newer types out here,” he paused, having abruptly taken this exercise out of the hypothetical and directly into the realm of current reality as he referenced our only real potential adversary, “they move just outside our range and slowly pound us to scrap.”
“What!” I blurted, outraged at this turn of events. “We’ve got bigger, larger and heavier weapons than anything a light Corvette could mount.”
“What we’ve got, Admiral,” he said a hint of steel threaded under the respectful tone of voice he was currently using, “is a hodgepodge of fifty year old or older original issue weaponry, and a bunch of even older and less standardized stuff transferred off that pirate Heavy Cruiser you boys captured back before the start of the troubles. In a moving battle it wouldn’t matter, but even if it’s just a few kilometers better range, when you combine a hypothetical loss of engines with our current lack of a full set of fusion plants for our shield recharge rate, the writing's on the wall.”
“Blast it!” I cursed, pounding on my desk for good measure. For some reason, it didn’t feel as good as I’d thought it would to punch my desk.
“We’d maul them but good,” said Roland Laurent, sounding grim, “and the ones that survived wouldn’t be fit for much more than a dry dock after we got done with them but unless they’re complete morons over there, any way you run the numbers, odds are we’d be on the losing end of that exchange.”
I leaned back in my chair, the wind going out of my sails as I grappled with the unpalatable little factoid my Tactical Officer had just plopped down in my lap like a steaming pile of refuse. This Battleship was my trump card, the one thing I had that no one out here could currently match. Take that away as a game-ending piece and we were in deep, deep trouble.
I steepled my fingers as I tried to come up with a winning move, in this, my latest no-win scenario.
“They can’t afford the losses, Jason,” Akantha said coolly, breaking into the conversation.
“What?” I snapped out of my reverie, surprised and more than a little taken aback at her use of my first name, almost as much as I was at her insight into this situation. “What do you mean, Akantha,” I pressed, my eyes narrowing in thought as I chased this sudden lure.
“Exactly what I said,” she said sounding irritated. Nothing unusual there, I thought wryly as I abruptly motioned for her to elaborate despite my perceived failing. “We just toured these border worlds of yours, and how many of them had a force this large?” she demanded, “how many of them even had half this much strength,” she asked, stopping abruptly as if her point had just been made all by itself.
“You’re saying that this many ships represents a significant investment in resources and combat power, and the Rump Assembly can’t afford to lose them,” I said, my mind racing through the mental calculations as my gaze turned toward Officer Laurent. His face was carefully blank, not giving anything away at this point.
“But the worlds we’ve seen so far haven’t been Core Worlds…or at least what pass for Core Worlds out here in Sector 25,” I said, thinking the idea through. I realized Yagar, and by extension this rump assembly of his, couldn’t afford to lose and/or replace this much assembled firepower. I continued, picking up steam as I went. “Capria’s SDF alone could out-fight this Sector Guard, we might not be able to muster this many light units all in one place but when you add in our heavies, as a matter of sheer tonnage we-”
Tactical Officer Laurent cut me off, “If we pulled everything out of mothballs and crewed all our active and inactive ships, you’d be more than right, Admiral. Capria could take this Sector Guard outfit in a single firing pass. However, what System Defense Force would be willing to hand over most or all of its Fleet to a still-forming Sector Authority while the border is going up in flames and everything is still in flux?”
“Meaning,” I inquired, pretty sure I knew where he was going with this but wanting to it from the horse's mouth as it where.
“Don’t play the fool, Protector, it doesn’t suit you,” Akantha cut in irritably. “As even I can see, this force is probably everything this 'Assembly' of yours could muster from these larger ‘Core Worlds’ that you keep talking so much about, like your home of Capria. Politically, it must have been difficult to gather them for this "Sector Guard" Yagar is leading. If these ships were lost in battle against a supposedly friendly force like ours, how eager would those ‘Core Worlds’ be to hand over more units to replace the ones lost in battle,” she demanded scornfully, making it clear exactly what she thought of my supposed obtusity. “Not very,” she couldn’t help but add, putting another unnecessary period to the end of her statement.
I scowled at her for a moment before turning back to the problem of this Sector Guard.
“Yagar’s a power-hungry pig,” I said flatly, “but now that I think about it, it’s the reaction of my cousin Bethany that really bothers me,” I said, ignoring the sudden look of bloodthirstiness that leapt onto Akantha’s face at this mention of my Royal cousin, the Cadet-Princess. “She seemed far too willing to let Yagar and I duke it out, only interjecting herself the one time. As if she wanted to get on record opposing me and was in favor of whatever they have planned, but didn’t want to get too involved in the verbal firestorm. She’s up to something, mark my words,” I pursed my lips as I tried to imagine what wicked scheme Cottonmouth was involved in. Whatever Bethany had signed up for, she was up to her neck in it.
“She’s blood of your blood, so I’ve stayed my hand. But step aside and her days of scheming in this world over,” Akantha said in an icy voice before baring her teeth. “Let her try her hand at scheming in the next.”
“Not exactly the direction I was going for,” I said, briefly closing my eyes and shaking my head. My girl, always out to avenge herself on those who crossed her. “She’s more useful as an opposition weather gauge for now. Besides, you can’t just go around killing my Vekna cousins, Akantha. My mother’s still on the home world!” I exclaimed, as the thought of the consequences if Akantha lost her cool came home to roost in my brain, “If she was killed because you couldn’t restrain yourself, I-I-” I paused taking a deep breath. “But of course that would never happen, because I know you would never endanger my mother like that,” I said looking over and meeting her eyes to convey how serious I was on this matter. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to her.”
Officer Laurant cleared his throat, breaking the staring contest my wife and I were currently engaged in. I turned red, thinking of all the dirty personal laundry we were airing out right in front of him.
“Thank you Mr. Laurent, for your assessment of the tactical situation. That will be all for the moment,” I said striving for formality to cover the embarrassment over this gross breach in social etiquette.
After the door to the ready room had shut closed behind him, I looked over at Akantha.
I was about to try and remonstrate with her, once again, on the need to refrain from fighting in front of my crew and to present at least a semi-united front when she carried on as if the conversation had only paused while Mr. Laurant exited stage right.
“When city-states in a coalition each send a force to make up a part of a much larger army under unified leadership, each views their position relative to the other cities in the coalition, as well as the success of the army as a whole, before deciding whether or not to withdraw and/or increase their commitment,” Akantha said speaking with precision.
I blinked, having to switch mental gears mid-train-of-thought. “Hmmm,” I wondered aloud, stalling for time as I gathered my thoughts on this new take on the subject, “under that premise, Yagar would need to put up a strong front to maintain control of his forces, lest they melt away from him just as they have from the MSP ever since the Imperial Withdrawal from the Spineward Sectors."
From the look in her eyes, I could tell my Sword-Bearer had come to the same conclusion.
"At the same time, he has to be very risk averse," I continued after a moment's pause. "He can’t afford to gamble and lose. Even a win against us would cripple his nascent little organization for good if the losses were too high,” even as I spoke, I wondered if following Akantha down this rabbit hole of supposition she was spooling out would be worth the time and effort when things were still happening out on the Flag Bridge. I couldn’t afford to miss any of the upcoming events, I mean ye-gods, Tremblay was at the con right now! Still, could I afford to offend my wife and unofficial ambassador to the Tracto Lancers? I finally decided, reluctantly that I couldn't.
“Exactly,” she said sounding satisfied I was following her. “He needs to appear to have out-maneuvered you, or preferably have brought you in directly under his authority. But if you can cow him and bring him under your own authority instead,” she smiled grimly as she said this.
“You heard the man,” I said, gesturing out to where Laurant had just exited back onto the Flag Bridge, “We could take either half of his force, but not both together. And with our speed and his angry, suspicious nature, I doubt he’s going to just let us roll up on him so we can remove their maneuverability advantage.”
She shrugged, “Everything I hear says this ship would be the crowning jewel of his fleet,” she said icily, her mouth drawing up into a slight sneer as she looked at me.
“To. Hades. With. That,” I said harshly.
“Then stop chewing on what you can’t do and start using that fertile little mind of yours to come up with a plan that can win,” she said sharply, “one of the traits I admire about you is your ability to think on your feet, change direction and come up with a plan on the run, then promptly go for the throat of your enemy once it is exposed."
I was rather surprised. This might be the first actual compliment Akantha had ever given me, outside of certain private moments, of course.
Unaware of my current train of thought, Akantha continued as if I wasn’t distracted in the least by this monumental moment in our marriage.
“So stop this whining and work on how to win this,” she said in that icy voice of hers I’d come so much to hate. After complimenting me, she reverted back to form, retreating into her Ice maiden shell.
I opened my mouth for some pithy line that would showcase my indomitable will, but what came out was more of a whiney complaint than anything I’d said to date. “We need the blessing of the rump assembly, Akantha, or at least not their active enmity. Without their support this ship and its crew are in deep, deep trouble,” I said wearily. During the heat of the moment when Yagar was accusing me of being some kind of palace party boy, it had been easy to politely say 'screw you back twice as hard,' but sweet crying Murphy, now that moment was in the past all I could do was shake my head. This was not how I’d planned to return to Tracto.
“No,” she shook her head without breaking eye contact, “maybe you think you need it, and a good number of your men may think so as well. But this ship and a significant portion of her crew never have, and as the Men of Tracto are my witness, hopefully never will ‘need’ the goodwill of this ‘Provisional Assembly.’”
“They can cause us no end of trouble, Akantha,” I said patiently.
“They already have, Protector. They’ve stolen a Constructor ship which could have built countless more miracles in the heavens for my home world. They sent your cousin and this Yagar to bedevil us. And if you are right, they have many more plots to unveil. But the worst thing they seem to have taken is the better part of your manhood,” she said cuttingly.
I slowly stood up behind my desk. “Out,” I said, barely able to contain the molten fury boiling up inside my chest.
She opened her mouth but I thrust a finger down on the desk of the table cutting her off. “Another insult, and I guarantee you don’t want to see what this 'gelded wonder' is capable off. If you haven’t anything constructive to say, then get the Hades out of my ready room!”
She drew herself up stiffly as if she was going to stalk out the door. She paused and hesitated before her face hardened. “Find LeGodat; discover if he is still in a position of influence or power and the disposition of his force. Allies could be the difference between mere survival and ultimate success,” so saying, she stormed out of my office.
I wanted to throw something at the door as she left and give vent to my fury at the way she continually called me weak and ineffective, turned around and complimented me, then went right back to deadly insults.
I’d intended to find out where LeGodat stood and what he was currently up to the first chance I got! Now when I did it, she’d think she was steering me in a direction she desired. It was when I found myself thinking about not contacting LeGodat just to spite her that I knew I needed to take a breath.
A smart play was a smart play no matter who suggested it, and she was perhaps more right than she knew when she said that securing allies could be key. My mind kicked back into high gear as I contemplated as many of the possible angles in this situation I’d landed us in.
Victory, and even our long-term survival were still very much in doubt but the more I thought on our recent discussion, the more hopeful my outlook became. Which was why my stomach did a little more than a minor flip flop when the desk chimed and the Ex-Comm Technician informed me that LeGodat was on the line.
Chapter 49: Maneuvers for Advantage
I barely had time to make it to the Throne when the main screen went live.
“Hello, Admiral,” said Colin LeGodat, looking every inch the seasoned professional as usual. With his uniform tightly pressed and his stiff bearing, he looked like everything you would expect from a professional military officer of the regular fleet. Who would have ever thought by looking at the man that he’d been a reserve officer on a glorified photo-op assignment? Until now, his ‘Light Squadron’ had been utilized only by up and coming assembly men in need of some good footage for the cameras back home.
“LeGodat,” I said with a restrained nod, smoothing my uniform jacket as I settled into the Throne. On the outside I strove to be the very picture of reserved, when on the inside all I wanted to do was let loose a big whoop and toss off a grin of pleasure and satisfaction in the direction of Cousin Bethany. They may have tried to box me in, but I was still very much in the game. So instead of giving into a good bit of gloating, I was restrained and proceeded as I imagined a real admiral would; withdrawn, restrained and when appropriate, mildly pleased.
“I have to say, Commodore,” I said, making sure to bring up his rank early on in the conversation, “it gives those of us over here more than a little satisfaction to see that your command continues in a good condition. Why, the last time we had visitors to Easy Haven,” I said, deciding this was the perfect time to do a little chest thumping for the benefit of any hidden listeners out there, “they needed a good lesson in manners and had to be taught what constitutes private property out here in the Spine. Though as always, I hope we can avoid any such similar interventions in the future.”
“The 209th Light Squadron and Wolf-9 Base are both equally heartened at your return, Sir,” LeGodat said with a nod of his own and brief upward turn at the corner of his lips. “However, I am assured that we are all friends here in this star system,” he paused and I didn’t like the feel of that pause, not one bit, “that said, more than a few here presumed your Flagship… and you,” he hastened to add, “were lost to the chaos we’ve been hearing so much about on the border. Extreme measures have been suggested and called for. It does a mere Base Commander such as myself more than you are probably aware to see your command still hale and whole, and still out patrolling, Admiral,” LeGodat said with an open frown.
I leaned back and swallowed, my mouth feeling a bit dry. “Tea, Yeoman,” I said turning my head, on the lookout for a pleasing feminine form in a uniform to carry out my orders. I suppressed a jump! The form I saw was certainly feminine and under other circumstances would have been pleasing enough. Then she spoke, and ruined the entire purpose of tea, which was to help steady my nerves.
“That will be no problem at all, Admiral,” Akantha said, from right behind my elbow. I was forced to suppress a growl. This was about as unwelcome an eavesdropper at this particular juncture as I could imagine.
I glanced to the side where Tremblay was watching me like a hawk. To the other was sweet Cousin Bethany, who looked far too eager to parse every single bit of meaning from this little exchange.
I hurriedly focused back on LeGodat, adjusting my Throne so it turned ever so slightly away from my wife. They had me cornered and surrounded up here on the bridge, but I couldn’t let that stop me, not for a moment. I had to focus on the Commodore's situation here in Easy Haven, anything else was a slow road to suicide.
I did a quick mental replay of what I’d just heard from LeGodat and I didn’t like it anymore the second time around than I did the first. As someone who considered himself something more than a mere political neophyte, I very much didn’t like what I was reading between the lines of LeGodat’s little welcome back speech.
“Well,” I said trying to laugh off the worst of the implications, “rumors of my demise are greatly exaggerated as usual, Colin.” I was trying to project a feeling of bonhomie, but was pretty sure that for the second time this day I was not only failing but failing miserably.
“In addition to the ‘rumors’ spread about by certain…merchant crews on…leave, that your Lucky Clover had been taken by pirates,” Colin LeGodat said giving me a significant look.
I just shook my head and chuckled, “What will they come up with next,” I said splaying my hands and shrugging.
“More good news, Admiral,” LeGodat said and for as little time as I knew him, I would have had to say the smile he suddenly flashed my direction was decidedly false, “the reinforcements you ‘requested’ from Capria have finally arrived,” he said holding onto that false smile.
The bottom suddenly dropped out of my stomach. “Reinforcements-” I said more than a little quizzically, my eyebrow rising unbidden. I didn’t recall requested reinforcements from Capria… had I? Or was this just another maneuver aimed at throwing me for a loop? I glanced over at Cousin Bethany, who was frowning at the Commodore. I tried to remind myself that not everything revolved around me, no matter how it seemed. There were politics going on back home that could reasonably account for reinforcements…
I quickly scanned the tactical screen but failed to come up with any sign of these supposed Caprian reinforcements.
“Why yes, Admiral,” LeGodat said with a tight smile, he seemed to be holding onto that smile with a death grip, “Apparently your new ruler, King James has responded to that letter you had me relay for you,” he paused and pressed a few buttons on his own console, “ah, here it is,” he said as the hollow spot in my stomach continued to grow, until it seemed to have all the force of a white dwarf.
“Dear Cousin,” quoted LeGodat, “in response to your plea for reinforcements, relief for the crew you currently have and ‘if possible’ more warships for your Fleet, we do most happily dispatch to your Confederation Battle Fleet three armed merchant conversions filled with enough men to not only offer every crewman onboard the opportunity to return home to their beloved Capria, but also to replace any losses incurred during your battles. If you cannot arrange another mode of transportation, you may use these same vessels to return the diligent members of your crew to their homes, as they have more than earned our gratitude. You may also use these vessels to support your good works out there until such a time as they are no longer required."
By now my stomach had turned into a black hole. My initial urge to shout 'to Hades with that' and ignore these reinforcements, or better yet I thought eagerly, have a minor training accident that just so happened to destroy all three of the ships carrying these interlopers died a sudden death.
All along, the crew of this ship had wanted to go home. They had followed me because I was the Admiral and probably more importantly, because the job we were doing needed done and there was no one else out here to do it. But suddenly all of that had changed. We were no longer alone and here was someone offering to give my overworked men some much needed relief. They probably wouldn't let the fact that this person was a questionable king dissuade them from taking the offer.
I wanted to pull my hair out and scream. My next urge was to pull my hold out blaster pistol and shoot our beloved Confederation Representative right between the eyes as the diabolical nature of her plan started to become clear.
As far as she was concerned, so long as I eventually turned up at Easy Haven I could throw in all the twists and turns I wanted. While irritating, all she had to do was put up with me and my little schemes until I showed up here. Whereupon she could simply lay down her little trump card and watch as my loyal crew disintegrated like steam from a kettle in their eagerness to get home and check on their loved ones.
Once again, I felt the urge to shoot my cousin, or better yet turn her over to Akantha’s tender mercies. Visions of what my wife would do to cousin Cottonmouth brought the first smile to my face since this conversation had begun.
Seeing that smile, Cousin Bethany took one look and started sidling away. She knew about this little plot and let me walk right into it. I knew she was out to get me but this was beyond the pale. She’d drawn blood, both figuratively and literally, and there would be a reckoning. My eyes silently promised her this.
Turning back to LeGodat, I tried to force a more genuine smile, “Well isn’t that simply amazing, Commodore LeGodat. Normally requests to the home world take forever and a day. The speed and size of these ‘reinforcements’ is quite astounding, especially in light of the Imperial Withdrawal and the, what did you call it,” I arched an eyebrow, “the chaos on the border,” I finished, trying to cover my desperate mental scrambling by indulging in a little wordiness.
“Rest assured, Admiral. Now that you have returned, any ‘confusion’ that may have existed is gone and the men and women of the 209th Light Squadron and the Wolf-9 Star Base stand firmly united behind the chain of command,” he stated briskly, somehow managing to roll that load off his tongue as if he said such things every day. But this was a veritable declaration of Alliance in the face of the Sector Guard and its designs on total domination. This Yagar must be every bit the charmer he seemed from my own brief conversation with him.
“Few as we are,” LeGodat said with a smile on his lips but a dire warning hidden behind his eyes, “whatever we can do to help with the refit and resupply of your Battleship, just let us know,” he finished and for once in this entire conversation that smile, which had almost seemed engraved on his face, eased ever so slightly.
“Your men have done wonders holding on to this base in the face of every adversity. Make sure they know that Admiral Jason Montagne appreciates their efforts on behalf of Sector 25 and,” I placed extra emphasis on this last part, “the Confederacy as a whole’,” I finished firmly.
“I’ll relay that to them, Admiral Montagne,” LeGodat said with a short nod. He made as if to continue, but we were interrupted when there was a stir in Tactical and one of my sensor operators stood up.
“I’ve got a squadron of six Corvettes on close approach, Admiral,” he said, speaking loud enough to carry.
Almost at the same time, the Ex-Comm technician chimed in, “Sorry Sir, but we’re being hailed by a Commodore Druid. He wishes to inform us that he and his ships should be considered an honor guard, as an expression of gratitude for all our hard work along the Border.”
I turned back to LeGodat but he cut me off before I could say anything.
“It seems as if you have your plate full at the moment, Sir. If there’s anything my command can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask,” he said, his eyes conveying an enigmatic promise before he cut the signal and his image disappeared from the main screen.
I took a deep breath before turning to deal with this new and looming crisis. It was only another in a series, of a series, of a series of highly educational crises, but its urgency was somewhat heightened at the moment.
As I watched the view screen, six Corvettes (the relatively new CR-92’s, the better-armed of the Corvettes belonging to the 25th Sector Guard) took up position behind us, two lines of three, one line to either side of the Lucky Clover. I noted that at no point did they move within range of our turbolasers.
This squadron was a guard for us alright, but an honorable one? That remained to be seen. I didn’t like them taking up a position behind us like this but after hearing about the real knife in the dark, the Caprian reinforcements, I no longer viewed it as a prelude to some kind of sneak attack.
After all, why would Yagar and his Guard units spend themselves in a frontal assault their ships weren’t even really designed for when they could just stand back and watch this Flagship’s slow march to doom? Assuming Capria was in league with Yagar’s government, this rump assembly of his, then all he had to do was sit back and wait. He could watch and laugh as all my loyal crew happily marched off this ship and onto a transport home while their replacements slowly took over key positions all over the ship.
For a long while I honestly considered consigning the lot of them to the Demon Murphy and jumping the Ship out of there. But even with our new and improved cycle time, it still took us a little over six hours to make a jump and I seriously doubted that a large enough portion of the crew would fail to take this opportunity to stage a mutiny.
Unless I could think of something fast, some rabbit I could pull out of my hat, some miracle I could put in the works, then in less than a handful of hours it would be all over but the crying.
I tried to figure some way out of this maneuver of theirs, but it looked like any way I turned they had me boxed in. My Promethean and Caprian Royalists just couldn’t run this ship all by themselves, and with Spalding, Gants and everyone else I knew and trusted gone, I not only didn’t know the general mood of the crew, but I couldn’t trust they wouldn’t turn on me like an angry slash lizard if I tried to deny them a trip home after all the hazard and peril I’d put them through.
Resolutely, I pulled up a list of system forces and transferred those three armed conversions from LeGodat’s Easy Haven forces back where they belonged, as stealth Caprian SDF units. At least, that’s how it read on my own private screen.
Then I sat back and pondered the situation. LeGodat had two Corvettes, a dungeon ship, and a number of semi-automated defensive works scattered around the star base. The additional three Destroyers and Heavy Cruiser would have been nice if they were fully functional and there were crew for them, but as things stood….now there was a thought.
I knew there must be a way out of this bear trap they’d sprung on me, I just had to find it.
Chapter 50: Facing The Inevitable
The ship continued to slide ever closer to Wolf-9 and nothing was coming to me. There was no flash of brilliance. No miraculous ‘Montagne magic’ that shone a light on an easy path to outright victory.
Although maybe that was it, I thought sitting bolt upright in my chair back in the Admiral’s ready room. I could engage in a knockdown, dragout brawl, but these Corvettes weren't likely to indulge me. Instead, they were more likely to try to pick me to pieces at extreme range.
I was getting close enough that I could sit behind LeGodat’s defenses and hold out for a time, assuming my crew didn’t mutiny of course, but eventually I’d have to leave to protect Tracto. If I hid behind those defenses, then Tracto would eventually be eaten by the Bugs and my Lancers would riot, probably destroying the ship, to say nothing of the reaction of my wife to this plan. On the other hand, as soon as I left, Rear Admiral Yagar could come in and slowly take apart LeGodat’s defenses until once again there was nothing left, at which point he could move in and claim whatever remained for himself and his Sector Guard.
Either way I went led to a defeat in detail. On the other hand, what if I accepted enough of these ‘reinforcements’ onto the ship to bring our compliment up to full strength? If I appealed directly to the crew so that enough of them stayed alongside my Promethean and older Caprian Royalists, and then refused any marines, only allowing my loyal Lancers onboard the ship….
It lacked something. Even after defanging these new arrivals of whatever Marine continent my cousin James had oh-so-thoughtfully provided, once they were onboard how was I going to stall whatever new plan they cooked up to take me down?
I was at a loss. Then I snapped my fingers as the idea I had been searching for dawned on me. Primarch Glue and his farfetched plan to take out the large Pirate base he claimed to know the location to! If we were either in combat against pirates or, better yet, snuck in and boarded their station... Yes, it was even possible I could get these reinforcements out from under the skin of the Clover on a perfectly reasonable pretext. Prize crews for the station, if nothing else.
I’d just have to position Lancers at key locations all over the ship and keep them there 24/7 until we arrived on target. After that, it was a toss of the dice and another Victory or Death situation but in the meantime…yes, this might actually work!
It was certainly a better plan than going down in flames trying to take out Admiral Yagar and as many of his warships as possible. It also beat sparking a mutiny among my own crew, which had stuck with me through thick and thin and gone along with me so far. That’s not to say this new idea didn’t have its holes or that I wasn’t going to be looking for better options along the way. But at least it was a plan. It didn’t matter if everyone cursed and hollered and then tore out their hair, it was better than floundering around in the dark until it all fell apart. At least it gave us a fighting chance.
Plus, if I actually took out this pirate base and stopped the attacks along the border, how could the Provisional Assembly see its way clear to executing such a ‘hero’ for treason, mutiny and whatever trumped-up charges Rear Admiral Yagar managed to get them to sign off on!
Even I was starting to think I sounded like a bit of a broken record; stop the pirates, stop the pirates, stop the pirates, but honestly if I could just do that!
Perhaps the name of the game was 'just play along for now and bide my time until one of my longshot Gambits eventually paid off.'
Chapter 51: Stabbed In The Back, Again
I marched onto the bridge to see a furious Akantha standing with her sword drawn, and a pair of Lancer guards acting as human shields between her and my sweet Cousin.
“What’s going on here,” I growled, making my way to the Throne. “Akantha, put away Bandersnatch, that sword wasn’t made for just waving around like that.” To emphasize my point, I made a sharp slashing gesture with my arm.
After a moment of hesitation, Akantha sheathed her sword and stalked over to the Throne.
“The Representative, with the assistance of your First Officer,” she said pausing to throw a burning look at Raphael Tremblay, “have just announced that reinforcements have arrived in Easy Haven for your fleet, and that there are now enough crew that those crewmen who have been with you can go home to Capria,” she hissed at me before turning and striding off the Flag Bridge.
I stared at her shapely figure as she stalked off the bridge in an appreciative silence before snapping out of it. “Is this true,” I barked, turning to face Officer Tremblay and the Princess-Cadet, Ms. Vekna.
Tremblay arched an eye brow, “Is what true, your Admiralship,” he asked in a smooth voice. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, from the expression on his face. For her part, Bethany just smirked.
“Just helping out where I can, Cousin,” she gloated.
“You know very well what I’m talking about, Mr. Tremblay,” I said harshly. All around I could see shoulders on the bridge tighten as if sensing a gathering storm.
I had to bring myself up short to ensure I didn’t say anything to ruin morale. Blast Tremblay and Bethany both.
“If your Admiralship is referring to the wonderful news that Capria has sent additional personnel, enough that this ship can continue on fully crewed without requiring our crew to forgo their right to a well-deserved shore leave, it is very much true,” Tremblay said, and I was certain the crew could hear the gloating all the way across the Flagship.
I forced myself to do nothing more active than frown for fear of estranging the Bridge Crew. Looking around the room, I could all but feel their confidence in my leadership wavering on a knife’s edge.
At my failure to interject anything further, Tremblay raised the corner of one mouth and struck a pose before continuing. “As we have discussed many times, and the Admiral has assured me he feels as I do, the crew should be given some downtime as soon as humanly possible. I have merely taken it upon my own authority to share the happy news with the crew. Though a series of unfortunate events has caused us to spurn every single opportunity presented thus far for going home, casting our chance for some downtime and a return to Capria to the wayside in favor of the emergency of the day, these reinforcements in both ships and men that have appeared seem an ideal turn of events,” he declaimed, and while he didn’t come off as smoothly as myself, with the wordiness of his speech and poise of his carriage I was momentarily taken aback.
These were not the words normally used by my First Officer, they sounded almost rehearsed. Almost as if he’d been coached, I thought. I narrowed my eyes and turned my gaze on my Cousin.
“A most fortuitous turn of events, if indeed we can assume all is as it appears to be,” I temporized, stalling for time while I scrambled for the exact right way to frame things to both verbally slap Tremblay and Bethany in the back of the head while simultaneously maintaining my grasp on the wavering loyalty of the crew. A crew that very badly wanted to go home. I had to thread this needle perfectly.
“However, considering the recent…turmoil back home, as Officers and Gentlemen,” I said, feeling inspired and using that last word loosely, as far as it concerned Tremblay, “it is not only our responsibility, but also our solemn duty to ensure that all is as it appears before raising high the hopes of the crew. I would have thought a military man such as yourself would understand this,” I finished sharply.
When Tremblay looked momentarily taken aback, Bethany glanced at him before going on the attack. “Cousin,” she started, but I cut her off before she could go any further.
“That’s Admiral Montagne, esteemed Representative,” I corrected pointedly.
“Quite,” she said smoothly, before continuing as if I hadn’t interrupted, “As I was saying, I can assure the ‘Admiral’, just as I have his First Officer, that everything here is exactly as it appears to be,” she said with the sort of smile that made her look like a cat that ate the cream.
The double meanings in that little statement were such that I could feel my ears turning red, but I think I managed to suppress the sensation through dint of my Royal training. The very same training my adversary here possessed, I forcibly reminded myself.
“As you yourself complained so vociferously not long ago in the Tracto System, you’ve been out of contact with the home office for much longer than anyone expected. I’m sure you ‘feel’ able to assure us but the sad fact is that, in your own words, you’ve been cooling your heels and out of the loop, to my mind long enough that things could have changed,” I said, trying to keep the bite I wanted to put in those words out, and project a cool and studied demeanor instead.
By now Tremblay was back on his feet and into the fray. “I acted on the best information I had at the time. However, if the Admiral disagrees with my decision, I swear to take it into consideration during any such future…occurrences, should they take place,” he said formally.
Yeah, so he could find the right way to slip another blade between my ribs while maintaining he only did so because of my direction.
I gave him a grin that promised revenge and shrugged. “Perhaps my time on the border fighting Bugs, pirates and angry natives has made me overly cautious,” I said as if laughing the matter off, “time will tell, and all that.” I shrugged as if this were the end of the matter, while everyone in the command circuit on this ship knew that was anything but the case. Still, it was important to keep up appearances for the bridge staff, and by extension the crew at large.
“Anyone with eyes can see you’re all worn down from an extended period without relief. That’s part of why King James and the Privy Council dispatched me all the way out here, to address a situation that has gone uncorrected for far too long,” Cousin Bethany bared her teeth, as she went for and had the last word on the subject.
I wouldn’t have conceded the field to her, but at that moment there was a stir in the sensor section. “Two of the three armed merchant freighters from Capria have just engaged their drives,” barked a sensor operator. A slight pause while the whole section scurried to update the tactical picture on the main screen. “It looks like they’ve set a course for….us, sir. They're moving in this direction, Admiral.”
I opened my mouth only to be cut off once again, this time by the Communications section. “Incoming transmission, Admiral. I have a Colonel Wainwright of the Royal Caprian Marines on the line, Sir,” the Ex-Com Technician said crisply.
I closed my eyes for half a second while I reordered my thoughts. Raising a hand I rolled my wrist, indicating the Comm. Tech should patch the call through.
“Put it through to the screen on my chair,” I said. I straightened my shoulders and refrained from rolling my head to ease the tension, only because of the hawk-like eyes of my cousin and my First Officer. I couldn’t afford even the momentary appearance of weakness. Not right now.
A moment later, I was presented with the image of an older man with gunmetal colored hair, brown skin, and the sort of pockmarks on your face one only earns from shrapnel in a firefight. I knew this, because I’d seen similar such wounds on my Lancers after we stormed the Imperial Medium Cruiser.
“Your Highness,” the man, presumably this Wainwright, said.
“You can call me Admiral, Colonel Wainwright I presume?” I said aiming for my most regal. There was an art to facing down men many times your age and experience over a communications system: you had to project an aura of untouchable authority both on the inside and out.
“I’ve come to take your oath of fealty to the King as well as escort your reinforcements, your Highness,” said the man I presumed was the Colonel, stubbornly insisting on using my almost meaningless honorific for my ceremonial title as prince-cadet.
“Admiral or Sir, if you please, Colonel Wainwright,” I laughed as my mind scrambled, “I fear we are more of a military bent out here in the Confederation Fleet than perhaps you’re used to back on Capria.”
“Prince Jason,” the man said stubbornly, his pockmarked face taking a darker hue, “please arrange a time after we transfer onboard your ship so that I may take your oath to the King in secundus for his Royal Majesty.”
And sometimes that invincible aura one projected was only useful when turned on yourself. Oh well, it's not like anyone I was dealing with today seemed to have my best interests foremost in their minds. Forget courtesy, I wondered how he’d like dose of his own medicine. Perhaps it was time someone gave it to him.
“Mr. Wainwright,” I said, the barest hint of an edge entering my tone, “I-.”
He cut me off before I could continue. “Colonel, Sir, or just plain Marine are good enough for a decorated old battle horse who's earned his position, Your Highness,” he said darkly, a grim frown crossing his face.
I threw back my head and laughed. I almost liked this man, in spite of myself. It was clear he detested me, or at least the person he thought I was but for all of that, I wished I had a hundred enemies just like him. He came at me fairly straight unlike most of my foes, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to string him along and then crush him like a roach the first chance I got.
“Yes, and we sent an Imperial Cruiser straight to Hades after slaughtering much of her crew due to a lack of common courtesy and proper respect for Confederation Authority in this system, and yet still we don’t seem to get the respect we deserve,” I said flatly, matching stares with this old ‘warhorse.’ “Strange that upon our return, you don’t see us going around making demands for what is rightfully ours. Quite the opposite, I’d say.”
Colonel Wainwright held his frown for another half a tick before it cracked. A snort started to followed but was quickly strangled. “You’re not quite the fancy party boy described in my brief, Admiral,” he said, using my rank for the first time.
“Whoever wrote that brief sold you a bill of goods, Marine,” I tried to reply in the same vein, “I was never much for parties even back when I was at the Capitol. I was more of a struggling student type. Colonial Administration, the truth be told.”
This time he did snort. “It’s nice to meet someone who comes at you straight in my line of work, Admiral, even if they do come dressed in an ancient Confederation-pattern uniform. None of this pussy-footing around,” he growled.
“Likewise, Colonel,” I replied levelly.
“Then give it to me without the song and dance: when am I going to fulfill my orders and be done with all this formal rigmarole,” demanded the Colonel.
I hesitated, prepared to give some brush off answer.
“Don’t start playing games now, just give it to me straight,” barked Wainwright.
I shrugged. If he wanted it straight then I was prepared to give him the unvarnished truth. “Oh, I’ll most definitely be giving you the song and dance routine, then hand you a number to wait in line. But the truth is the spacers there with you, the ones sent to replace my current crew, are a bit more likely to wind up aboard this ship than your Marines. Neither you nor your men will be getting under our skin any sooner than Hades freezes over, and maybe not even then,” I said just as bluntly. “Your oaths and such will just have to wait until such a time as you find yourself onboard.”
Colonel Wainwright cursed. “Which you’ve just told me is never going to happen.”
“I never said that,” I deliberately projected an aura of shiftiness, hamming it up to the point of the ridiculous with exaggerated facial features and such.
He cursed again. “Those Parliamentary boys have been cooped up something fierce in these fat merchies we’ve been stuck on for the past month, to say nothing of my boys. I don’t see how you intend to ride herd on the better part of 16 thousand disaffected crewmen with no Marines to back you up. You may be a Royal Admiral, but that’ll mean less than squat to these boys, especially after everything that’s happened recently.”
I leaned back in surprise at this new information. Parliamentary boys? Fortunately, my mouth kept working while my brain stutter-stepped, trying to assimilate this new piece of the puzzle.
“Fortunately for the safety and security of this ship, I happen to have a full contingent of Lancers under Colonel Suffic, himself a former member of the Caprian Royal Lancers. I’m certain the current on-board force can handle any…infractions that occur,” I said, fudging the number of Lancers on board slightly and trying to look utterly confident in their ability to handle any situation that might come up.
“I’m not sure if I can release these men into your crew on my own recognizance if my men own aren’t allowed onboard at the same time to keep an eye on them,” Colonel Wainwright said wryly.
“A crying shame, but I’m sure Admiral Yagar would be willing to provide you with an escort home,” I said, as this would be an ideal end to this whole situation. Of course, I didn’t believe for a moment that this was going to be enough to stop the whole process, but I could dream, couldn’t I?
The Colonel Scowled, “You’re placing me in something of a position here, refusing to let my men and I on board, at the same time refusing your oath,” he said sharply.
“I’m refusing nothing, everything is simply delayed until such a time as schedules can be aligned,” I said smoothly with a winning smile.
“And there's the double-speak where you’re talking out both sides of your mouth. I thought we were past all that foolishness,” glared Wainwright, and I began to see why he’d been sent as far from Capria as the SDF could send him.
I decided once again to be equally blunt. “Like it or lump it,” I said with a shrug. “I’ll bring your men onboard and swear the oath when I get around to it.” It's not that I personally held the oath of allegiance to a King who was probably a regicide as particularly binding, but I feared what Akantha and the Tracto-an’s take on the whole situation might be. The last thing I needed was to make waves with what passed for my personal security force, especially if I had to let a bunch of disaffected Parliamentary boys under the skin of our beloved Clover.
Still, if this Wainwright and his Marines had been sent out here as a Royal watchdog force to keep an eye on both myself and these Parliamentary crewmen (men no longer wanted on the home world because of their loyalty to the old regime), there might be an angle I could play in this whole mess. I doubted the home world had put much stock in either my abilities as a ship/fleet commander, or in my ability to recruit more men for the ship.
So even if word got to them of my Tracto Lancer force, which I highly doubted (at least before this force reported back), they were more likely to discount them as an untrained barbarian rabble than a real military force, an assertion which might have struck a little too close to home a month or two ago before our extended border patrol, but by this point was becoming less accurate as Colonel Suffic and his Royalist cadre slowly whipped them into shape. These Tracto-ans had definite ideas about the chain of command and what service was due their Warlord, who would be me.
“It’s on your head then if this stunt of yours blows up in your face,” Colonel Wainwright growled, before muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Montagne’s’ and cutting the connection.
Just like that, my dreams of keeping my current crew and avoiding any replacement Parliamentarians were dashed into pieces.
I glumly gave the orders to the Communications section to instruct the Caprian SDF armed merchant conversion to rendezvous with us in a location well within the defensive bubble of Commodore LeGodat’s orbital turret’s and defensive batteries.
I was once again stuck with an unpalatable fate. Murphy take me, I was facing Jean Luc’s most probable fate: atomized in the waste compactor if I refused these men and my own crew rose up against me.
What a life.
Chapter 52: United We Stand...
The first 'honor guard' squadron of the Sector Guard was soon joined by the second and final squadron. No one said anything, but I could tell from the signs of strain on the face of our Tactical Officer that no one liked this latest development. Two squadrons consisting of 11 total warships perfectly positioned for an attack run against our engines. Even Tremblay began to show signs of concern, his eyes darting constantly to the main screen where he could check on their progress behind us, and he almost blew up when the Communications section picked up some coded chatter between the Guard units but couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
Rear Admiral Yagar was apparently leaving as little to chance as possible.
As we got closer to the defensive line of LeGodat’s orbital forts, the Sector Guard squadrons crept up until they were barely outside of our extreme weapons range.
I wasn’t the only one who breathed a sigh of relief when we crossed the line and entered the Commodore’s defensive envelope. The entire bridge crew had picked up on the mood of its top officers and wanted to cheer, Tremblay even went so far as to clench his fist and start to pump his arm before remembering himself. Apparently being under the guns of Yagar’s force wasn’t any more pleasant for him than it was for the rest of us. More than any of us, I’m sure he had to be wondering which side of this confusion of sector and planetary interests he was supposed to be aligned with.
The Caprian side was the obvious answer of course, except now the Royalists were back in power...but then there were all these supposed fellow Parliamentarian crew stuck in the converted merchies, which meant if the Caprian’s were aligned with Yagar and his Sector Guard…
What a mess. Even I couldn’t keep track of it all, and I represented one (or if LeGodat could be believed, two) of the two major sides in this rat's nest of competing interests.
Rear Admiral Yagar and his two squadrons hesitated, going so far as to slightly enter the range of the defensive turrets before scattering formation and turning tail to avoid going any deeper into LeGodat’s range than they had to.
Just like that, we were in the clear. Discipline held, but shoulders that had been tense all around the bridge suddenly loosened. I figured that even if I couldn’t read the reaction of the general crew, I was starting to know the mood my bridge standers at a glance.
I was also busy silently patting myself on the back when it occurred to me that I’d been so certain of this man I’d made a Commodore, but if LeGodat had been in cahoots with Yagar, right when we entered his defensive envelope would have been the perfect time to hammer us. Taking fire from the front and rear, even a rough and tumble old Dreadnaught class Battleship like our Lucky Clover would have been in serious trouble.
My skin went clammy and I was suddenly intensely grateful that Yagar was such an overbearing individual. If LeGodat hadn’t been a stand-up guy in this instance, the adventures of one Admiral Jason Montagne might have come to a sudden end. At least it would have been one for the history books, I consoled myself, filled with lots of flash and action, with the main villain (me) cast as some kind of out of control loose cannon whose reign of incompetence and terror was brought to a quick end.
Closer in to the loose sprawl of scattered orbital stations, factories and refit yards surrounding the much larger bulk of the semi-gigantic Wolf-9 Star Base, we were finally in past the worst of the ancient Confederation jammers that LeGodat had going in the system.
I could see that one of the native-built Spineward Sector Constructor ships was still here and hard at work upgrading what, according to our records from the last visit, was an old mothballed orbital factory complex.
From the number of newly active jammers and defensive works, such as station-mounted turrets, batteries and even a pair of small orbital defense fortresses, it was clear LeGodat had been busy. I wondered how he was manning all these platforms if he was limited to the remaining crews of his original four Corvettes and their supporting personnel.
The Lucky Clover proceeded to the Wolf-9 Star Base, even our large bulk dwarfed by this massive work of engineering, dark and silent most of it may be.
Finally realizing on a personal level the sheer size of the Star Base LeGodat was trying to hold onto for the good of all 8 sectors and the Spine and in the name of the Confederation, it was forcibly driven home just how big of a job he was attempting. It must have been tempting for him to just hand over the keys to the place to the first serious force that showed up and wash his hands of the whole business. I mean technically he’d only been a Lieutenant Commander in command of a Light Squadron of four Corvettes. Now he was a Commodore and System Commander for the entire, and until very recently, entirely mothballed Wolf-9 Star Base and its surrounding jurisdiction the Easy Haven System.
I couldn’t imagine it was anything I’d said or done that had put such iron into the spine of this Fleet professional to the point that he was willing stand tall in the face of such an incredible task and daunting odds, even going so far as to back my play when I was far from the most powerful force in this system.
It was humbling to realize the kind of dedication it must have taken to his sense of duty, and the sheer gall the man must possess. Clearly both the Confederation Fleet and Confederated-Imperial Navy had made a mistake when they left this man out here as a reserve officer on a make work assignment.
I hoped I never made a similar mistake.
Not surprisingly, no sooner had we docked with the Wolf-9 station than the armed merchants sent to us by our beloved home world were chomping at the bit.
“Sir, the Captains of the armed merchants say they can’t understand why we don't begin transferring personnel now. If they can’t dock directly with Wolf-9 until they get permission from Commodore LeGodat, then they are requesting permission to use their shuttles and begin the process,” said the communications tech. “They are also requesting a direct channel with yourself, Admiral.”
“Tell them they’ll just have to wait,” I said irritably. For a moment I was tempted to fob the job of keeping them off my ship off on Tremblay, but then I remembered his little stunt with the internal Comm. system. If I left him in charge of delaying the operation, I might come out of my meeting to discover the ship overrun with strange crewmen.
I searched my mind for someone I could assign the task to, who had the rank and authority to keep my ship free from this Parliamentary infestation for at least a short while longer.
Then I struck upon a novel idea. There was one person who could get the job done and wouldn’t care what toes she stepped on doing so. “Find my wife and open a communications channel,” I said brusquely. Even Tremblay wouldn’t dare start transferring crewmen without my permission while I was gone if he knew Akantha, working in conjunction with our Lancer force was tasked to delay them. For all anyone knew, including both Tremblay and myself, she might order our Lancers to open fire and slaughter any new transferee by the shuttle full until the other side learned to respect her desire for a delay. And while my former Promethean and Caprian
Royalists would probably balk at such an order, the Tracto-ans among them were probably just crazy enough to obey her.
Akantha appeared on the miniature screen built into the arm of my Throne. She opened her mouth but I cut her off quickly. “My Lady, please be a dear and speak with the Captains of the Caprian Ships. I don’t want the replacement crews sent over here just yet, and I really don’t have time to hold their hands,” I said with a smile. She started to nod and say something. “Thanks!” I said quickly, and just as quickly cut the connection.
Everyone and their brother thought they could jerk around Admiral Montagne with their ‘critically important’ tasks and assignments. Let's see how critical they still felt it was after speaking with my savage wife! Finally, a task for which she was ideally suited. No one who talked with her more than once ever doubted again that this was a woman who held a grudge, and was crazy enough to back up her threats.
If Gants were here, I would have taken a team from the Armory with me when I went off the ship to meet with the Commodore. It was tempting even without the overly enthusiastic crewman present, but the thought of Oleander the jinx who had almost gotten me killed on more than one occasion being accidentally assigned to my team made me abruptly change my mind.
Instead, I called up the Lancer Colonel, informed him of Akantha’s new assignment and requested a force of men in battle suits to accompany me off the ship.
Trust, but verify. I trusted LeGodat, but I would trust him a whole lot more after I’d verified he was free and fully supportive.
I instructed that the same team that had gone down to the surface with me to Akantha’s home city state be assigned as part of the force.
*************
When I first marched through one of the main airlocks connecting Lucky Clover to Wolf-9, I felt a moment of dread, as if this were the first time I’d set foot off the Battleship in the last year. Which was just plain nonsense, since I’d been off the ship and down to Tracto twice already.
Of course, every time I set foot off the ship someone tried to cut my head off, so there was that. And this place, for all its dark and run-down appearance was still part of a high-tech society, unlike down on Tracto VI.
So with something like forty Lancers at my back, a pair of ‘volunteer’ medics because the ship’s medical department had this strange tradition that someone always volunteered for away missions (even if that person had to draw straws or be volunteered) and the Minos Sword strapped to my back because I didn’t have time to change into my battle suit, I stepped off the Lucky Clover for the third and perhaps final time.
Everything hung on LeGodat and his intentions, and at this point the die was cast. It wasn’t a very good feeling, to tell the truth.
The first thing I noticed upon stepping into the Wolf-9 corridor was the duralloy of the walls. It looked like some of the more out of the way and run-down sections of the Clover, slightly grungy with residue built up from the process of having an active, operational environmental system.
The next thing I noticed was Commodore Colin LeGodat and his escort of Confederation Marines. Five in number, their presence was dwarfed by the horde behind me.
LeGodat came to attention and snapped off a salute. If anything, he was more imposing in person than on a vid-screen. Light skin tone like an Imperial, but lacking their distinctive facial features. He was black haired with a sharp pointed nose I wished I owned, middle aged and appeared every bit as professional in person as he did over the comm.
“You seem somewhat taller in person than on the vid,” I observed, doing my best to return his salute. Even I could tell I needed more practice, and I made a mental note to work on it in front of the mirror until I had it down cold.
Adjusting his stance, LeGodat looked more at ease but still very much at attention as he placed his hands behind his back. “Don’t take this the wrong way Admiral, but you came across as both taller and older on the holo,” he returned seriously.
I couldn't help but give a wide smile. “Some recent reconstructive work down in medical after yet another minor scuffle was not entirely to my satisfaction,” I said truthfully.
The Commodore seemed to give himself a small shake. “My office is this way, Sir. If it please the Admiral,” he motioned, sounding perfectly official.
“Very much so,” I replied with a measured nod and gestured for him to lead the way.
Side by side with our respective guards following along behind, we proceeded to a personnel lift. I noted that while his men seemed to be in a newer and superior model of battle suit than our old provincial power armor, it was still a far cry from the Imperial suits my men had faced on Cornwallis' Strike Cruiser. Or at least, they appeared to be. It was important to not make too many snap judgments based on appearance alone, especially now.
Only half of the light sources in the lift were functioning, which gave the process of moving through the station inside what was essentially a small metal box an eerie feeling, especially when combined with a vague sensation of sideways motion as the lift operated.
With a shared glance and by silent mutual consent, we kept off of the important topics of the day.
“I trust your patrol along the border went well,” inquired LeGodat politely.
“As well as can be expected when you’ve only got a Battleship that moves at about half the top speed of a pirate Corvette, with far less maneuverability as well,” I said with a scowl.
“A fruitless endeavor, then,” Colin LeGodat concluded, not looking surprised.
“We had our share of early successes and took a pair of prizes, but after that it was mostly a case of driving them off simply due to our presence,” I said with a dismissive gesture.
The Commodore raised an eyebrow at this information. Not wanting to answer anymore probing questions, I decided to go on the offensive and turn the tables.
“I see that you're still making use of one of the Constructor ships that stayed in system,” I said.
“The other two left within weeks of your departure, however this one was slated to go out to a world on the border. Between that and some…political turmoil back on its home world, the Captain and the Majority Shareholder both agreed it was more prudent to accept work here at cost instead,” said LeGodat with a shrug, “essentially, wages for the crew, work force, and the materials to keep them busy."
I pursed my lips and wondered where he was getting the money to pay for a Constructor ship, even at cost. I figured he would have just conscripted them to the cause for as long as they chose to sit in-system. There wasn’t time for more dialogue, because the door chimed and the lift slowed to a halt.
Stepping out of the lift was like stepping out of a dimly lit cave and into the light of the modern space-age world.
“Wolf-9’s Command and Control Center,” LeGodat said, raising an arm by way of explanation to indicate an area that put the Clover’s Flag Bridge to shame. At least four times the size and with much more space between individual consoles, the bridge of the Wolf-9 Star Base, except for a few missing seat covers here and there exposing the metal frames underneath, made me green with envy. If I had this kind of space on the Clover…well, I don’t know what I’d have done with it, although Spalding would have probably had some ideas about what it was good for. The thought of Spalding, lost to the Clover the last time our ship had been in this system and fought the Imperials was enough to dampen my mood.
More somber than before, I stepped off the lift and followed LeGodat into the Star Base Commander’s office. With a gesture, LeGodat motioned for his Marines to stay outside, and after a moment’s hesitation that I tried to cover with a cough, I motioned for my Lancers to do the same.
“Normally this would have been an Admiral’s office, back when Wolf-9 was a major frontier Star Base,” explained LeGodat as he went behind the desk. He placed a hand on the back of a char, motioning me to take a seat before sitting down himself.
I narrowed my eyes, following suit.
“Before going any further, I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me one thing,” LeGodat said, leaning forward.
“Of course,” I replied evenly, my posture unconsciously stiffening as my Royal training kicking in. I needed LeGodat right now, possibly more than he needed me. He had to stay on my side, the Confederation side. If he abandoned the leaky Confederation ship I’d been raving about to everyone I came across (including, or maybe especially those trying to shut me down or kill me) I was a lot closer to finished than ever before. Because unlike me, LeGodat was an actual, honest-to-Murphy trained Fleet Officer, Confederation reserve or not.
Was this the moment of truth, when my greatest bluff was successfully called, or would I be able to scam my way into one more roll of the dice? If it was just me, I would be willing to walk away, but every native living on Tracto VI, not to mention the various Belter families in orbit depended on me.
“Just how serious are you about maintaining Fleet independence from the 25th Sector Provisional Assembly, Admiral Yagar and his Sector Guard,” he demanded intensely. “I have to know how far you’re willing to go with this if I’m going to back your play.”
Momentarily taken aback, I struggled to keep any expression off my face. I’d been expecting a question more along the lines of, 'how long do you think you can keep up this charade you’ve got going on,' or 'do you honestly think anyone actually believes you’re a real admiral, boy?' Instead, this professional fleet officer wanted to know how far I was willing to go to maintain the independence of the Confederation Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet and by extension, LeGodat and his Star Base, in the face of Yagar and his attempted power grab. High Commander Yagar, indeed.
I slowly bared my teeth in a savage smile and decided to go with a line I’d used on Tremblay more than once. "Commodore LeGodat,” I said locking his eyes with my own, “in the entire time you’ve known me, what exactly leads you to believe that I’m a man who likes to bluff?” I then laced my fingers together, placed them behind my head and leaned back in the chair. I do believe at that particular moment I presented the very picture of a senior officer, confident in his ability to handle anything that came his way.
If I only felt the same way on the inside. Fortunately, I was the only person who knew how much of a fraud I really was. Who was I to talk strategy with military professionals like LeGodat when I barely knew the first thing about fleet operations? Fortunately, in this room there was only myself and the Commodore.
He held my gaze and gave a slow nod before looking down at his console and tapping on a touch screen for a few moments. “That’s what I needed to know,” he said, then pointed to the wall directly behind me. “This is the current disposition of forces within Easy Haven. As you can see, Rear Admiral Yagar held the balance of power so long as we were unable to link up. But now that you’re behind our defensive lines, the balance has shifted.”
I nodded slowly, after turning around to take in the picture on the holo-screen. I noted with only a mild streak of envy that even the screen in his station’s ready room was larger than the one in my Battleship.
“That only holds true as long as the Lucky Clover stays close to the Wolf-9 Star Base,” I pointed out just like any other naval idiot could have. I then felt compelled to add, “However, we have commitments in the Tracto System which if unfulfilled will eventually lead to planetary genocide, courtesy of our insect neighbors, and thus we cannot stay here indefinitely.”
LeGodat slowly smiled. “I have factored that into my own planning, Sir,” he said, looking entirely too confident for my taste, but then he was the only professional in the room. Perhaps he had reason to feel confident.
“Go on,” I leaned forward and waved my hand to encourage him.
“As you no doubt saw when you point transferred into Easy Haven, our defenses were still in the process of being reactivated,” he stated.
“Yes,” I agreed.
“And I presume you also noticed that we have three Destroyers being worked up in our recently reactivated and expanded repair yard?” The Commodore's eyes were steel in that moment as he searched my expression.
“We did,” I said, starting to get a little irritated, “and the Heavy Cruiser which is also unrepaired and just sitting there, until you have the facilities to fix her up.”
LeGodat closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief before pointing to the screen. “If that’s what you saw, then hopefully it’s the exact same thing the Rear Admiral and his Captains have been seeing,” he breathed, sounding pleased.
“I take it all is not as it appears,” I prompted tentatively, taking a second look at the holo.
“Oh, all three Destroyers and the Heavy Cruiser are just as ineffective as if they were still in mothballs or, in the cruiser’s case, falling apart and filled with pirate trash,” he said fiercely, “however, while two of the Destroyers are still in need of a major workup before we can even think about moving them, the Triceptor as well as the Heavy Cruiser, which we have renamed the Little Gift are both at varying levels of readiness.”
I sat bolt upright in my chair, losing whatever remained of my casual pose. “You’ve got a Destroyer and Heavy Cruiser combat ready?!”
The newly minted Commodore made a 'slow down' motion. “The Destroyer is ready for her final workup trials, all she needs is a crew. The Little Gift, on the other hand,” he waggled his hand back and forth, “we managed to get one broadside installed and her engines working before the Sector Guard showed up. I made the executive decision to keep the side with the newly repaired and installed broadside facing the Star Base. So hopefully they haven’t spotted it yet. We might be limping around for a while, but when it comes to ships and hardware, Easy Haven still has teeth,” LeGodat said baring his for emphasis.
“There’s a reason you’re still hiding your real strength,” I said with narrowed eyes, as I thought through the implications of this new information. It wasn’t a complete game-changer, but with surprise and enough luck it might be close enough for government work.
The Acting System Commander looked frustrated. “Real strength,” he said questioningly, but he was speaking rhetorically, “except for a handful of defensive turrets that we’ve been keeping cold and inactive as a surprise for anyone who tries to take the system, you’ve seen the entirety of our ‘strength,” he finished sounding disgusted.
“Elaborate,” I instructed, allowing a touch of stiffness to creep into my voice.
“We’ve got the ships and fixed defensive positions, but no one to man them,” he said bitterly, “as it is, I’ve picked up a few dozen volunteers off various passing merchant ships seeking a temporary safe harbor in this galaxy gone mad. But what I need isn’t an additional fifty recruits, however willing they are to be of service. We need over five thousand, and that’s just to run everything that’s been reactivated and taken out of mothballs as of this moment,” he said flatly.
“Five thousand,” I exclaimed.
“And that’s only for skeleton crews,” he warned, sounding as professional as ever but looking quite grim.
“Skeleton crews,” I echoed, experiencing a form of sticker shock I was certain must be unique to Admirals and commanders of fleets, “just how many men do you have on your various crew rosters as of right this minute,” I demanded, springing to my feet and starting to pace the floor.
“I have somewhere around 450, if you factor in all the new recruits,” he muttered, staring at the table, which I noted with some satisfaction was a standard metal and plastic construction, unlike my very fine wooden desk, “and that includes the nearly two hundred men you left here the last time you passed through Easy Haven,” at my blank look he frowned and added, “to man the Dungeon ship holding the Imperials.”
I was completely stunned. I knew going into this that the personnel situation for the Wolf-9 base had to be tight but…this was outrageous!
“How have you managed to hold things together with so few men and personnel,” I asked shaking my head. This man, right here, was a real fleet officer. It was just too bad I couldn’t figure out a way to permanently add him to the roster of my own ship, maybe even as its captain. If only he wasn’t needed so badly right where he already was, we could use a lot more of this kind of can-do attitude onboard my Flagship.
LeGodat shrugged, “A good poker face, as well as borrowing heavily from the constructor ships. As you know a single, fully staffed Constructor carries a standard work force of somewhere around 20,000 skilled workers. If I wasn’t able to borrow and use them for various system maintenance tasks, I don’t think we could have managed it. I’m just thankful we haven’t had to pull very many of our own people away from shipboard duty to oversee the reactivation of the repair yard and its upgrade into a full service shipyard facility capable of building new ships,” he said gesturing toward the holo-screen, “although I don’t really know it’s even possible to have pulled away enough men from their duties, even if we’d taken the whole personnel roster and thrown it at the repair and reactivation efforts, to have done a fraction of what they have,” he finished, breathing hard.
“I think it’s safe to say quite a lot’s been taking place in Easy Haven since the last time I was here,” I acknowledged absently, my mind racing with a whole new set of plots and schemes at this brand new set of information. “Perhaps there’s a way to turn this to our advantage,” I muttered.
“If you have any inkling, even the barest glimmer of a plan, I am all ears,” LeGodat said, perking up for just about the first time since we got into the whole issue of crew rosters and personnel.
For half a second I was tempted to foist off the thousands of supposed disaffected Parliamentarians currently waiting to board my ship. But I knew better, and the impulse died an angry death. I trusted my current crew to hold steady, but handing so many Parliamentarians over to LeGodat when he had so few was just asking for the Caprian SDF to sail in and take over the place lock, stock and two smoking barrels worth.
That wouldn’t do anyone except King James any good. I wasn’t very interested in doing His Royal Majesty any good turns right at the moment, not when he was trying to pull a fast one and essentially yank my ship right out from under me.
“I’d need to keep everyone in Engineering, the Armory, all my Lancers of course and… the gunnery deck,” I mused out loud, “my bridge crew needs to stay, as well. Although I suppose a few trained sensor operators could be spared for a training cadre,” I slowly tapped my chin as I thought through the implications. I’d be taking a huge gamble, but if I could secure a fully-functional, permanent base of operations where I could refit and resupply, it all might be worth it.
“Well, there’s nothing for it,” I muttered to myself as I frowned at the table in thought.
“You actually do have a plan? I hope it doesn’t involve those thousands of Caprian ‘reinforcements’ that’ve been waiting in system for over a month now,” LeGodat said forcefully, “Your own government doesn’t trust them, that was made very clear by Marine Colonel, SDF, Wainwright. I don’t want men of that sort manning my ships and fixed defenses.”
“I’ll ask for volunteers from among my current crew,” I said sharply, irritated that he was pointing out something I myself didn’t want to have to deal with. The lucky blighter was just fortunate I saw more advantage, or rather less disadvantage, to myself if I took those Parliamentary rejects onto my ship instead of assigning them to his organization.
“Hopefully we can get you a few thousand ‘volunteers’ to help turn your paper tigers into full-fledged fighting machines,” I said speaking through my teeth, as the implications for the Lucky Clover and myself personally raced through my head. If I went through and actually did this, I was going to be dancing on the head of a pin. The slightest misstep and it could be curtains for my illusory command. Like a grand mountebank of old, if they ever once pulled back the curtain and observed the man behind the mask, I would never survive the experience.
On the other hand, with LeGodat in a secure position, if I fell to Parliamentary or Caprian Royal intrigues, he would still be around to potentially ride in and save the day on Tracto, thus removing me from my unenviable status as that planetary system’s last and only hope.
“If I’m able to do this thing for you,” I said evenly, meeting and holding his gaze with mine, “I’ll need your personal guarantee of a few things in return, should anything untoward happen to me later on.”
“Anything within the bounds of duty or reason,” LeGodat said cautiously. Smart man, this one, he hardly knew me and already he was hedging his promises. This was a Commodore who might actually go far in this galaxy gone mad.
Sitting back down, we put our heads together and carefully went over what I was going to need from him if this little gambit of ours was going to succeed. There were a few areas he wasn’t too thrilled with, but in the end he saw things my way. If only the same could be said of everyone else in the system.
Plans hashed and rehashed, it was time to return to my ship. I just had to hope Tremblay hadn’t given away the store while I’d been away. Although with Akantha ensconced on the bridge and manning the till, such an occurrence would likely have to be over her dead body. An idea, the mere thought of which set my blood to boiling.
Before I left his office, the recently minted Commodore got to his feet and drew himself up to attention prior to snapping a salute, one that was so crisp and professional I didn’t even attempt to emulate, choosing instead to settle on what I hoped was a regal nod in return to cover my embarrassment at this treatment. As if I were a real Admiral deserving of respect and not some paper tiger who had lucked into the driver's seat of a Battleship.
After the salute, LeGodat came around the desk and offered me his hand. Much more comfortable with this sort of social interaction, I was more than happy to press the flesh with the man I’d made a Commodore during the heat of battle.
“Sorry if I’m out of line here, Sir,” he said sounding anything but sorry, and my mental defenses immediately went up. The genuine looking smile he followed that little statement up with did nothing to lower them.
“Go on, Colin,” I said, trying to come across as slightly distant, yet at the same time open to a bit of personal camaraderie, “you can be open and honest with me regarding any issues or concerns you have,” I was trying to keep the coolness I wanted to interject out of my words. Everything had been going to so well, or at least it seemed like it to this point, so on the one hand I didn’t want to risk messing it up with further conversation of a touchy type. On the other hand, if there was a fly in the ointment or a monkey in Saint Murphy’s wretched wrench, then it was best I find out sooner than later.
“Oh, it's not anything as bad as all that,” he said his smile widening a fraction.
“All right,” I said agreeably.
“I just wanted to say that on behalf of my men, both officer and enlisted, all of us here in Easy Haven are ready and eager to join the fleet and crew of the infamous Little Admiral himself,” LeGodat said, his smile turning wry, however despite the look on his face, he still almost sounded half proud, as if he didn’t want to but couldn’t help being a little bit happy at this announcement.
Which was why when the breath whooshed out of me at the sudden and unexpected turn in this conversation, instead of turning red and shouting with sheer frustration at the use of the nickname I hated with a passion and felt was entirely and utterly demeaning in every way possible, I forced a smile and a nod instead and gave his hand an extra hard squeeze before releasing it.
“We’re more than happy to have you and your men onboard. When time allows, I’ll make it a point to officially welcome your officers and crew into the MSP,” I said, falling back on every ounce of Royal training to put a smoothness into my voice that I simply wasn’t feeling right now.
I know it was a pet peeve and I should be entirely beyond such minor irritations, but when I first started to accept the idea that I was going to have to pretend to be an actual admiral, one of the very few things I wanted for myself, other than to avoid the hangman’s noose, was to quash that ‘Little Admiral’ moniker once and for all.
Now I was forced to not only accept it, but because of the apparent goodwill behind the use of a handle I utterly and totally despised, I might be forced to embrace it as part of my still-forming identity, the mere thought of which made me want to gag. Among the many things Janeski was going to pay for eventually, on a laundry list of items stretching across this entire sector of space and beyond, somewhere down near the bottom of that list I was going to make sure to include the use of that name.
“I’ll let them know, Sir,” LeGodat said with a nod, “I’m not sure you realize just how much it helps the men to know they are part of something bigger than a run-down old Star Base still half in mothballs and surrounded by enemies. To remember that they are still part of, or in some cases for the first time, members of a real Confederation Fleet does wonders for morale,” he finished.
I felt like the biggest fraud in the entire sector, and that’s saying something with the way Yagar was running around puffing himself up right now, not to mention how Janeski had pulled the wool over so many eyes, including my own. At least they were officers in a real military force, be it a System Defense Force like Yagar, or the Imperial Fleet for Janeski. What was I? Nothing but a glorified college student with a martyr complex and a pretty hot wife.
“The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet may have suffered a few blows during the recent troubles,” I said confidently, “but you can assure your men that we are back on our feet now and expanding at a rapid rate,” I finished, fudging the reality of things in favor of a ringing statement that might inspire others.
“Thank you, Sir. I’ll let them know,” he said, sounding if anything slightly relieved to put that almost personal moment behind us in favor of a return to military formality.
“No, thank you, System Commander,” I finished.
Escorting us back to the lift, my Lancers and I made our goodbyes and, after a final glance at the quite empty Star Base control room and it numerous consoles, we parted company.
The whole ride down the lift I had to wonder how I’d managed to fool a professional fleet officer like LeGodat into thinking I was in any way worthy of receiving his respect. I’d certainly never earned it. As far as I could see, all I’d done was show up, picked a fight and then promptly run off again as soon as possible. Here I showed up again, and other than a big knock-down, drag-out fight, what had I done? Declared my and his independence from the only organization in the entire Sector with even the vestige of legal authority? Yeah, this ‘Little Admiral’ that his men looked up to was really nothing more than a legendary troublemaker as far as I could see.
I continued to shake my head the whole way down the lift system.
Chapter 53: An Impassioned Plea
“So this is it,” I said, making one last impassioned plea over the ship’s intercom system, “Capria, in her wisdom, has had a change of Government and that government has sent out reinforcements to replace you, my loyal crew. Men and women I know and trust,” I paused, gathering myself.
"They’ve sent these men, or so they say, so that you can get some much-needed down time,” I said skeptically, then added firmly, “the one thing they’re right about is that each and every one of you needs and deserves a break. 'Shore leave,' I believe they call it,” I said with a chuckle, “in fact, only a slave driver or the most desperate of commanders would ask more from you than you’ve given already,” I paused and looked straight into the camera pick up.
“Whether or not I’m a slave driver is up for you to decide but I tell you now, I am desperate. I speak not only for myself, but also on behalf of Commodore LeGodat and the entire Easy Haven Confederation compliment stationed out here. I need you, LeGodat and his men certainly need you, and you need a break. Officers and Crew of the Lucky Clover, you’ve followed me through thick and thin,” I said, glossing over a few incidents and putting the best face on things. “Your unwavering regard for this ship and the best interests of not only ourselves, but of Capria and the Confederation as a whole are what separates you from these new personnel scheduled to come aboard,” out of the corner of my eye, I could see the bridge crew straighten up in their chairs. Tremblay looked slightly proud and even DuPont, whose head I’d essentially put in a vice and threatened to squish was nodding his head.
“No man, no king and certainly no Admiral has the right to tell you that have to stay here and sacrifice more for the sake of us all. No man may tell you,” I said firmly, paused and then continued in a softer, slower voice, “but I will ask you. Anyone who goes home does so with my blessing and best wishes for your future careers and eventual reassignment, Saint Murphy willing,” I paused as a few chuckles sounded on the bridge, “to a ship under my command or in this fleet we’ve been holding together, through sheer force of will it seems.” I quirked a grin as I realized that at least as far as the bridge crew was concerned, I was reaching them on some level.
“For those that stay,” I continued, drawing out the moment and carefully ramping up the tension, “I can promise an immediate promotion to a rank equivalent to the job or post you’ve been holding since the Imperials abandoned us to our own devices, with seniority backdated to the moment you stepped in and assumed those duties, and on top of that,” I said nodding to my wife who stood off camera, and to my irritation whoever in the Comm. section was manning the pickup panned the camera over so it caught Akantha and her expression. Of course, it was her usual Ice maiden look with the barest hint of a smile shining through when she noticed the camera on her, “my wife, the Lady Akantha, has agreed to provide each and every one of you who answers this call to extended service dual citizenship in the Tracto System,” the camera was on me but still picking up Akantha at the edge of its range. I caught the eye of the comm. section and made a sharp gesture with the fingers of my hand, which was down by my thighs. I was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, but still get across the fact I wanted the camera focused entirely on me and not panning around like some teenager with a webcam.
“Other than those incentives, all I can promise you is danger, the risk of combat and the certainty that if you volunteer, regardless of whether you stay onboard the Clover or are reassigned to go help man one of the warships rapidly working up in the Easy Haven Yards,” I added that part about the warships working up to tempt them, so they wouldn’t think they were just being assigned to some plodding Star Base command, “you will be able to do so knowing with absolute certainty that it is your sacrifice, and the sacrifices of those like you that makes life safe for each and every citizen in the Spine. Continue to serve and I guarantee you will not be forgotten. You will not be noted and then dismissed, no!" I smashed my fist into my open palm for emphasis. "Your names will be noted in the Hall of Records, and when future generations look back on these troubled times, they will ask were you there with the-” I hesitated for a fraction of a second before deciding to sacrifice my dignity on the altar of necessity, “Little Admiral and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet when they rode the space ways of old?!” I finished with a fist pump, followed by a slashing gesture, indicating it was time to cut the shipwide broadcast. I didn’t think I could continue for much longer after throwing out that ‘Little Admiral’ line. Just thinking about it made me want to gag. Not only the hypocrisy of it, but the voluntary bit of self-mutilation I’d just engaged in. Little Admiral indeed, there would be no stopping the use of that nickname now. I shook my head sadly. The things I do in the name of honor, duty and self-preservation.
Nothing was left to do except go around shaking the hands of the bridge crew, thanking them for their service and tell them I knew they’d make the ‘right’ decision.
At that point, I’d done everything I could. The pieces were set, and all that was left to do was sit back and wait. Well, wait and hope that enough of my men decided to sign on for a second tour of duty with the ‘Little Admiral’ of their overblown imaginations.
That and pray, something I am not ashamed to admit that I did as soon as I was out of sight in the Admiral’s ready room.
The next thing I did after getting up off my knees was contact Engineering and instruct them to begin spinning up the hyperdrive. Regardless of how things turned out, it was never wrong to hedge your bets.
Chapter 54: Swallowing The Bitter Pill
“The final tally is in,” Tremblay said disapprovingly.
“Yes,” I drawled, showing a decided lack of concern over something the results of which would impact my life more than perhaps anything else I'd experienced.
“Your impassioned plea to the men seems to have had an effect,” Tremblay said, deliberately making me respond before continuing, all the while frowning.
“Do tell,” I said with a hint of a smile that covered for a sudden roiling in my guts, “how many loyal sons of Capria have heeded the Confederation’s call to continued service?”
“Not counting the Lancers and the men you ‘recruited’ from the settlers forced to set down on Tracto VI,” Tremblay sneered, disdain for my efforts all but dripping from his mouth, “some 60 odd percent of the crew have decided to forgo the shore leave arranged for them by,” and now his features hardened and his gaze tried to burn a hole right through me, “King James, long may he live,” Tremblay finished, his lips twisting.
“Why, Mr. Tremblay, your unique take on the traditional salutation commonly uttered for a newly crowned Caprian Monarch could be taken adversely by others than myself,” I said mildly, giving Tremblay a verbal smacking as I tried to digest this information and stop from doing cartwheels, “Besides,” I continued, “no one was ‘forced’ to land and settle anywhere. We can start off with the Belters who may or may not have ‘landed’ on a few asteroids, but I’d hardly call any of their landings of the settlement type. And then we might continue on to our own countrymen who were more than happy to demand, receive and install the Belter’s hyperdish prior to transferring off to points unknown.”
Tremblay scowled and shook his head at me.
“My-my-my, both factually inaccurate and overly verbose today,” I commented with a hint of a sneer picking up one corner of my mouth, “what seems to have gotten into our normally staid and officious First Officer?” I asked no one in particular while tilting my head back to look at the ceiling.
“Staid,” Tremblay demanded incredulously, “if there’s an actual person on this ship who really thinks I’m ‘staid’, I want to meet him so I can give him a hundred credits,” he frowned, before going on the attack, “now who’s being overly verbose.”
I smirked and shook my head, conceding the point while at the same time denying him the satisfaction of a verbal acknowledgement. What good was being an Admiral if you couldn’t throw your weight around a little? It really was the petty victories that gained one the most satisfaction. Major victories were too hard on the stomach lining for much in the way of instant gratification. Those kind of victories I could do without, if only because every major victory only meant I’d just stood on the precipice of a major defeat.
Dull and boring were the name of the day as far as I was concerned. Alas, it looked like dull and boring were some of the very last things I was going to be experiencing the near to mid-run future. Rats!
Chapter 55: Off A Sinking Ship
I sat for a long time in my Admiral’s office running the numbers and trying to figure a way to give LeGodat enough men to hold out while we were gone and run the Clover at the same time. Any way I stretched it there just weren’t enough men to go around, not to run the Clover and Wolf-9 at the same time.
It looked like my choices were limited to first: giving LeGodat my ‘reinforcements’ and essentially handing Capria the Star Base along with all its ships and mothballed facilities. Second: telling the Parliamentary holdouts that if Capria didn’t want them, I didn’t either. Or third: saying 'so sorry for everyone here, but Easy Haven is simply not my problem' as I exited the system along with that part of the crew which was sticking with me.
Or fourth, I could bite the bullet, give the majority of my loyal men a huge task and only semi-safe harbor, at least until they could get LeGodat’s old warships up and running. Meanwhile, I and enough men to run the key sections of the ship; Gunnery, Flag Bridge, Engineering and our Lancer force, tried to hold onto the ship long enough to win over the reinforcements to the Confederation cause and go blast some pirate scum!
While things looked far too much like the infamous no-win scenario of old, I wasn’t giving up. How many times had things looked impossible, and yet by holding onto our seats as tightly as possible and refusing budge, we’d come out the other end better off than ever before?
With a sigh, I got on the horn and instructed Colonel Suffic to come up to the ready room. It was time he and I had a little chat.
************
“Sir,” Colonel Suffic said marching into the room and snapping off a salute. “We’re a bit busy right now. To what do I owe the honor?”
“Colonel Wainwright and his Marines believe they are vital to the security of this ship. I, on the other hand, have absolute faith in abilities of my Lancer force,” I said firmly and Suffic nodded. “Going forward I’ll need this ship buttoned down, guards stationed in Engineering, Gunnery, the Bridge,” I said ticking off points on my fingers. “Your men could be stretched pretty thin.”
“That’s true, Sir,” the Colonel said with a nod.
“Just give me the word that you can do it and the matter is settled. If, on the other hand you feel you need additional hands…” I let my voice trail off doubtfully.
Suffic shook his head. “Those additional hands, we’d have to spend almost as much time watching them as we would guarding the ship,” he said firmly, “because make no mistake, that’s what you’re asking of us: secure and hold this ship in the face of an internal threat.”
“Potential threat only,” I hastened to point out.
Colonel Suffic snorted scornfully. “And pigs may fly,” he shook his head. “A Lancer’s job isn’t to hope for the best, that’s for officers and Admirals,” I let the dig fly by, as I didn’t want to risk derailing the conversation, “a Lancer’s job is to expect the worst and prepare accordingly.”
“Then I guess the only real question is: can you do it with the men you have?” I asked, a tad more than a hint of demand in my voice. “You have what? Somewhere under 2000 men after the mauling we’ve taken along the way here,” I said asking for clarification.
The Colonel’s forehead wrinkled in obvious confusion. “We were, but with the natives we recruited during our last stop at Tracto VI, we’re well over two thousand,” he said giving me a look.
“New recruits,” I asked, this time my own brow wrinkling, then it smoothed and I snapped my fingers, “Akantha! It wouldn’t be the first time she’s used my name to recruit warriors for my ‘banner’,” I rolled my eyes.
“Well, the new men from Lyconesia were pretty impressed when we blew the top clear off a tall hill within sight of their city. Every man not directly sworn to someone’s cause picked up their gear and hightailed it to come join up,” said Suffic. “It's caused a couple of minor issues down on the decks, but nothing we can’t handle.”
Wonderful, my barely-seasoned Lancers had been dealing with trying to integrate a new host of violently aggressive natives, ones who had an ancestral grudge with my wife’s people and were already causing trouble. Why was I always the last person to know these things?
I tried to look on the bright side, which was that more warm bodies with a penchant for charging into sustained barrages of combined blaster and plasma fire when attacked couldn’t be all bad. I leerily turned the concept over in my head a few times, hoping it would sound better after a couple repeats.
“Excellent then,” I said with forced exuberance, “I’ll leave everything in your capable hands.”
Colonel Suffic shook his head and sighed. He muttered something under his breath as he snapped off a salute and turning on a dime, marched out of the Flag Bridge. If what he muttered not so quietly under his breath was ‘Montagne’s,’ who was I to say he was wrong? I did tend to ask the utmost of the people under me. I just hoped today wasn’t the day I went and asked too much.
**************
The men were organized into three groups; those that would stay on board the Clover, those that were going home to Capria, and those that were about to become LeGodat’s problem.
Watching over the internal monitors set up in the docking areas, as those that were slated to leave for one reason or another marched off the ship was one of the hardest moments of my life. I felt as if part of my body were being cut off, an arm or a leg perhaps. It's important to remember that I actually have experienced that pain, so I'm not being hyperbolic.
I knew these people, many of them by name. What was more, I trusted them. Who was I replacing them with? Sweet crying Murphy, but how many crews did I have to convince that I wasn’t the scum of the Royalist Montagne Earth? I wanted to kick the desk but refrained because, if my life back home followed by my time out here had taught me anything, it was that life was almost never fair. Certainly not for a Montagne.
When the first of the men who were resigning from the bridge crew came in, I assumed an appropriately stoic face. Each loss hurt but as I was only losing a handful of men, five in total, I really couldn’t complain.
“It’s been an honor serving with you, Admiral,” said the first soon to be former bridge staffer, coming up to the desk and offering me a salute.
Making a snap decision I got up and came around the desk. I shook his hand firmly and said, “The honor has been mine, Technician. I hope our paths cross again the future.”
“I’m sure once my shore leave is up they’ll reassign me back here on the Clover, Sir,” the rating said with a smile.
I could feel my smile wilting slightly.
“That’s my hope, as well,” I said, forcing a winning smile.
As each man came over, I clapped him on the shoulder and shook his hand. “Hope to serve with you all again,” I said as they saluted and exited the cabin.
Once I’d finished with the personal farewells and the bridge staffers joined with their fellows heading off the ship, there was nothing to do but tell the external communications section to contact the Caprian armed merchant conversions and instruct them to begin transferring over their personnel via shuttle.
There was no way I was letting three ships carrying Murphy knew how many thousands of trained SDF personnel and at least three thousand trained marines dock directly with my ship. Each shuttle would be carefully scanned on the way in, and Lancers in battle suits would meet our new arrivals.
Welcoming committees from each department in the ship would be waiting to show the arrivals to their new stations.
And as fast as that, I’d gone from over eleven and a half thousand reliable crew and around two thousand blooded lancers, which constituted about three quarters of a full crew, to a little less than thirty five hundred men and women who’d been with me through thick and thin.
Colonel Wainwright and the Captains of the armed freighters all wanted to holler about just what I was going to do with the additional thirty five hundred men they were planning to put on my ship in place of the men who would be staying. I informed them that I had plans for those men that didn’t involve them setting foot on this Battleship.
The transfer process was still ongoing when I ordered the Lucky Clover to break connection to the Wolf-9 Star Base and head out of the system. The shuttles could continue transferring those that were returning home to one of the armed merchants. While the new arrivals would just have to follow along with us and keep those shuttles running back and forth.
Glaring at the counter on my screen that showed how many men still had to transfer off the ship, as well as another counter right beside it that showed how many still had to come on board, I leaned back in my chair and contemplated this brave new world I was inhabiting.
I sure hoped LeGodat and his people appreciated the ginormous risk I was taking here.
Chapter 56: A Miracle Delivered, Complete With Shoddy Tools
What in Murphy's name?
There was the sound of beeping in the background, getting faster and faster and then the beep went ominously continuous with a harsh strident tone.
“Blast,” said the grey haired Doctor, followed by his kicking the side of the hover stretcher repeatedly. “I think we’ve lost him for good,” he sounded utterly drained.
“There’s still a chance he could pull through if we tank him again,” offered the same female orderly who had been with him through the last several surgical procedures.
“We’ve replaced just about every part of his body with new tissue or a mechanical prosthesis, except for his brain. If he’s not going to pull through after all that and with the best medical equipment and most advanced computer system I’ve ever seen or heard of since the fall of the AI’s working overtime on his case, there’s no hope,” said the Doctor.
“I just hate to give up on him like this. After the way he helped save all of us,” the orderly said sadly.
“He deserved better,” agreed the Doctor sounding exhausted. “I’m not as young as I used to be,” he complained, his legs wavering underneath him as he walked over to a chair before he collapsed.
The orderly look at the Doctor with concern before shaking her head.
“It was a brave thing, heading into a room with a cracked power core,” she said sounding near tears, “I just wish we could do more. Men like this- no, that's not right. Heroes like this don’t come along every day.”
“It was a foolish thing to do. Foolishness heaped with double portions of extra strong foolishness on top of even more foolishness. No one should have headed into that power core. The man was an idiot, is what he was,” the Dr. snarled, emotion getting the better of him after over eighteen hours of continuous surgery.
“How can you say that,” gasped the orderly, for the first time actively disagreeing with the doctor.
The grey haired old man frowned at her and then sighed, slumping back in his chair. “That’s not to say when we get in contact with Capria again, I’m not going to nominate him for Parliamentary Iron Cross, because I am,” he said firmly. “But going into a power core…a cracked power core, leaking lethal amounts of radiation by the millisecond in nothing more than a light load suit was nothing less than a death sentence,” he said despairingly, “the man should have known better.”
“He risked his life to save others, and that kind of sacrifice shouldn't be trodden upon” the orderly said firmly, before getting up out of her own chair. “Now, let's go get you out of here. I’m prescribing a hot shower and some warm food, immediately followed by a trip to bed,” she said strictly.
The grey haired Doctor quirked his lips tiredly, “Only a physician or a doctor can officially prescribe anything,” he said.
Looking rebellious, the orderly opened her mouth.
The doctor hastily held up a hand. “That’s not to say you're in any way wrong,” he said hurriedly. With a groan and the creak of several joints, he laboriously climbed to his feet.
“Which way’s the door, dear,” he sighed, “I’m so exhausted I can’t even remember which way leads back to my quarters. Getting old I fear.”
"Right this way doctor," replied the orderly, taking the elderly doctor by the arm.
Behind them an eye popped open and glared at the ceiling in slowly mounting fury as his body refused to give heed to his quite reasonable demands to get up and let the pair of dumb quacks that just left the room know that he was still very much alive.
A light load suit! What kind of fools did they take him for?! Why, he’d been in a heavy load suit and holding a section of duralloy, to boot!
The brief surge of fury subsided and he slowly faded back into darkness. Perhaps they were right and it was time to let go and just give in to Saint Murphy’s sweet embrace as his spirit was transported to the great workshop in the sky. As he contemplated oblivion, his awareness began to slip.
Just before he faded completely, something about the structural load-bearing crossbeams caught his attention. The darkness was so tempting with its soft, warm embrace. Soft and warm, were things an old man came to appreciate more and more as time went by. Quite warm, he thought with a sigh.
Determined, he let his eye sag shut along with the rest of his body.
But something about those crossbeams was off. He tried to ignore it but the blasted problem just wouldn’t leave his mind. It kept churning and churning and churning without getting resolved. Finally, he had no choice but to wake up enough to fix it so he could get on with dying properly.
Eye feeling like it was filled with sand, it felt like it took several minute to drag it open. He gazed at the crossbeams without seeing for several long moments. Then with a sudden jerk he spotted what had been bothering him.
It was hard, but he managed to move his eye far enough to see where the crossbeams intersected with the structural supports built into the wall. 'Too big,' he thought with rising irritation. Medical was too far away for anything that size to be running through it. And that’s if the bunch of idiots had decided to waste their time remodeling the place after the last battle. Not that he’d put much past that ornery old doctor. Pulling a team of engineers away from the ship to remodel his infirmary when they were needed elsewhere sounded just like something that old goat would get up to.
But no, even then those beams were just too big. His eyes traced the crossbeams and the supports slightly faster than before. He wanted to sleep, or die, but first he had to figure out where he was. Had medical been holed in the fire fight and they were moved closer to one of the main bones of the ship?
Then the fact that the walls were painted an ugly color of puke puce registered. Feeling as if each thought had to be forced through a faulty hydraulic pump, he wondered why, since they didn’t carry that color of paint in supply, someone had made up a batch with such a hideous color to it and repainted.
Then a thought so horrible, so wretchedly, impossibly awful that it must be true occurred to him. He had just about every schematic of the ship memorized and down cold. There was no area on the ship with those size crossbeams, structural supports and that ugly color of paint. Not even from back when Captain Falcon had tried to repaint deck 11 a strange green color.
That meant that logically, there was only one conclusion to be drawn. Why, even now it occurred to him those size structural supports had no business on a Battleship, but were almost certainly factory standard for a Star Base or space station.
Those blue-faced blighters, they’d shanghaied him and taken him off the ship! They couldn’t even let him die in peace!
Then a second horrible thought occurred to him. Maybe he was wrong and this really was the afterlife. This could be the Demon’s revenge for spitting in his eye and daring to save the ship from a timely end back in the power core. Maybe he’d been judged, found wanting and eternally condemned to live out the rest of his afterlife here, on a poorly-assembled space station, and with the use of only one eye!
Yes, this was Hades, the very place, he moaned. It wasn’t much of a moan, hardly even the barest hint of one, but it was faintly audible.
'Oh Murphy, where did I go wrong,' he wondered. Was it because he’d gone too easy on the men when he’d caught them slacking off? Perhaps that faulty coupling he reinstalled after jerry rigging it so it would last long enough that it wouldn’t break down again until the end of his shift and someone else could fix it? Maybe it was that time he’d tossed out half a pallet of perfectly good environmental equipment because it had been mislabeled and he hadn’t bothered to visually check if the barcode in the system matched the actual equipment in the pallet.
If he’d only known then what he knew now, he would have gone back and signed every single form in triplicate and accepted the very valid reprimand from his supervisor in his file.
Something twitched. He would have sworn it was his finger, but everything felt wrong. Almost like that time he’d had a temporary mechanical prosthesis installed because he hadn’t wanted to be off the Clover long enough for them to slow grow him a new hand. After all, an Engineer who couldn’t make use of any mechanical device known to man wasn’t much of an Engineer, in his opinion.
Except perhaps for some of that medical equipment they kept down in medical. It wasn’t right for a man to know too much about the inner workings of the human body, in his opinion. That’s what you paid professionals like that dumb quack of a doctor for. Give him a faulty hyperdrive past the point of no return any day of the week over digging through the mysteries of the human body.
He shuddered and the blanket slipped. He tried to frown but his face felt stiff, and all that happened was a few muscles twitched. The last thing he needed in here was a draft up his nether regions, he was too old, and too sick for such nonsense.
He must have dozed off at some point because the next thing he knew, the bed was in motion.
“I’ve got to take this one down to the ejection port, poor fool got himself cut in half,” said a voice somewhere behind him. Close behind. “No way they can put you back together after that. You’d have to practically fall into a regeneration tank immediately afterwards to have any chance.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Who’ve you got over there?” asked the same voice.
“Just some old Engineer those Confederals are all worked up over,” sniffed a slightly higher voice. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I mean if there’s one thing we’ve got plenty of, it's engineers.”
“Yeah,” muttered the first voice, “hey, slow down a mike.”
“Sure, what’s up?” said the second.
“The monitoring system hasn’t been installed in this hall yet. You want a toke?” said the first.
“I suppose…just a couple puffs, though,” warned the second.
There soon followed the sound of a pair of ill-begotten slackers lighting up a pair of illegal smokes.
“Ah, that’s better,” said the first.
“Some fine weed there, my man. Where’d you get it?” asked the second.
“Hydroponics garden over in environmental,” the first bragged, “they’re so short of hands that when I volunteered to help monitor one of the smaller outlaying gardens, they all but fell over themselves giving me the access codes. Now in addition to endless rows of soy beans, I got me a decent sideline in smoke weed,” he finished smugly.
“You’ve got a pair of big brass ones on you, that’s for sure, Steg,” chuckled the second voice.
“Got to keep your eye on the prize, friend. Eye on the prize,” said the first voice, this illicit smoke weed grower named Steg.
“Anyway, got to run this corpscicle down to the ejection port. Can’t spend the whole day in this corridor,” said Steg.
On one of the stretchers an eye popped open and it burned with silent fury.
“I’ll go with you the rest of the way,” said the second voice, this ‘friend’. “After we eject your guy, we can dump mine and head over to level 54. I hear they’ve got a card game and a liquor still over there, and none of the officers bother to check because the level is still on a construction hold as a non-critical task.
On the stretcher a finger twitched.
The stretcher started moving again. “I mean, I appreciate the way these Confed types saved us from being conscripted by the Impies, but do you realize how many credits worth of equipment and treatments have been wasted on this guy alone,” asked the second voice, giving the stretcher a good shake.
As the bed he was laying in rocked from side to side, one by one his fingers curled until all five had clenched into a fist.
“How much, Philip,” inquired Steg, sounding interested.
“Moron went into a power core and got himself irradiated,” sneered the second voice, now identified by his weed smoking partner as Philip, “I looked up how much it would have cost, to get this kind of treatment back home.”
There was a pause.
“Well don’t leave me hanging,” demanded Steg.
“Over a million credits just for the radiation treatment and organ rebuild. But get this,” Philip said sounding outraged, “they went and built this whole cutting-edge medical facility because of this fool here. That’s hundreds of millions in equipment, if you calculate how much it would have cost to hire a Constructor to come to your system and build it for you.”
“These Confederals sure do have a good scam going on here, conscripting for free what would have cost them big-time if they were paying what we were worth,” agreed Steg, he sounded almost admiring of what he clearly considered just another big scam.
On the bed a jaw tightened and stiff fingers opened and closed impotently.
“Well let's finish dropping off these two ‘heroes’ to their just desserts and see about getting us some whiskey!” said Philip.
“A capital idea, my good man,”’ agreed Steg, putting on airs and generally playing the dancing monkey for the payout of a few laughs.
On the stretcher, muscles twitched and both his arms started jerking back and forth. Everything felt off but there was nothing he could about that right now. The pair of slacking fools was too busy speculating about their card game to notice one of their two dead men was still very much alive.
Eventually they passed through a pair of blast doors and entered a large room.
“For your service to the Confederated…” started Steg only to grind to a halt. “I don’t know why they make us actually say last rites, it seems like nothing but a big waste of time to me. I mean dead is dead, you feel me?”
“I’m not sure I agree with you there, Steg,” said Philip sounding uneasy. “A man ought to at least have a decent burial.”
“Oh whatever,” snorted Steg, there was the sound of a touch screen being used, and a prerecorded tape of a minister of some sort performing a burial service came over the speakers.
“That seems a bit disrespectful of the dead,” muttered Philips. “Hey what are you doing, you’re supposed to space him!”
“What, and let him go to waste,” exclaimed Steg incredulously. “There’s enough biomass here after I run him through the waste recycler to grow a good eighty pounds of smoke. Weed farms don’t just grow themselves, you know.”
“You’re going to recycle him? I mean, actually recycle him and turn him into…” Philip sounded sick, “Space Gods, are you telling me every time I’ve been smoking a stoogie I’ve been sucking down the remains of an actual human being!?”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Steg said condescendingly, “on a planet everything gets recycled. If humans have been living there long enough, I guarantee you’ve eaten a few molecules of great grandpa whoever.”
“That’s different!” yelled Philip.
“How,” demanded Steg. “I break him down into component parts and use them to fertilize my crop. How is that different from what happens naturally when you bury a guy in six feet of dirt down on a planet instead?”
“It just is!” said Philip. “Wait stop, you can’t do that. Oh, Murphy,” said Philip.
The sound of a body being pushed into a waste recycler reached the ears of the man on the stretcher. It was a sound he would never forget.
Philip, the only one of the two with anything resembling a conscience, started making sounds like he was throwing up.
“Come on, let's-" started the one called Steg, appearing at the side of the stretcher he was laying on. The errant illegal weed farmer didn’t get any farther than that before he was interrupted by a hand that rose up to grab hold of his jumpsuit.
“What the Hades,” said Steg his voice raising an entire octave until it was as shrill a shriek as any a teenage girl might call her own.
The man on the stretcher pulled this 'Steg' in his grip close enough he could get a look at the crewman’s face. Steg looked so pale it was amazing.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, sonny,” said the man on the stretcher. The words were supposed to come out as a growing roar but all that emerged was a raspy wheeze, “But I ain’t dead yet, and there’s no way you’re throwin' me in that waste recycler,” he rasped, then with a surge of strength he threw the rating into the wall behind him. It was a good six feet away.
For a moment the elderly man was confused, then he shook it off. “First thing that dumb quack’s done right since he first put me under the knife,” he wheezed, “gave me my strength back,” he muttered with satisfaction.
Then he caught a hint of motion out of the corner of his eye.
With a gasp, he rolled his head over. Steg scooted back until he hit the wall and then scrambled to his feet. Philip merely looked on in horror.
“Well come on, you pair of blue-faced blighters! Come try and finish what you started” barked the old engineer. “I’ll take you both together. I’ll tear you all apart,” he raged, and with a herculean effort powered by nothing but pure will, the engineer threw his legs over the side of the bed.
His center of gravity was off somehow and instead of putting his feet underneath him, he lost his balance and fell to the door with a clang. 'That didn’t sound right,' he thought with surprise. Had they strapped a pair of metal boots on him?
Then the pair of would-be illicit gamblers charged in his direction.
“Argh!” he yelled flailing with his left hand. There was a clicking sound and for an instant his fingers suddenly felt…well, they felt funny. Then one by one they ignited, a two inch beam of nothing but pure plasma shooting out the ends.
“I’ll be jiggered,” said the old engineer, suddenly transfixed by his hand. “They put mini-plasma torches in my fingers!”
“Hey you,” he roared, taking a belated swipe at the two crewmen as they ran around him and slapped open the blast doors prior to fleeing the room.
“Cowards,” he screamed after them, “you’ll throw a man in the recycler if he’s stiff as a board, but he shows a bit of pluck and you’re off like a light!”
The two spacehands ran down the corridor until even the sounds of their footsteps couldn’t be heard.
Still laying on the floor, he stared at his fingers. Wiggling them back and forth, he watched as the plasma weaved its hypnotic dance. Just to make sure, he tried to curl one of his fingers but as soon as he did, the flame on that finger cut out.
More than a little horrified, he watched as the finger tip popped back over the top of the plasma exhaust port, just like the cap of a smoker’s lighter being closed over the flame. Pointing a still burning fingertip at the floor, he watched with satisfaction as the flame slowly ate away at the duralloy metal it was constructed out of.
“At least they didn’t install substandard hardware,” he harrumphed before realizing what he’d just said. “I’ll be blowed,” he exclaimed, cutting off the flames by curling each finger, and bringing the hand close up to his face. Synthi-flesh that looked almost good enough to fool the human eye (almost, but not good enough for this wizened spacehand) met his disbelieving gaze.
“That quack cut off my entire paw!” he yelled in outrage, using his good hand to pull back the sleeve of the hospital gown he was dressed in. He couldn’t tell how far up the artificial arm stopped and his real one began.
The sound of running feet returning in his direction snapped him out of his contemplative mood.
Turning a fierce glare at the door way, he tried to get to his feet but his legs were slow to respond at first. When they did, servos whined. In disbelief he looked down at solid metal where his legs used to be.
“Those look like...droid legs,” he gasped in outrage.
The blast doors cycled open a third time and the first familiar face he’d seen since waking up entered the room.
“Chief, you’re awake!” Gants cried happily. “Why are you on the floor?” The former engineering rating started to hurry over.
“Now slow down and wait just a bloomin' second,” snapped the old engineer, leveling the pointer finger of his good hand at Gants.
Then to his horror, that finger split in half and fell forward, a miniature multi-tool emerging in the space between his thumb and middle finger. It looked like it was designed to be grasped by the thumb and rest of his hand.
“Droid legs and a-a-a multi-tool,” he cried, befuddled at this third mind-shattering change in as many minutes.
“Isn’t it great, Chief! I knew you’d like it. We altered the specs off one of the Constructor Robots, top of the line Imperial technology all the way” said Gants, then seeing the expression on his face, he added, “since you needed a prosthesis, anyway,” he finished, sounding much more cautious.
“A mulit-tool,” said the old engineer his voice rising. “First fingers that aren’t fingers, then droid legs I can’t even use. And-and-and a multi-tool!”
“I know it might seem like a bit much to take in right now,” Gants said, sounding consoling.
He wasn’t having any of it. Consolation was for children and errant space hands who’d done no wrong but for some reason ended up off the deep end trying to swim.
“You let that-that QUACK cut off both me paws Gants, and replace them with a multi-tool!?” demanded the old man.
“We had to do it to save your life, Sir!” said Gants, for the first time sounding like a man and not a mouse, but it was too little, too late.
“A MULTI-TOOL!” raged the man on the floor. “Droid legs and a MULTI-TOOL,” he roared furiously, his voice returning to something close to its usual strength.
“I see someone’s starting to regain his strength,” said Doctor Presbyter, whose presence had gone unnoticed for a few seconds.
“Argh!” shrieked the old engineer, deliberately activating the mini-plasma torch installed into each of his fingers. With a roll and a wild swipe of his hands, he tried to go on the attack. “This is Hades, and Saint Murphy strike me blind if you’re not his favored Servant,” he cried at the old quack.
Unfortunately, Presbyter hopped back and out of the way. All his fingers did was swipe at the air between them ineffectively.
“Call me when the histrionics are over and he’s settled down enough to be reasoned with,” the grey haired doctor said coldly and left the room, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Chief, we woke you up early because we need you,” cried Gants, obviously trying to fill his head with lies.
“A multi-tool,” fumed the elderly man on the floor, holding up his right hand and waving it in Gants face before clenching that hand into a fist to hide the most wretched, untrustworthy tool ever designed by man or AI. With a wild look he moved back his left hand. “Come closer Gants, I’ve something I want to show you.”
Looking uneasy, the former engineering rating and head of the Lucky Clover's Armory took a step back. No fool, his time in engineering had obviously taught him well.
“Chief, please, we really do need you. We’re having a heck of a time with the refit, everyone’s arguing about the right way to fix up the ship but no one has the authority to make a decision and make it stick,” said Gants slamming a fist into his thigh in obvious frustration.
“Oh I believe you of course, son,” said the old man, “just come over here, a little closer and we can hash it all out,” he said, sickeningly sweet reason dripping from his voice.
With a sigh, Gants went over to the control panel embedded in the way and pressed a series of buttons. The metal wall slid apart with a hiss, revealing a giant porthole. While mildly interesting, the porthole itself wasn’t what caught the attention of the man on the floor.
“That’s a blooming space dock,” cried the old engineer, “and-,” his eyes flitted up to check the structural supports in this room, just like the last pair he looked at these were also oversized, “we’re on a blasted Space Station, Gants,” he cried, his desire to use his built-in plasma torches on the other man fading.
Desperately his eyes searched outside the porthole. Almost instantly he registered two different objects, but neither was what he was looking for. One was too big, and obviously a Constructor. The other was too small, and it matched the profile of that Impie warship captained by that Cornwallis whelp. “Where is she?” he asked, his eye rolling around as he tried to catch a view of the only thing that mattered.
“Where is what, Sir,” said Gants looking as guilty as sin.
“The Clover, you blooming idjit, whatever else would I be talking about?! What have you done with the blasted ship!” barked the older man, his voice a mixture of frenzy and panic.
“I don’t know where she is, Chief,” Gants said, tugging on his collar and starting to sweat.
“You don’t know where she is,” he echoed in a much-too-reasonable voice. “You don’t know where she is,” he repeated, his voice turning threateningly cold. “How the blazes do you manage to misplace an entire Battleship, Gants,” roared Chief Engineer Terrence Spalding.
Gants shrugged helplessly.
Spalding goggled at him. “If you don’t know where the ship is, do you at least know where we are,” he demanded, scorn dripping from his voice.
Gants slowly nodded and gestured outside.
“Welcome to the Admiral’s Gambit, Chief,” he said. Then he pointed to the floor.
“Welcome to Gambit Station.”