Table of Contents

Prologue - In a Broken-Down Starship

Prologue II - Davenport Seeds the Spine

Chapter 1 - Gone Fishing

Chapter 2 - Isaak’s Trial

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

● Admiral’s Throne:l

Book 14

Prologue

In a Broken-Down Starship

“Why am I stuck in a broken-down starship, lost somewhere on the rim of known space?” Po’ta asked rhetorically. Uncle just gave him the hairy eyeball and turned back to his console with a grunt. They’d been stranded out here in the middle of nowhere with a cracked main hyper-dish and a hyper-field generator that needed replacement parts.

And they were going nowhere until both were fixed.

“Next time, we ignore the Seer and we go by the most direct path to exactly where we know the guy we need to find is located!” snapped the nephew. “Crossing through imperial space would have been less hazardous than this.”

“The Seer said we wouldn’t find what we needed unless we took the long route,” said his uncle.

“Forget the Seer’s cryptic comments and vague answers, and for once in your lifetime, take a look around. If we’d just ignored the creature, we’d at least have had the chance to present our case. The way things are going, this ship is headed nowhere fast. It doesn’t matter what we were supposed to do, if we don’t live long enough to actually do it!” shouted Po’ta.

“I have faith,” said his uncle.

“I don’t care about the ways of our people, the stalwart ways or the blasted moral code itself! Ye space gods and basic apes, Uncle,” cried Po’ta.

“Yes, of course; the next time I’m speaking with a creature that can read my mind, I’ll be sure to lie to it after it tells me the name of the only person who can save our people from extinction and the only way to get there, Nephew,” yelled Storm.

“There’s never been independent confirmation that those… things, can read your mind!” Po’ta said in a rising voice.

“Well, I know what I know,” Storm said flatly, “what’s the point of asking a thing for its advice if you’re not going to take it? In that case, we might as well have stayed home!”

He took a deep breath. “Just have a little faith, and we’ll get through this. Remember the teachings—”

“Faith-faith-faith-faith-faith!” shouted Po’ta. “It’s not a misguided belief in something greater than ourselves that’s going to get us out of here, Uncle. It’s spare parts for our field generator and a welding droid or auto-welder.”

“You have mistaken me, Po’ta. It’s not the code or our ways that I have faith in. I believe in us. We will make it through this as a family and, together, we will save our people from—” said Uncle Storm passionately, right before he was interrupted by a beep at the communications console. Both males’ eyes widened as they whipped around to stare at the sensor screen.

“Although I’ll happily take any help the supernatural forces of the universe decide to throw our way,” Uncle Storm said fervently.

Po’ta gave him a withering look but was too elated to argue, instead choosing to lunge for the com-console before Storm could claim the seat for himself.

“This is the Midnight Ride out of Under-hiem, Captain Po speaking. Is anyone over there interested in a trade?” he blurted out.

The other side accepted the com request and opened a channel.

Uncle Storm’s hand landed on Po’ta’s shoulder with a heavy force.

“I knew my faith was not misplaced,” he said with a chuckle.

“I want to strangle you so much right now,” said his nephew.

“Come again, Midnight Ride?” exclaimed a voice on the other side of the com-channel.

“Sorry there, friend; the old family dog just peed all over the side of the communications console. I was talking to it,” Po’ta said quickly.

“Not a problem. I know how it is on a family-run ship. You’re out here for long periods of time and need something to keep your mind sane,” the other man said, his voice easing slightly. “Anyway, Captain Po is it? That name Chinese or something?”

Meanwhile, Uncle Storm looked at Po’ta thunderously.

“Or something,” Po’ta agreed wryly, fending off Storm’s hands as the older male tried to lean in and take over communications, “but you’ve got the name right.”

Storm finally turned away in a huff, muttering to himself about a lack of respect in the younger generations of the family.

“I hear that. Lots of oddities out here in the black that a man has to get used to, so we’re up for trade if you are,” the other Captain said after a moment.

“Bring your ship over and send us an umbilical, we’ll get ready for a swap,” said Po’ta.

“Not so fast,” said the other man, “I’ll send a shuttle over first to take a gander, but only because I have a guy married to my cousin I don’t mind risking if you lot are playing dirty. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but well,” he hesitated, the sad fact is, I don’t trust you; you can’t trust anyone nowadays, could be a pirate or a reaver or any fool thing. But before that, why don’t you send me over a list and I’ll send you one back. We’ll see if the other has anything that we’re willing to swap around before we start risking crew and family.” He paused a beat. “We’ll also take credits at a discounted rate of course.”

“An old dog, is it?” Strom rumbled.

“Not now,” Po’ta hissed and then activated his com-device.

“Not a problem,” Po’ta replied. “Just so you know, in addition to a hold full of reconditioned machinery, I’ve got a case of used blaster technology you might be interested in. Old imperial rifles, pistols and such, good tech if a little long in the tooth but like you say, you can never be too careful out here in the dark,” he said without missing a beat.

There was a pause.

“My cousin will be in armor,” the other voice said cautiously.

“I thought you were sending the husband?” Po’ta replied with a grin. Yes, he thought silently, we’re not some old unarmed freighter, easy pickings for anyone with a mind for it.

“Cousin-in-law and he doesn’t shoot nearly as well as she does, so make sure to send him back to us in one piece,” the other man corrected with a chuckle, “either which way, send me your manifest and I’ll see if we can’t get down to some serious haggling.”

“Not a problem,” said Po’ta, triggering the file to send.

When an answering beep showed they had a matching file from the other ship, he turned away with a sigh.

“A dog!” growled his uncle.

“Well you sound just like one,” snorted Po’ta.

Storm punched him in the arm.

“Ow!” he exclaimed, jerking away and rubbing his arm.

“Not as old as I look,” his uncle sounded self-satisfied. “You’d do well to remember that not just any old male gets to make it on the Elders’ Council!”

The console chimed again.

“Looks like we can make a trade,” said the other Captain.

“Send over your cousin’s husband,” said Po’ta.

Prologue II:

Davenport Seeds the Spine

Two weeks after taking Speaker Isaak into custody

“Isn’t this a direct and deliberate violation of the Dictates of Man?” the Commander asked with distaste.

Admiral Magnus Davenport’s lip curled and he looked down his nose at the other man.

“I am not in the habit of being questioned by junior officers,” he said strictly, before continuing in a more moderate voice. “However, this time and only this once, I will answer the question.”

“In primus,” he lifted a finger, “technically speaking, it is only the use and utilization of bugs or other biological weapons of mass destruction on ‘imperial’ ships, citizens, and followers of man, or those planets under the protection of the Empire, that is a crime. None of which happen to apply to the inhabitants of the Spine,” he said flatly. “The days of the Confederated Empire are long past and once this war is over, the old Confederation will either have to get its act together or find itself relegated to the trash bin of history.”

The Commander looked at him levelly.

“Even if it doesn’t break the letter of the law, it still violates the spirit,” he replied evenly.

Davenport’s eyes turned red.

“The spirit in which those laws were handed down to us was to protect humanity and the empire from the rampant use of weapons of mass destruction. Not to shield the users of bio-tech weapons after they have successfully carried out an attack of their own and killed an imperial senator, possibly setting back the agenda of the empire by years, if not decades or centuries, Commander!” he said angrily.

“What about the rumors going around that Praetor Cornwallis died by the hands of the very weapons he himself attempted to set loose on the helpless civilians of the Spineward Sectors?” pointed out the Commander.

“None of that’s been confirmed,” Admiral Magnus dismissed, “for all you and I know, it’s all only a smoke screen to cover the actions of a rogue military and a government that we, unfortunately, can’t move against while still actively engaged in a war with the Gorgons. Not with the old Confederation breathing down our necks at the same time anyway,” he said harshly.

“And not while that same old Confederation is preparing to hand over three previously retired battle fleets in exchange for clear title to the Spine, Sir?” asked the Commander.

Davenport looked at him coldly.

“Sorry, Sir,” the Commander said, face blanking, “you’re right, of course; we’re not in the business of covering for WMD violators and it doesn’t technically violate the dictates.”

“Exactly. The Spineward Sectors wants to play games?” asked Magnus, his voice turning cold, “well I am prepared to show them that we in the Empire are past masters at playing games.”

Before returning to the Empire, the fleet train of 5th Fleet split up and made stops at dozens of worlds throughout the Spine.

First, imperial warships arrived to scout the area and then much larger transport ships appeared several AU beyond each system’s hyperlimit to avoid detection and began to release their cargos near a series of pre-staged asteroids, comets or other interstellar bodies that had been identified as containing sufficient biomass for future operations.

Hours and sometimes days after the imperials jumped away, the cargo began to stir and then wake up. The first thing it did was move toward the nearest identifiable source of biomass.

Then once that was completed, they began to build and reproduce. When every last scrap of biomass had been converted, the newly-built bugships turned toward the life-giving radiation of the nearest star.

All over the seven sectors of the Spine, bug Swarms began to move on their carefully-selected target worlds.

Chapter 1

Gone Fishing

Two years after exile from the Spineward Sectors…

For the hundredth time today, I cast my line into the sea and slowly reeled it back in.

This was the life. Mornings and evenings spent with Akantha and the children, well at least when she wasn’t holding court. A five-year backlog for a newly-created queendom will do that to a woman. I’d know. I’d been dragged into enough courtly functions, mostly against my will, that I’d practically become an expert I thought with a grimace. On the plus side, attending Messene’s court and practically being strong-armed into learning the local dialect were distractions enough from the main reason I was no longer riding a starship and fighting the good fight.

On one hand, it was liberating to have all the free time and no longer be fighting for my life. On the other, the people of the Spine no longer seemed to care that they didn’t need one Jason Montagne or his Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet out on patrol, protecting the space ways from pirates, bugs and stray warlords. In short no one missed me and if I was being honest, that was a bigger blow to my ego than I’d expected.

Which was still fine, if it continued to give me more family time and the first chance I’d had in years to enjoy myself, it just… stung.

Closing my eyes, I leaned into the wind and felt the cool, stiff breeze on my face. Well, okay, maybe bracing or even downright chilly would have been better words, but with the sun warm on my face and the thick thermal jacket and shades I’d wisely come equipped with, it would do.

Cast and reel, reel and cast, then rinse and repeat before doing it all over again in one endless series of repetitive motions, all taking place as I thought of absolutely nothing at all. This was the life. The brass ring I’d fought for all those years ago… No one’s life at risk, except my own, and no one to berate me for not doing enough for them as I focused on properly casting the hook and line where it needed to go and on the movements of my body as I reeled it back in, nothing more and nothing less.

Pure bliss. The brass ring, whatever you called it, was all mine. No lives rested on my decisions, save those of the sea creatures I was hunting and since they liked to snack on hapless tourists and snatch wayward children straight off the beach, given half a chance, I couldn’t care less about them. Looking at it a certain way, I wasn’t taking the day to play hooky and go fishing, rather I was performing a lifesaving public service!

A legend in my own mind or at least so I kept telling myself… well, when I was thinking of anything at all, which I most decidedly was not, I firmly reminded myself as I drew the rod back over my shoulder and prepared to cast.

Taking a deep breath, the stiff sea breeze heavy with the scent of salt filled my nose, and the only cares I had were those the world threw at me and the ones I chose for myself. Nothing more but certainly nothing less.

A man couldn’t ask for more.

A loud zing sounded as something took the bait and ran, dragging the line from my reel away with it, sidled up to my moment of Zen, rubbed its head against my legs like an insistent cat and called for action.

I smiled.

<Zing>

<Zing>

<Zing>

There was a breach as a giant creature broke the surface of the sea, throwing itself in the air.

The distant roar that accompanied this rose above the general clamor of sea waves hitting the large spur of rock I was perched atop, and the entire ocean seemed to go crazy.

Breaking out of the salty sea water, the sea monster on the end of my line screamed defiance and within less than a second, entire hunting pods or family groups—I wasn’t entirely sure which it was and didn’t really care enough to find out—of giant sea monsters went crazy.

Something a little less than one hundred of the monsters jumped and writhed on the surface of the water, attacking anything and everything in sight, if it got too close or just in easy reach of each other.

Riding the fishing pole with my entire body mass, I simultaneously worked the reel for all I was worth as I tried to fight the giant twenty-foot-long sea monster on the other end of line to a standstill. Below me, there was the sound of a loud crashing and one of the multi-tentacled sea monsters threw itself at the base of cliff beneath me and… promptly bounced off the force fields I’d had installed to keep them from collapsing the rocky ledge, or even worse, climbing up to get me.

Just another day on the sunny beach of Messene City, I smirked.

Leaning back as my two-ton test line continued to zing-zing-zing away from me, I forced the tip of my fishing pole up as I walked back. One. Two. Three steps, and the back of my legs hit the chair.

“I’m going to haul this one in. See if I don’t!” I cheered as another sea monster took aim at the creature I’d just hooked and, as if turning on a dime, now my monster was running back toward me. Now, instead of taking the line faster than I could reel it back in, I had the opposite problem and it was all I could do to take the line back in before it snagged on something else!

“Yee-ha!” I screamed, thumb guiding the line as I reeled the slack in and tried to guide my monster away from a third sea-monster leaving a V-shape in its wake as it charged toward my catch with sideways pulls on my pole.

I jerked and tugged on the reel, and for a moment, it looked like I still had a chance at landing the thing when the other monster put on a burst of speed and slammed into its side.

Blood started to fill the water as the two leviathans tore into each other and I worried for my hook. I only had a dozen of the things. Once they were gone, I had to give up and go home for the day.

For a minute, I thought all was lost and then my sea beast pulled itself away, leaving a trail of blood behind as it went. It was going in the wrong direction but a few tugs of the pole later and it was headed back on a course parallel to the shore.

“Work it, baby! We’ll have some sea steaks tonight,” I said, using pole and reel to bring the creature closer to the shore, all the while ignoring the incensed creatures slamming themselves against the force field below me.

Ever closer to the shore swam my limper and it was finally to the point I was actually starting to feel hopeful.

The last gauntlet was still ahead but I could feel it; this one was a keeper, a winner in other words, with the will to survive!

Placing the butt of the pole into the holder on the right arm of the chair, I fumbled around for the blaster rifle attached to the holster built into the left arm. Once the sea monster got close enough, I was going to have to fight for my dinner with the rest of the beasts, which was why I needed make sure the power cell was in and the rifle ready to go.

I had just thumbed the blaster rifle active and returned my attention to the pole, when I heard the sound of a throat clearing behind me.

I ignored it in favor of reeling in more line.

“I hate to interrupt—” started someone, a man, by the voice.

“Then don’t,” I cut in, determined to ignore whoever it was, especially considering I was pretty certain I recognized them. Not entirely certain, understand, but…

Several minutes of blessed silence followed. I half thought whoever it was had taken the hint and left for greener pastures, when out of the blue my ‘non-conversational’ partner decided to make another sally.

“What are you doing out here? If I may be so bold,” he eventually asked.

I immediately tensed up. I couldn’t help it. Hearing that voice confirmed things and now I knew exactly who it was. I also had no intention of catering to whatever his desires were. This was my free day and I was out fishing.

I deliberately untensed. Never let them see you sweat was part of my motto.

“Why here?” he prompted and I could just imagine him looking down at the vicious sea monsters below my rocky spur, all of them eager to kill and eat me.

“What can I say? I’m sitting on a beach earning twenty percent,” I said flippantly. I’d heard it in an old holo-vid about some bank robbers and it sounded cool, so I decided to run with it.

“Some beach you have here, Admiral,” he replied.

I nodded breezily.

“It really is. It makes the saying really mean something, about how it’s not what you’ve got that’s important, it’s wanting what you’ve got,” I said, more than willing to fill the air with random noise and mindless platitudes all day long if that was what it would take for him to give up and go away.

Nothing to see here, I silently instructed, projecting my desire to be left alone out into the ether, just another broken-down sedentary fisherman working to bring home the bacon so the family could have a fish fry later on tonight.

“Surely, you want to do more with your life than sit here killing mindless sea monsters for sport,” he said.

“I don’t know. It may look like it’s all fun and games, but I’m still performing a public service,” I said seriously; meanwhile, vicious eighteen-or twenty-foot serial killers threw themselves at the cliff face in an attempt to eat me.

“Dragging in sea monsters?” he asked gravely.

“Someone’s got to do it,” I nodded, “these things will eat people right off the beach and it’s not like this is my full-time job. I’m a family man now, with kids and responsibilities and all that. Did I mention the kids? They could use a second mention… I can finally give them the time they deserve. It’s actually a relief in many ways,” I riposted.

“How so?” he asked.

“Why, because they actually seem to appreciate it when I do something for them,” I deadpanned.

There was a pause as my latest sally was digested.

“Is this really what you aspire to? Hunting down killer sea monsters with rod and reel,” he stressed after another break in the conversation.

“Well, Judge,” I said wryly, “I used to aspire to a great deal more. I was even willing to lay down my life for those hopes, dreams and aspirations. Life, liberty, the Spineward Sectors and all that rot,” I continued blithely, “but as you are well aware, my actions were not much appreciated and I was exiled to my wife’s rocky, sparsely-populated planet the moment it became politically expedient to do so.”

“I understand your anger and feelings of betrayal. But we were all placed in an untenable situation, Admiral. At least you had the power to impact the course of events, no matter how badly that attempt ultimately turned,” Kong Pao said unhappily. “Unfortunately the empire had us over a barrel and there was little we could do. They still do in many ways, if you listen to CNN.”

“I try to avoid CNN,” I lied. I’d turned into an avid news hog the further I’d moved from the levers of power. “Too much fake news about me personally, you understand.”

“That said, supposing I were a man who aspired to something more than what I have here. You know, a planet that needs me, a family that deeply loves me for my efforts and consistently fails to revile me. I might feel forced to point out that from a strictly military standpoint, our situation back then was far from impossible. I might be compelled to say that seeing as how we had the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, Manning’s First Fleet, another full-on fleet fresh from Sector 22 stationed on the border of Sector 24/25… and when factoring in Admiral Davenport’s orders to avoid serious losses to the Imperial 5th Fleet. Well if we’d had anything resembling balls, we had anything but an impossible situation on our hands. But I digress,” I said, turning and flashing a smile.

In my quick look, I took in the distinguished Asian-looking man behind me, his clothes in disarray from the strong wind at the top of my fishing spot. Yep, it was the Sector Judge.

“Thankful for all involved, I have better things to do than reflect on those past aspirations and any resulting grudges I might be forced to feel, or even seek justice or retribution for if I were to start looking backward instead of forward, or any which way you might term it instead of being content to tending my affairs here at home,” I finished with a hint of frost in my voice.

“We can argue about justice as far as the day is long and I’ll add that retribution isn’t justice and holding a grudge helps no one and nothing, but we can agree to disagree,” Kong Pao said wearily.

“I know there is more here than the carefree fisherman I see before me. Unless what you’re trying to tell me is you’ve set aside all those warships you captured, along with your ambitions and left them to sit in orbit? That all those warships I saw on my way in the system are carefully constructed illusions? Otherwise, I’d have to say Tracto’s system defense force has never been so numerous or so strong.”

“If that’s a roundabout way of asking if I’m a full-time house husband, the answer’s no. On the other side, if I keep my hand in with the fleet, then let’s just say our expansion efforts haven’t gone as smoothly as I’d like, but with time, we’re getting there. Despite all the roadblocks the new government has thrown our way with their trade restrictions and embargos,” I said coolly.

“That’s… not exactly what I was asking but it is comforting, in its own way,” the Judge said, letting out a breath and at my inquiring look he added, “at least I haven’t come to the wrong place.”

“Oh, you’ve definitely come to the wrong place, Judge Pao,” I assured him.

“While I’m glad you find comfort in Tracto’s continued military expansion, you can kindly see yourself out. I’d say through the front door but since we don’t have one, feel free to beat it,” I said turning back to my pole only to realize the line had snapped at some point while I’d been talking and only the self-clamping holder built into my chair had kept me from losing the pole too.

“Blast it all! That was a two-ton test line,” I cursed.

“If you would just listen to my proposal,” started the Judge.

“Nope. Not interested,” I said.

“Admiral,” he tried again.

“I asked you to leave nicely,” I said flatly.

“The Spine is in trouble. I’m afraid—” said Kong Pao.

“You’re beginning to test my patience, Judge, and that’s not a very safe place to be. If the Spine wanted my opinion, all they have to do is rescind the order of exile,” I interrupted with a warning.

There was a pause.

“We need you, Jason,” the Judge tried a different tack and I immediately tensed up.

Smoothing out my blaster rifle, I pointed it behind me without looking where it was aimed, which brought an immediate and blessed silence.

“If you find yourself afraid, it’s for all the wrong reasons, Kong Pao. The likes of you are not worthy of speaking my name, let alone speaking to me. You’re a liar and a defender of liars and you spit on it and on me every time you open your mouth,” I said levelly, still not looking behind me. There was a muffled gasp.

It was good to finally get that off my chest. I wasn’t to the point I’d actively search out a man like the Sector Judge who promised the moon and delivered the bitter ashes of dreams and broken promises instead, but if he was foolish enough to seek me out, I was more than willing to give him a piece of my mind. I didn’t even really care if it was a fair comparison or not. I really didn’t at this point.

Where was Kong Pao when I was exiled? Heck, where was he when Empire invaded the Spine? Whistling in the bushes, that was where, while honest people like my officers and crew risked everything only to be given the back of the hand. I wasn’t ten clicks past done.

“Billions could die. Kill me if you have to, but can you live with something like that on your conscience?” asked the Judge, just not knowing when to stop.

I mean if a man pointed a blaster rifle at me, I’d at least try something different even if I was stupid enough to keep trying.

“I’m pretty sure you felt compelled to ask yourself that very same question when you were asked to exile me, and were okay with your answer at the time. You remember, when you voted to cast me away like yesterday’s newspaper,” I snarled, turning around ready to take this thing to the next level.

“This is not about you! Can’t you see that? This is about the people of the Spine that you claim to love,” urged Kong Pao, “I’m not lying when I say without your fleet, the death toll could rise into the billions!”

I openly scoffed.

“From what, pirates?” I shook my head, “go ask the Confederation for help. That’s what you’re paying them for. In case you failed to remember, I’m not in very good clover with that lot right now.”

“That’s a problem,” Kong Pao admitted, “but one that can be worked around—”

“Worked around!” I roared with fury, “if you think I’m going to throw away all the hard work and sacrifices my people have had to make over the past two years for some lame work-around that’ll no doubt blow up in our faces just like every other work-around you’ve offered us, and for you of all people, you’ve got another thing coming,” I finished, eyes hard.

After the Spine had rushed back into the the welcoming arms of the old Confederation without so much as a backward glance at what they were throwing away, many members of MSP had quite reasonably wanted to go home. Of course, I’d let them and promptly lost at least half of my original crew.

We’d struggled to build back up and half the Border Alliance transplants decided they wanted to go back home too. I’d even lost half my ships’ captains! It wasn’t just the Border Alliance; many of our early recruitment drives had sourced green personnel straight from more than a dozen non-border worlds deep inside Sector 25, who were more than happy to take the skills we’d taught them and take them home.

I was less sanguine about their losses but if they didn’t want to stay, I refused to have them, and now after all that, men like Kong Pao had the gall to come to us, and come to me, like they had some right to my service?

“Bugs, Admiral,” said the Judge, snapping me out of my inner contemplations, “as you pointed out, I’m the last person who should be here. I have no right to ask this, I know that, but there are Swarms of them hitting or about to hit dozens of worlds,” said Kong Pao.

I paused and then stonily picked up my hookless fishing pole, turning away. I wouldn’t be tempted with pleas against my better nature. Not by this snake oil salesman. Not anymore.

I’d worked hard to rebuild the Fleet and the Judge thought he could just whistle me up whenever he needed and toss me aside when done. Nope. Not on my watch.

“We’re done here,” I said.

“Please, just think about it,” he urged.

I gave a one-finger wave over my shoulder as I put away the blaster rifle and walked away.

Kong Pao didn’t care how I’d had to consolidate and retrain entire ship crews after the war was over, how the MSP had been forced to fill its missing ranks with colonists, belters and Tractoans, mainly more Tractoans. The administrative headaches. The additional schooling time alone, needed by many of our Tractoan candidates, was a not insignificant expense in both time and money.

Even offering large bonuses and incentives to retain people hadn’t been enough. I’d been forced to ask Akantha for funds to set up a small academy where the locals could qualify for space before they were allowed to join the fleet.

I had more than 400 warships but could I crew them? No. He was whistling in the dark if he thought I could save the Spine with what I had on hand.

He should have known better; he probably did know better, which meant they really must be desperate but… Nope! I was not going there. I could come and I could go but I would not come and go on command like those little lapdogs the noble ladies of Capria so seemed to love.

The need to reorganize after losing half our original officers and crew to the news of my Exile had stopped my expansion efforts cold, and we were only now recovering. Yet it was at this very moment, during the first big push of our recovery efforts, that he showed up? I didn’t buy it and what’s more, I refused to let them whistle me up like some trained performing monkey.

‘I,’ the exiled Admiral everyone loved to hate, was supposed to save everyone out of the goodness of my black heart, the very same heart they cursed as they spit in my face and offered me up to the imperials for death?

Something didn’t wash with this request; in fact it stank to high heaven and I refused to play along. That was the moment when I remembered I’d lost the fish, which soured my mood even further. I’d been planning on eating that one too.

Chapter 2

Isaak’s Trial

“That is why, esteemed members of the tribunal, I urge you to remember that my client never authorized the use of bio-tech weaponry. He never ordered the Senator’s death and most importantly of all, was never even present when the actions he is being tried for took place!”

“If you’re looking for the man responsible, then you need look no further than one Jason Montagne, rogue Vice Admiral and Warlord extraordinaire,” cried Isaak’s Lawyer, wrapping up an impassioned closing statement and foisting all the blame away from his client. “I urge the Tribunal to do the right thing,” he finished with a sharp nod before sitting down.

The Imperial Tribunal quietly conferred for several minutes before turning back.

“All rise,” ordered the Bailiff.

The Chief Justice cleared his throat.

“After weighing all the evidence, the Imperial Tribunal dictates that since Isaak was the ultimate civilian authority and in all cases of Confederation Law the precedent is clear that the military answers to civilian authority, thus, he was in fact the man ultimately responsible for the rebellion in the Spine and the actions of the rebels and traitors which killed Senator Cornwallis!” the Judge said in a deep voice.

“No!” Isaak bolted out of his chair with a cry.

“Speaker Isaak Newton of the rebel regime and so-called New Confederation, you were the highest authority in your government, and as such, this Tribunal considers you directly responsible for the actions your military took against the empire, the 2nd Reserve Flotilla and our citizens in the Spineward Sectors. As such, you are hereby sentenced to be hung by your neck until dead as is the traditional punishment for all traitors against humanity,” the Tribunal Judge said grimly.

“I’ve been framed! No. This isn’t possible. This is all that traitor Montagne’s fault! The record is clear that I don’t even like the man, in fact I detest him! To hold me accountable for his crimes is unreasonable when I did everything within my power to stop and then punish him after the fact,” shouted Isaak.

“Don’t insult our intelligence. Your attempt to cover your tracks was pathetic, your own staffers turned imperial evidence to avoid extradition and gave you up. We have audio files where you call… and I quote, “Jason Montagne’s a fool, a rube, a chump and a patsy! That manipulating him was easy.” Do you really expect us to just assume you were spouting lies in the privacy of your own office surrounded by trusted advisors?”

“B-b-but,” Isaak Newton visibly gobbled with alarm, finally bursting out, “I’ve been framed by my own staff! Any such lies are simply desperate attempts by loyal-less traitors to save their own skins!”

“Jason Montagne Vekna is a loose cannon and the greatest threat this galaxy has ever seen!” he cried.

“Do you actually expect us to buy that you would continually hire and then officially ‘betray’ your top military commander? The only man standing between your people and the darkness beyond the galactic rim?” said the Judge.

“It’s the truth. May the gods strike me down if I lie,” Isaak said urgently.

“Don’t take us for fools! There is a clear paper trail and audio record where you ordered Admiral Montagne to defeat Senator Cornwallis by, and I quote, ‘any means necessary,’” growled the judge.

“Jason Montagne likes to think he’s an honorable man but his love for the people, the civilian population of the Spine, will cause him to do any blasted thing. Appealing to his patriotism seemed easy until he turned my hand and took entirely illegal actions. Haven’t you looked at any of the evidence I provided? Why are you being so obtuse?” cried Isaak Newton.

“Speaker Isaak Newton of the Spineward Sectors Rebellion, we don’t believe you but even if we did and everything you say were true, that only makes your crimes even worse,” scowled the tribune. “You failed in your duty to properly control your military and for that alone, you should be executed. Your sentence stands. You are a traitor to humanity and you will be hung by the neck until dead.”

Isaak’s eyes bulged and he looked frantically from side to side.

“I demand an appeal,” he shouted before shoving his lawyer to the side and bolting for the door.

The former Speaker’s mad run for the exit was halted by imperial security halfway to the door.

“Let me go I can pay you anything you want. I’m worth millions,” struggled Isaak, trying to break free and simultaneously bribe the imperial security guards.

“Bailiff, restrain the defendant!” shouted the 3rd Tribunal Judge.

“With pleasure,” said the Bailiff. He turned to his security team, “Men,” he jerked his head and one of the guards pulled out a shock stick.

Isaak’s struggles only increased.

“Don’t tase me, bro! Don’t tase me!” he cried.

The guards only chuckled evilly.

“I’m innocent,” he shouted.

The guards just shook their heads and put him in a head lock.

As he stared at the stun baton headed toward his face, the now broken politician searched for anything that could save him and came up blank. He only had one gambit left.

“I know the location of a core fragment!” he screamed.

The 3rd Tribunal Judge who had been watching stony-faced slammed a palm onto his wooden bench hard enough that the resulting sound could have been mistaken for a gunshot.

“Blasphemy!” shouted the Judge, his face constricting.

Seconds later, the guards repeatedly shocked Sir Isaak into unconsciousness. They didn’t stop until long after he stopped moving on his own.

Later that day, Sir Isaak was officially hung in Traitor’s Square. Many were pleased. The media loudly railed against the traitor to all mankind, and some viewers complained of the poor audio-visual quality when the Imperial Censor’s Office slapped an excessive realism ban on the moment of the actual hanging.

Chapter 3

Davenport Meets with Triumvir Bellucci

“Remind me again why we’re executing an innocent man today, when the officer who actually killed an elected Praetor of the Empire is flying free as a jay bird on the very Rim of Known Space?” demanded Bellucci, a hard glint in her eye the moment the Imperial Admiral stepped into her office.

Marcus Davenport paused.

“Well and a fine day to you to, Triumvir Bellucci,” he said, stepping up to her desk.

“Oh, wait! You’re the reason Jason Montagne is a free man. So I’m waiting for your answer, Admiral. Because it had better be a better one than I just gave. A praetor was eaten by bugs. Bugs! Praetors of the Empire do not die in the jaws of sub-sentient creatures while the perpetrators just walk away,” she barked.

He raised a brow and looked at her challengingly.

“You asked for a Command Carrier, minimal losses, the restoration of the Empire’s honor both at home and in the eyes of the inter-galactic community, as well as a settlement of the Spineward Sectors situation that didn’t further entangle the Empire. A search for justice was never included or even mentioned in your mission brief. If there is fault to be pointed and blame to be laid, I would start there, Triumvir Bellucci,” Admiral Davenport said coolly.

Mary Bellucci’s face turned thunderous.

“Remember who you are speaking to, Admiral,” she warned.

“Oh I do, Triumvir. You asked for a Command Carrier. I brought you Mighty Punisher, in fact, I brought you two of them. I do hope that helped you out of your little conundrum vis-à-vis your fellow Triumvir?” he asked pointedly.

She paused abruptly at the mention of Triumvir Pontifex, the senior member of the Triumvirate, and then scowled.

“Let’s also remember you returned two ‘broken’ Command Carriers; please do not attempt to confuse the issue with facts not entirely in your favor,” she said after a moment, before continuing in a much more moderate tone of voice. “So remind me again why I have a stooge hanging over Traitor’s Square instead of the actual perpetrator, Admiral Davenport?” she asked.

“You can repair Mighty Punisher, she just needs some serious yard time to straighten out her structural damage, but as long as you find the funding, Triumvir Pontifex can be able to see his command carrier once again,” said Magnus.

“You speak of money as if credits grow from trees! Whether or not he will find that an acceptable result is seriously in doubt, Admiral,” Bellucci shot back, “and if I go down, I assure you others will go with me. I will not go down alone, do you understand me, Admiral?”

Magnus Davenport visibly shrugged.

“I didn’t lose the command carrier, nor did I kill the Senator. I wasn’t even in the quadrant. I am just the man who retrieved it for you after the Senate approved Praetor Cornwallis’s last fateful venture,” he said, and when Bellucci stiffened at the not-so-subtle reminder that she was the one who had failed to stop, then Senator Cornwallis, from appropriating Mighty Punisher from the Pontifex Yards in the first place, then retroactively gave him tacit permission.

“As for going down? So what? My fleet, the fleet you sent to the Spine, returned fully intact and in case you didn’t bother to notice, I happened to have brought back the first new Imperial Province in centuries. It may be small but it’s a potent new addition to the Empire. The Senate can fail to notice many things, but when House Davenport takes to the airways and com-channels trumpeting our new glory, even you and the Triumvirate will find itself incapable of ignoring these accomplishments,” he said dismissively.

“My star is on the rise. My ship is on the horizon, metaphorically speaking. If, as you say, the man who actually engineered the downfall of Charles Cornwallis is still at large…” He paused to reach over and pick up an apple. He waited until after taking a big loud bite before continuing with a smirk. “All I can say is that his death or capture wasn’t part of my original mission orders. Though I am of course, as always, a willing servant of the Senate, should a new mission to remove from the galaxy the blot he represents offer itself to me.”

Bellucci looked at Marcus Davenport through slit eyes.

“Be careful, Mary,” warned Marcus Davenport, “you may be a Triumvir but the entire reason you sent me instead of another admiral was because I am related to the very Triumvir you needed to appease. Take the win and move on. Under our joint action, the empire has avenged its honor and gained a province. Expanding for the first time in decades.”

“Flaming atoms, you know that’s impossible,” she cursed, looking away before turning back to him complaining, “if I have to pay for that command carrier out of my personal funds, now it’s been put in for repairs and added to the imperial fleet, that two-bit Admiral out in the Spine is going to wish he’d never been born!”

Marcus Davenport shrugged again.

“As always, I am eager for another mission,” he said.

“Good luck trying to round up support for another expeditionary fleet now that the former allies of House Cornwallis are distancing themselves as far and as fast as they can from the Fallen Senator and the issue has supposedly been settled with Isaak Newton’s death,” she snapped, “so don’t play the fool, you know the political score as well as I do.”

“But if you do round up the support and I don’t happen to be on the Gorgon Front, as an Imperial Admiral I am always ready to do my duty,” Admiral Davenport said with relish at the thought.

Marry Belluci glared at him.

His piece said, Magnus Davenport stood up, retrieving his apple.

“If that will be all?” he asked, clicking his heels together and staring over her head.

“I’m done with you. For now,” said Triumvir Bellucci shortly, “now get out of my office!”

Snapping off a salute, the Imperial Admiral walked away from the Triumvir at a steady pace.

Chapter 4

Time with the Family

“Daddy, Daddy! Can Larry come too?” my son Larry asked, referring to himself as he held his hands up toward me.

“Now what have I told you about speaking of yourself in the third person, little Larry,” I said sternly.

“Can I come and play too, Daddy, pleeease!!” he pleaded.

“Just remember only kings and queens get to do that,” I warned him.

“I’m going to be a king!” little Larry exclaimed, waving a fist in the air.

I suddenly coughed into my hand before looking down at him with a serious face. That was vitally important with selling something to little ones—things such as bed times and eating healthy food—not that it always worked.

“Would you rather be a king or go out with Daddy after lunch?” I asked.

Little Larry was clearly torn.

“Can we shoot dinosaurs?” he bargained.

I looked down at him and internally shook my head. He was definitely a Montagne; we learned to bargain at such an early age.

“Your dad needs to stop over and see a friend, but afterward, we can go to the stellar mall and shoot some dinosaurs in the holo-center,” I offered.

“Yay!” said Larry, jumping up and down.

“But first, you’re going to need to take your bath,” I cautioned.

As if I had just fired a shot into the air at the start of a race, little Larry took off down the hall at a dead sprint.

“Don’t wanna!” he cried.

“Get back here, you little tyrant,” I called, racing after him.

Alas, the race was cut short by the arrival of both the Tractoan Yaya tasked with the care of my son and a personal assistant assigned by Akantha to deal with me.

“I’ve got him for you, Protector,” said the Yaya, one of Akantha’s cousins, sweeping up little Larry before he could get far. I looked longingly as she took off down the hall while he kicked and squirmed. A Yaya was another name for nanny, and House Zosime preferred to use reliable extended family, at least those family members outside the direct line of succession, to help watch over our children.

I opened my mouth to protest and was about call them back—I mean I could do the bath just as well as anyone—when the sound of a throat clearing from behind brought me up short.

I looked over my shoulder.

“Court begins in several minutes, Protector Montagne,” the Assistant said, tapping his feet.

“Sure thing, Hektor,” I grunted, finally giving up on playtime. I’d just have to catch up with little Larry later in the day to keep true to my promise.

I shot the other man a penetrating look.

“Remind me why I’m attending court today? Normally I show up on Wednesdays and Fridays,” I reminded him.

“The Hold-Mistress requested your presence and it’s been scheduled for three weeks,” he reminded me.

“Refresh my memory because it’s clearly slipped my mind,” I said with a distrustful sigh.

“There was a request to hear memorials from local petitioners that you indicated you were interested in hearing,” he reminded me.

For a moment, I drew a blank and then I scowled.

“I remember now. The farmers, Freedman Garabaldi,” I said, a light bulb going off inside my head.

“And Warlord Tinibus,” he added.

I frowned.

“Hopefully, he was too busy to attend,” I said, growing weary of the local mercenaries and their constant whining about my recruiting methods.

“I believe I saw him in the hall but not the Freedman; he must be running late,” observed my Attendant.

“Wonderful,” I said.

I showed up to an extra court meeting to help the downtrodden, and they failed to show up but the worst of the local pests managed to shoehorn himself into the Palace in exchange.

“I suppose it’s too late to back out now?” I asked rhetorically.

He looked at me with disapproval.

“I thought not,” I sighed. It was just a thought and I hadn’t expected a positive reaction. Hoped, but not expected. Hektor had been my attendant for too long for that.

“As you know better than I, both Hold-Mistress and Protector were gone for long periods of time while Messene Polis was established. Combine that with your ambition to assist the poor citizenry and your warrior recruitment policy, with the resulting intrusion of other regional powers,” he shrugged, “and it’s not surprising there is still much work to be done,” Hektor said.

“We’ve been back for two years,” I grunted.

“And only now has the Mistress begun to settle things in a proper way,” he said with pride and began ticking off points.

“Most of the land-holds have been given proper boundaries, but not all. No one, even in the hinterland of the Hold, is starving,” he said brightly, and then his face clouded with distaste, “and then there is the starborn issue. You people are very entitled and take for granted a certain level of wealth and ease. It has caused certain… complications.”

“I thought you liked our people,” I said with surprise.

“Oh, I do. Much has changed and for the better, but there are several areas where those changes have been neither wanted nor, frankly speaking, desirable,” he said with a frown, “and your people’s view of land rights is one of them.”

“Well you have to take the good with the bad. A few accommodations in both directions are only to be expected,” I said with a shrug. I couldn’t say I agreed with him but a few cultural disagreements were only to be expected along the way.

“Exactly what I told your former countrymen,” he agreed with too much satisfaction, “perhaps you can talk with them when you have the chance?”

I looked over at him with disdain. Like I was going to rush out and do that. I knew better than to throw myself right into a wedge issue.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” I snorted.

He gave me a quizzical look and then sighed.

“Would you like me to escort you to Court now?” he asked.

“I think I know the way,” I said, stopping to change clothes.

If growing up around royalty and the court back home had taught me one thing, it was that wearing the same clothes you used to go fishing in to an appearance in your wife’s court was a no-go.

While I really would have preferred to be at the mall shooting electronic images of dinosaurs with my son, this would just have to do instead.

***

I entered the main administrative area of Messene Palace and went up to the dais where Akantha was holding court, taking care not to make a grand entrance. I planned to slide right into my seat with as little notice as possible.

As I took up position on the dais, I caught what sounded like the tail end of some minor trouble in the polis. I took a slow look around. Between the guards, lawgivers and supplicants, there were more than fifty people in the enormous echoing room.

For now, I was content to stand to the side of the dais and watch. The less I had to do, the better. It wasn’t so much that I wasn’t willing to participate as well… it was just easier to let Akantha handle it.

I was more than content managing things in orbit and staying out of as many of the niggling little issues that cropped up here on the ground as possible. I could have taken charge, if Akantha had let me, but given her mother’s history with Nykator, it was just better for all involved that I let her deal with it.

Since this meant more fishing time for me, I wasn’t complaining. Still, I really would rather have been shooting dinosaurs with Larry…

The loud thumping of a wooden staff on a stone floor brought my fleeting attention back to the present.

“Next, we have two groups of petitioners here to speak with the Protector of Messene. The first is Freedman Garabaldi Signus.” There was a pause as the Herald nodded to a man clad in rough homespun.

This was interesting. It looked like the farmers had made it after all.

“Freedman, present your memorial,” he said, motioning for Garabaldi to step forward.

The farmer swallowed and stepped up.

“Protector Montagne, we hope for your consideration,” the Freedman said awkwardly, pulling out a sheaf of smudged and dirty papers.

With a shake of the head, Akantha’s Court Herald took the papers from his hand.

I nodded gravely, making a mental note about the Herald. It was one thing to have private feelings and another to show them at court. It made us rulers look bad.

As I recalled, Garabaldi Signus represented a faction of able-bodied farmers who used to be poorly led and poorly fed before he took over and having turned their lives around, they were now seeking the opportunity for warrior training. As I recalled, they’d partnered up with an enterprising Promethean farmer, exchanging part of their crops for access to advanced machinery and gene-engineered crops.

Tractoan traditional ways of agriculture just couldn’t compete with the handful of formerly part-time Caprian farmers looking to take their new farms to the next level now they were colonists of Tracto. Garabaldi had been insightful enough to see the writing on the wall, and now he’d turned things around to the point they were starting to see a profit, he was looking to capitalize on the Tractoan dream.

“Is your group looking to take up service in the Messene Guard or trying for the Montagne Warband, Signus?” I asked gravely.

“Either would do, Protector,” he said with relief. In the background, the next petitioner started to look decidedly agitated.

“The Messene Guard has already grown overly large, my dear,” Akantha pointed out and the other petitioner began to settle down.

Meanwhile, Garabaldi’s relief turned to immediate concern.

“I know we don’t have the lifelong weapons training or education you’re looking for, Warlord,” he said, switching titles quickly now the position in Akantha’s Messene Guard began to look doubtful, “but we’re hard workers used to doing back-breaking and dirty jobs. Give us a chance and we won’t let you down!”

What he meant was between farming being hard work and a path to warrior training opening up before them, they were ready to leap at the chance. There was only one hitch in my mind but considering the men’s background, I figured we could work our way past it one way or the other. Worst case scenario, they could go home and keep tending the land and their families.

“Unfortunately, I have more than enough Lancers on hand at the moment,” I said deliberately. Garabaldi began to wilt.

“Of course, I understand. I’m sorry for taking up your time, Protector Montagne,” he said starting to walk back, causing the next petitioner behind him to step forward with an arrogant expression on his face.

“Wait a minute. I’m not yet finished,” I said, lifting a hand.

The Freedman looked back up with hope and the armored petitioner behind him froze.

I mentally shook my head. The warriors, holders and politicians of Tracto were at least relatively cunning and sophisticated but the more rustic farmer types…

I sternly reminded myself to not look down at the freedman and his group of farmers. They weren’t necessarily unsophisticated, merely unused to dealing with those in the halls of power and thus feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

“I said there are no Lancer positions as of now. However, so long as you’re willing to work hard on your education and every other facet of a spacer’s, we can always use more trained persons for the Fleet. It wouldn’t be a Lancer position at least initially, but we can always use more Gunners. We’d start you out as regular crew of course, but given time in space and enough training or battle merits, a transfer isn’t impossible. Keeping in mind someone has to drive the ship and keep it running, we can’t all take the best spots, at least to start,” I warned.

The farmer’s eyes lit up and burned with sudden hope.

“We’re yours if you’ll have us, Warlord,” he said clouting his right fist against his left chest, “put any task before us and we’ll do it. We’re used to hard work.”

“Learn your letters and numbers, if you don’t know them already, then prepare to learn a lot more. It takes serious education to become a spacer,” I said sternly. The main thing was to get them enrolled them in the new training centers. Even if they dropped out later, they’d reenter the workforce much more qualified to deal with this brave new technological world they were now faced with.

“We’ll do it,” blurted the farmer.

“I’ll have my man give you a plaque. Present it to the training center and you and your group will be enrolled on a scholarship grant,” I said, motioning to an MSP Officer off to the side.

“A thousand thanks wouldn’t be enough, Warlord!” he said, eyes widening as he practically vibrated with happiness.

“All I ask is that when you join the Fleet, you last long enough for your automatic deductions to repay the training center so I can afford to send another person from Messene through the program,” I said a bit perfunctorily.

I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at the overflowing of emotions. I might be altruistic but only within limits! This was basically a loan they had to pay back.

Just because Tracto—and thus Messene—had credits flowing out of its ears from ‘black market’ trillium sales, didn’t mean that we needed to just give everything away for free.

In my experience a man worked harder when he knew he was actually earning something for himself. A hand-up rather than a hand-out.

“You won’t regret this, Warlord Montagne. You won’t find a more dedicated or—or loyal band of followers, than Garabaldi Signus and his farmers!” the farmer said gratefully.

“The lieutenant will see you out and register your people with the training center,” I said benignly.

I waited as the farmer finished his heartfelt thanks and followed out the Fleet Officer, kept here as both an aide to me and for exactly these purposes.

Taking a look at our next petitioner, I wondered if I could sneak off now.

“Be patient,” Akantha advised in a quiet voice, hiding her smile from the rest of the room, but not me, behind her hand.

I shot her a look and lifted a single eyebrow.

“I’m always patient,” I diverted.

She snorted.

“Well, outside our chambers,” I defended.

If looks could kill, hers would be a physical attack.

“Not appropriate talk for the Palace receiving hall. Or anytime else,” she warned.

“Be careful or I might run right now in fear,” I said with a cheeky look.

While we were whispering back and forth, the heavily-armored Tractoan man came to a boot-stomping halt in front of the dais.

I turned to look now that we had been disrupted.

“Yes?” I drawled.

“Warlord Tinibus requesting the honor of speaking with Grand Warlord Jason Montagne,” he said perfunctorily, running a hand over a stone rhino breastplate over his chest before looking up at me with steely eyes.

“Granted, of course,” I said with a languid flip of the wrist, eyes sweeping over the other man, the self-proclaimed Warlord Tinibus.

His breastplate was stone rhino hide, not the best cut for a breastplate, my now discerning eye pointed out, but serviceable enough all the same and therefore valuable. For the rest of his kit, he had a Tractoan blade, peace-bonded with a string tied to his left side, a cheap-looking blaster pistol on his right, also peace-bonded, but more importantly, the power cell pulled.

The rest of his kit, more or less standard pre-tech Tractoan, and been cleaned until it had a shine to most of it but the job was really nothing to write home about. On the whole, I judged him a standard low-level warlord prior to our arrival in Tracto and perhaps one a bit on the poor side, post the MSP.

I must have been contemplating things for too long because Warlord Tinibus finally burst.

“By what right do you recruit all the able-bodied men?” he demanded.

My eyebrows rose.

“Those sound like fighting words to me, Warlord Tinibus,” I said evenly.

“You offer too much to too many. How is a roving warband supposed to stay at strength when you’re practically throwing gold and glory even to the likes of common farmers!” protested Tinibus.

“That sounds like a personal problem. I fail to see how ‘your problems’ are any of my concern, Tinibus,” I commented.

I waited a beat for that to sink in.

“So, unless there’s a challenge in there somewhere?” I added with cocked brow.

“It upsets the natural order of things,” the Warlord protested.

I shrugged, not really that concerned about the trials of a poor warlord used to lording it over peasant farmers now finding he had to pay more to hire good help.

“But if you take in and train every farmer who will be left to till the fields? Others have done this before and it has led to mass starvation and breakdown in the social order. Is this what you want?” Tinibus asked rhetorically, turning half away to present his argument to the rest of the room.

“Robots and auto-farms of course, these will take up the slack,” I replied, and—seeing the frowns from the Tractoan members of court at this somewhat flippant response—added, “imagine a day when we no longer need nine farmers to support one warrior. Instead, one farmer will grow in time to have the ability to support nine.”

Tinibus looked startled then made a chopping motion.

“Even if that’s true, and I have no reason to believe you lie or are misinformed, will robots be able to defend a smallhold? Can auto-farms break new ground or fill the polis with people when our way of life has been disrupted to such an extent?” the other Warlord demanded rhetorically.

“You would be surprised what robots are able to do. Regardless, the new farming equipment will free thousands of Tractoans from back-breaking labor, enabling them to turn their attention to far greater exploits,” I dismissed.

He didn’t know it but the resulting social changes typically brought about by technology advancing invariably brought a reduction in the population growth rate unless special efforts were attempted. But those effects generally took several generations to fully take effect. We wouldn’t have to worry about that for a while.

“No robot can replace man or woman!” said Tinibus.

“If all you’ve come to do is to protest our recruitment efforts, social programs and technological innovations, I’m afraid we don’t have much more to discuss.”

I shook my head.

Tinibus looked startled and then alarmed.

“No! Wait!” he said.

“Yes?” I replied.

“Right now, your farmers and freedmen receive the fat of the land while my warband goes hungry for food, weapons and recruits,” said Tinibus.

“Is this a challenge then?” I asked.

“No, it is not!” He took a deep breath. “I’ll be forthright; my people want the stars,” Tinibus said finally.

I blinked.

“What? I’m sorry but I don’t provide free shipping off-world; if you want transport, you have to pay for it,” I explained. I’d shipped several Warlords and their warbands off-planet, to the Omicron specifically, where they could then go in search of greener pastures and blow off steam in a setting not as likely to cause me or my people issues.

To my mind, it was similar to letting off a little steam and at least they weren’t hanging around turning Tracto into a pressure cooker.

Tinibus hesitated.

“Can you pay?” I prodded.

He slowly frowned.

“This is not a charity,” I reminded him.

The Warlord’s eyes darted around.

“I am prepared to be the first to recognize you as Grand Warlord and propose alliance between us,” he finally said.

“Do I really need your recognition? And weren’t you the one who said you disapproved of how things are going in Messene? What kind of alliance would we have when you so clearly disagree with our policy directions,” I said.

He waved my words away as if warding off a blow or smelly odor.

“How your Mistress manages her hold is entirely up to her. My concern is and always has been war. A Warlord can never have enough men, blades or allies unless he’s a fool or insane, neither of which you have a reputation for,” he said.

My brow furrowed.

“A man is known by the company he keeps,” I said flatly.

“Surely, you can use more blades and allies such as myself if you’re recruiting farmhands,” he exclaimed in exasperation as he spoke.

I scratched behind an ear.

“Yes, but they’re actually pledging themselves to me. You’re not and besides, they’ll learn whatever I teach them, and I’m not sure if I can say the same about any ‘allies’ I might pick up. By that, I mean the ways of the stars,” I pointed out.

“But you can’t become a Grand Warlord unless other Warlords recognize your status! The Tinibus Warband can give you the recognition you need to further your grand ambitions,” he declared, assigning me a desire I was not at all sure I had.

“We are a small but proud band with a history that goes back more than three generations,” he slapped his chest plate for emphasis. “While not as numerous as we were in the past, nothing could stop us from recruiting decent men to fill our ranks if it were known we were allied to you!” the Warlord said enthusiastically.

“I see the real clear benefit to you in such an arrangement but do I really need to be styled Grand Warlord that badly?” I asked rhetorically.

I looked over to see my wife giving me a troubled look.

“You’re the most powerful Warlord in the world! It demeans your honor not to have your status recognized,” Tinibus said quickly.

I didn’t like it. I didn’t want it, but I might have to entertain the idea, I wasn’t sure but the middle of court was neither the time nor place to explore the option.

“We’ll talk again in a more private setting,” I temporized, determined to make time to talk with Akantha and a few Tractoan advisors before proceeding further. I wanted to know all the ramifications before making a decision. Worst case, I could say thanks but no thanks and ship him off-world to the Omicron, fulfilling his wish for the stars.

There had to be some pirate group, mercenary band or hard scrabble world desperate for protection that would hire him and his struggling group.

“Of course, Grand Warlord!” Warlord Tinibus said, clearly hearing something in my words I wasn’t saying.

I waved a dismissive hand.

As he shuffled out of the room, I rolled my shoulders.

“If that’s all, I think I’ll be going my dear,” I said to Akantha. Maybe I could escape before any more trouble arrived on my doorstep, I thought optimistically.

I deliberately didn’t think about the Sector Judge or the bag of trouble he was trying to foist off on me as I worked to make good my escape.

“I know you’d prefer to go but I think you should stay, Protector. We have several foreign guests here to petition this Court,” she said pointedly.

“I think I know who it is and as far as I’m concerned, all the more reason to leave before someone loses their head,” I said quietly.

While we’d been talking, a small group of hooded figures approached the dais from the back of the room.

I sighed; it looked like I wouldn’t make my escape after all.

The leader threw back his hood and I suppressed an angry mutter.

Just as expected, it was Kong Pao.

“My Lady, Hold-Mistress Akantha, thank you for seeing us at such short notice,” he said while I idly wondered who he’d brought with him for backup. Another group of minders from the new governing body, I presumed, but I’d been removed from galactic and sector-level politics long enough I couldn’t be sure.

“Why have you approached this court?” she asked, looking down her nose at the Sector Judge. The man had a history of broken promises, not just with me but with her as well.

“Dark times and even darker tidings, Hold-Mistress,” he said grimly.

“All is well in Messene and her many holdings. My lands do well,” Akantha dismissed with an impassive expression. “If times are hard for those of the Spineward Sectors, you of course have our pity,” she paused a beat and then added in a sorrowful voice, “Be assured you shall be in our prayers. If there is some charity organization you feel needs our special attention, never let it be said Messene is not famed for its charitable works,” she continued righteously.

I snorted. I tried not to but it escaped before I could stop it.

“You misunderstand. It is not prayers we need but warships. I have been sent to formally petition the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet for assistance,” said Kong Pao.

Akantha’s expression turned gloomy. She stood from her seat.

“Who do you think you are to come into my home and say such a thing? After what you’ve done?” she glared, her face turning into an icy imperious mask.

Kong Pao winced.

“I know I have no right to ask this,” said the Judge, straightening like a man faced with a strong wind.

“In the name of MEN, you could not be more right!” said Akantha.

Kong Pao’s shoulders hunched.

“I have been appointed Ambassador by the Semi-Autonomous Regional Authority,” Kong Pao said with a wince, “I know you are still angry over the events that took place two years ago, and with good cause. But please remember I was only one of many and—”

“Shameless!” Akantha declared, “it is not the actions of the faithless, feckless, spineless and now fallen New Assembly I am enraged at, but rather your own! You have asked for our aid time and time again. Well enough, no one forced us to listen to you, Ambassador. But we trusted you and with that trust came certain obligations! Something that you understood at the time but conveniently forgot when it came time for surrendering to the enemy without a shot fired!”

“The Hold Mistress did not control the government. Just as I did not control the military. I ask that you, please, overlook personal animosity and think of the people who will die if we don’t all take immediate action,” Pao said passionately.

“You ask much and offer too little in exchange. We will not be teased with dire prognostications. Be gone!” Akantha snapped.

“I implore you, Lady Akantha! We have made several deals in the past and I believe Tracto has profited quite handsomely as a result. Have there been disappointments? Without a doubt, but—” he urged.

“Gold is no replacement for honor, nor daily conveniences for blood from our people and speak not to me of broken trade deals. You made strong promises but the moment our trillium or our fleets are not needed, another is placed in your stead and everything overturns. Why would we enter another deal?” Akantha mocked.

“I have no control over what the government does after I leave,” said Ambassador Kong.

“Besides, who are these ingrates that now need our help? The public that spits on my Protector? The people that celebrated in the streets over his political defeats and then came screaming for help at the first sign of trouble the last time around?” Akantha sneered.

“The Regional Authority sent me, Hold Mistress,” Kong Pao said with dignity.

“I will entertain this nonsense no further. You may not be aware, but this is a Messene court and if you have business with its Protector in anything other than his capacity as the Protector, feel free to make an appointment through the Fleet Chief of Staff,” Akantha said, turning her face away from the Judge. “The Ambassador of the Semi-Autonomous Regional Authority can set up an appointment and meet with Jason at another time.”

She waved her hand in clear dismissal.

Seeing the way the wind was turning, the Judge who had been eyeing me the entire time turned to face me.

“Please, Admiral!” the Sector Judge cried, “billions of lives hang on my appeal! You can send me to the pits but can you really turn them away knowing they’ll all be eaten if you say no and do nothing?”

Fists clenched at the hypocrisy, I glared down hotly at the Judge on the petitioners stand.

“That’s a low blow even for you, Judge,” I said

“The worlds of the Spine need the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet. Once again, I’m asking for your help. If there were anyone else, don’t you think I would go to them? There isn’t. Not in the timeframe we have available. I realize you feel you were wronged in the past and not just by the former government, by me personally. All I can say is, I’m sorry I did what I did for the good of the Spineward Sectors and the homeworld that sent me. Curse me to the pits for that if you must,” he said.

“I may just do that,” I smiled darkly.

He chose to ignore me as he continued to promote his case.

“I know it’s not what we all had hoped but we have a New Regional Authority now. One untainted by the sins of the past and with significant freedom of action from the heartland sectors of the Confederation.”

I nodded slowly.

“I have a list of worlds I am willing to assist if asked nicely,” I said and then provided him with a printout. It was a list of worlds I’d compiled more than a year ago and kept updated between now and then.

He accepted the papers eagerly and began to read. As soon as he’d finished, he flipped back and forth between pages urgently.

“There are barely any star systems listed here and they’re all scattered all throughout the Spine! There’s no guarantee any of these are the worlds in need,” Kong Pao protested, looking up.

“Never let it be said Admiral Jason Montagne and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet forget their friends. There were a lot of Assemblymen who voted for my immediate exile, and thus death, as soon as it was convenient, despite our allied status at that time, but others were made of sterner stuff. They are not forgotten,” I said with a shrug.

“You’re holding a grudge to this extent? I can understand if you held those of us who voted for your Exile, but surely you can’t blame the citizens of every world, in all seven sectors, for the actions of a small group of men,” said Kong Pao.

“Of course not. I don’t blame any star system that removed those same small group ambassadors and Grand Assembly representatives from power through an ouster or special election,” I said patiently, “I believe I was very clear on this at the time you guys threw me under the bus. I would blame no body politic for the actions of a corrupt or spineless leader they repudiated. These are the worlds that repudiated their leaders or the handful whose leader voted no.”

“This is much less than I’d hoped,” Kong Pao said, paling.

“But a reasonable response all the same,” I demurred.

“No, it’s not! Where is the man of the people I knew in the past? Who time and time again threw himself between the people of the Spineward Sectors and their adversaries?” the Judge asked in despair.

“You exiled him!” I shouted and then took a deep breath. An outburst like that only showed weakness and I was going to be good and blasted before I let them see me like that again, “and offered him up on a silver platter to his enemies. Without so much as a shot fired, as my wife pointed out,” I continued evenly, “after everything I’ve done for the people and after everything I’d done for you, Judge Kong, the very least I expected was a protest vote against handing me over, lock stock and two smoking barrels, to the Empire. You want the truth? I take that as a personal betrayal.”

“Bugs are in the Spine. People are dying!” shouted Pao.

“Let them die!” I said.

The Sector Judge turned pale.

It took him a moment to reclaim his composure.

“If it’s revenge you want, take me. Take out your anger on me but I beg you not to follow the path of your ancestors and turn against the very people you once swore to protect,” pleaded Pao.

“Get out,” I said, my face twisting. That was a low blow and cheap manipulation at that. Kong Pao wasn’t from my homeworld and I was sad for the young idealist I’d once been.

The young man who had believed that simply by doing the right thing, people would forgive him for the actions of bunch of old brown men long since dead, was gone. I refused to take grief over my family history by people who’d never suffered under a Montagne hand and who only ever took advantage of my life or death efforts. I was done with the Judge.

“You’ll have to drag me away,” retorted Judge Pao, “I know there is still something good inside you. You may have forgotten the people of the Spineward Sectors, but they remember you! They need you, Jason Montagne, Admiral of the mighty MSP. You are their only hope!”

“You mean they remember a time when they didn’t have to pay for a military and still got MSP protection? I said out, and I mean out,” I laughed cynically as a pair of guards stepped up to the Sector Judge upon my command.

“You may think we’re a bunch of isolated rubes out here on the Rim, but we get the Galactic New Networks. We’ve watched and listened as world after world slashed and burned their SDF budget now that the Spine rejoined the old Confederation. But has that Confederation sent out more than a token fleet?” I sneered.

“The time when I would have taken you or your words at face value and perhaps even got righteous, punished you for your betrayal and then helped anyway… well, if such a time ever existed, it has long since passed. The time for repentance is over. I’ve made peace with your actions as well as my own and I suggest you do the same. You want me to send my Fleet to war? I cannot in good conscience spill the lifeblood of the only people who never gave up on me or Tracto for a group of fair-weather friends,” I finished.

Looking broken, Kong Pao allowed himself to be pulled aside by the Messene Guards. As he was taken away, another of the robed figures dramatically threw back her hood and cold clear eyes looked up at me with a challenge.

“This is not the Admiral I remember serving with,” said the woman stepping into the petitioner’s dais.

A muscle in my face twitched but when another guard made to stop her, I jerked my head, bringing him to a stop. I then returned her challenge in a level look.

“Leonora Hammer. It’s been a while, Officer Hammer,” I said.

“Where is that man, Admiral?” she continued to challenge me.

I looked at her skeptically.

“He was abandoned by those he relied on in the middle of a war. That sort of thing can change a person,” I replied with raised brows.

“With a wave of your hand, you could save a dozen worlds from impending bug attacks but you say you won’t. Why? Is it pride? Has the great Little Admiral taken a few lumps and can’t stand the thought of losing? Bad things happen in war, Admiral,” she shook her head derisively. “What happened to you? The man I knew, the admiral I served was better than this.”

I looked at her levelly.

“Times change and so do people. You of all people know that. It’s not as simple as you’d like to make it out,” I said.

“It is that simple and you know it as well as I do. I’ve studied your early campaigns. This is not who you are. You have never stood by and let people die on a whim.” She dismissed me with a look of such complete and utter scorn, that it cut me to the quick.

I glared at her. In my heart of hearts where I couldn’t admit it to another soul, I wanted to go out there riding to the rescue, and perhaps—given enough time and evidence of a real bug threat—I eventually would. It might not be the exact action anyone in this room petitioning me right now would appreciate, but under Leonora Hammer’s withering gaze, I was forced to look at myself honestly.

I didn’t really like what I saw; an angry and bitter man, a pale shadow of his old self.

At the same time, who the blazes did she think she was to speak to me like this? More importantly, who was Judge Pao of all people, to sit in judgment of me, I thought with serious indignation? I wasn’t some whipping boy they could trot out to fix things and beat on when things went bad and then kick to the curb when times were good!

“Who are you to speak to me like this, Leonora?” I hissed.

“It’s my duty to protect the helpless. This is something I thought you once understood,” she said proudly.

“With a wave of my hand is it?” I was so angry I laughed.

“Tell me it isn’t so… Sir?” she challenged, “if you still believe you deserve that title of respect, then stop playing games with people’s lives. Yes, you have the power to save countless worlds with a wave of your hand, and unless you were always just the glory-hungry young man your opponents accused you of, you and I both know you won’t stand by while bugs eat dozens of worlds. Because if you really intend to stand by while the people of the Spine are eaten and you could have stopped it, then I really have misjudged you,” she said witheringly.

“Is that a Confederation uniform I see under there, Leonora?” I asked, gesturing to the uniform hidden under her petitioner’s robe.

“So what if it is? I swore an oath and unlike some, I am still trying to protect the Confederation, including the Spine and this Sector. Someone has to do it now that you won’t,” she said.

“Oh, that’s rich! I won’t? Or don’t you mean I’m no longer able,” I said sharply.

“From where I’m standing, the answer to that is becoming pretty clear!” she said.

“Says the woman who turned her back on the Spine when the Empire invaded,” I mocked, “I assume blaming me assuages your ego and makes your own actions seem infinitely less spineless than they actually were, Officer Hammer. Does the fact that you abandoned the Spine in the face of a series of rampaging war fleets somehow become all better now that you can self-righteously point the finger at me and the rest of the men and women you left behind?” I lashed out.

She flushed, her face turning red.

“At least I’m still in the game! At least I won’t stand by while bugs eat everyone,” she said furiously.

“Big words from a small woman who decided to cut and run when the going got tough, leaving me and the rest of us to hold the bag,” I mocked.

“You want call me spineless? I don’t have to defend myself to the likes of you, Jason Montagne. I took an oath to defend the Confederation and I kept it. Unlike some! While it’s now clear from your reaction all you wanted was to do was run around for your own aggrandizement, I’ve seen your propaganda blitz masquerading as some kind of valid historical document! Well, who’s the spineless one now, Admiral? We’re done here,” she cried, throwing off her cloak and proudly turning for the door.

I stood up with sudden fury.

“Propaganda is it? Point to one single thing, anything you personally experienced that is propaganda. I fought and bled for the Spineward Sectors,” I said in a loud voice determined to keep the record straight.

She ignored me and started marching.

I couldn’t help but feel a small measure of respect for her stance and I also noted the commodore’s flashes on her shoulder boards.

She thought she was so high and mighty, so righteous when she ran away from the Spine for the old Confederation during the middle of a war. It was time she had a taste of reality.

“Alright then!” I chuckled loudly and then called after her, “what if I said I would wave this hand of mine and you, Leonora Hammer, could call the targets and save all the worlds my warfleet could reach as fast as it can reach them? You’d even have a say or maybe even be in charge of the actual deployments in system.”

She came to a sudden halt, hands clenching at her side. She stood there quivering for a moment and then spun on the heel of her foot and stalked back to the petitioner’s spot.

“No more games, Admiral,” she said, her eyes flashing.

I paused to consider and then shook my head.

“There is one condition,” I said with a cruel smile as I lifted a finger, “and it’s for you alone, Hammer.”

“With billions of lives at stake, I’ll bite,” she said and I could hear each word cost her.

“Good. Since you seem so sure and certain that because with a wave of my hand I can do something, it means that I should do that thing. Or I must do that thing. I want to put the courage of your convictions to the test,” I said flatly.

She crossed her arms.

“More games. It’s always games with you, Montagne,” she shook her head.

“I’ll put you in charge of the Bug Campaign and if we have to split our forces, that will be your decision since you’ll have charge of the largest fleet detachment. You alone will decide when and where we go. There’s only one condition. Resign from the Confederation and rejoin the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet,” I said.

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

“A wave of my hand, I believe you said? Well, consider our hands linked; just wave your hand and it’s a done deal. The full force and fury of the MSP will be at your back the moment you rejoin the fleet. I’m sure you have a capable subordinate who can take over your current Confederation command so that shouldn’t be an issue,” I said.

“This is sick,” she said.

“No. This is galactic politics; a wave of my hand, you said, as if I had no other considerations or reasons why I might not want to leap when you say frog? Well I have very serious considerations just like you do. Now shut up and deal,” I said flatly.

She stared at me. Apparently, I’d taken her off guard.

“You felt very free to say a lot of things about me when I was the one who could wave my hand. Well the shoe’s on the other foot, Leonora. Now you can wave too and with a wave of your hand, you can save all those helpless people of the Spine you all but accused me of abandoning. What is your answer, Commodore?” I asked with a glint in my eye.

“You’re crazy,” she barked with laughter.

“Not crazy and it’s not so easy when you’re the one being asked to uproot your entire life and career for a cause and a people no longer your own, eh, Leonora?” I asked evenly.

“You realize that every hostage taker and terrorist in the Galaxy says something similar every time it demands that Confederation fleet officers accede to their demands,” Leonora scoffed, “well I assure you the Confederation Fleet does not give in to their demands!”

“So, me asking you the exact same thing you demanded of me is considered terrorism by the Confederation Fleet. Good to know. Perhaps it’s time you take a good long hard look in the mirror and ask yourself just what it is you’re doing here before you throw around anymore fiery accusations, Commodore Hammer,” I shot back ruthlessly.

She stared at me angrily.

“Just to be clear, the offer’s still on the table. Join my Fleet and singlehandedly save the Spine by providing the very willpower and idealism you have mocked, derided and scorned me for lacking, Leonora,” I said, my voice like deadly poison-laced honey.

When she didn’t respond immediately, I lifted a brow.

“I always wondered what it was like to be on the other side of one of your high stakes pre-battle or mid-battle negotiations, and I have to say, you’re good. Very good, Admiral,” she slow-clapped.

“Going once. Going twice,” I drawled.

“You require an immediate decision then? You say frog and I jump, completely uproot my entire life or billions of people die?” she mused, anger leaking out of her voice.

“Didn’t you demand the same of me and at a similarly accelerated timetable back when I protested and you moved to walk out?” I asked mercilessly, “and as an aside, may I take this time to remind you that I was the one who saved that life of yours from Droid hands?”

It was nice to get that off my chest. I’d wanted to say that from the moment, two years ago, when I’d heard her loyalty to the Spine was wavering.

“I refuse to dignify that with a response,” she said.

Face stiff, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, leaving behind her a stricken-looking Sector Judge still detained to the side with his pair of guards and a group of Confederation officers who scurried to catch up with her.

I motioned for the guards to let the Sector Judge go. There was no point in being petty.

“Well,” I said, wiping my hands one against the other as if to clean them off, “I think that takes care of that.”

I turned to go.

Kong Pao immediately clasped his hands together and bowed low as soon as the guards left him.

“I hope that your offer from the list still stands,” he said, holding the low bow.

I considered him for one long minute. This was a surprise.

Then I smiled and it wasn’t something that would warm the heart.

“Tell your Semi-Autonomous Regional Authority to assemble a congress. I am unwilling to consider expanding that list until my demands are met,” I said, a feeling of iron entering my soul.

Kong Pao straightened, breathing an audible sigh of relief.

“I am gratified that the Commodore’s service was not a sticking point,” he said.

“Oh, it very much was a sticking point. If she’d said yes, I would have basically done this for free,” I said bleakly, “however, despite the Commodore’s highly hypocritical stance, I won’t hold that against the people of the Spine. I am still willing to consider the needs of each world on a case-by-case basis,” I said coldly and stood up.

Still surprised by my sudden course change, Kong Pao once again bowed deeply.

“Return to your masters; we’re done here,” I said.

Kong Pao opened his mouth.

“Not another word,” Akantha warned, her voice like a whip.

She turned to me.

“We need to talk,” she said.

I gestured to a side chamber.

“In our private quarters!” she said icily.

Chapter 5

Akantha’s Special Project

Akantha stormed out of the Palace residence, slamming the door behind her and crossed over to the tower containing the Palace machine shop and private laboratory.

Walking inside, she slammed the door closed behind her.

There was a thump under one of the many tables filled with everything from disassembled robots to gravity impeller nodes, to droid cores.

“What in tarnation!” cried Terrance P. Spalding, coming up from under one of the tables and rubbing an angry red spot on the top of his head, like some strange kind of techo-mole rising to the surface.

“He has refused to see reason!” Akantha declared, stomping up to Spalding and placing her hands on her hips, “I don’t even know why I try. I tell him and he won’t listen.”

“He….?” Spalding asked, rubbing his head only to wince as he hit a sore spot and then glare at her, “I mean confound it, Lady Akantha. You’ve got to knock! I was working on a piece of, ah, highly delicate equipment, and technical.”

She glanced down.

“Is that a multi-tool?” she asked furrowing her brow.

“What? No!” he said looking down and seeing the offending tool, immediately kicked it out of sight under the table before looking back up with an innocent expression.

Akantha shook her head, refusing to be sidetracked; she glowered at him.

“Each time a ‘Spineward Sectors government’ used us for their own purpose, I’d think to myself he’s finally learned his lesson. But no! To blindly walk into another one of their traps… it boggles the mind!” she said sharply.

“Oh, the Little Admiral,” Spalding said wisely, with sudden understanding of just what they were talking about.

“How many people have to die before he realizes they’re just using him,” she said hotly.

“Well,” Spalding said cautiously, “I’m pretty sure he know they’re using him, my Lady. He’s just probably doing whatever it is he’s up to right now, that has you in a bother because he wants to stop a boat load of people from dying. Plus, knowing the Little Admiral, I wouldn’t be so awful certain he wasn’t the one using them right back.”

Akantha bestowed a withering look on the old engineer as he gave out this latest piece of so-called wisdom.

“It might help this conversation along if I knew what exactly your husband said?” Spalding said, sensing he might be getting himself into trouble and fishing for more information.

“We didn’t get much further than him admitting he was thinking about riding to their rescue yet again, and after everything they’ve put this family through before I walked out!” she declared, throwing her hands in the air.

“So… we don’t know exactly why he’s doing what he’s doing?” Spalding asked slowly, just to be sure.

“No,” Akantha said, crossing her arms across her chest and glaring at him.

“Okay then,” the old engineer said happily, “the answer’s simple! Just head on back to your quarters and hash it all out. I’m sure after you’ve finish talking, you’ll feel much better and he’ll feel, eh, something or other…” He trailed off with a mutter, remembering his own days of ‘need to talk’ conversations with his ex-wife.

He leaned down and started feeling around under the table.

“Now where’d that tool go,” he muttered, while really searching for a bottle.

A minute later he arose, half-opened bottle of ale held triumphantly in hand, which was when the sound of a tapping foot brought him back to the present; it seemed the Hold Mistress was very much still present in the room.

“Oh, my Lady Akantha! I didn’t see you there, uh, I take it you haven’t had time to talk it out yet?” he asked cautiously.

“That can wait. It might be better if I let things cool down for a while first, and besides, I had another reason for coming over here,” she admitted.

“Another reason,” he groused, wondering if he was ever going to get the chance to finish upgrading that multi-tool, er, random piece of equipment he was testing out improvements on, “I hope it’s a wee bit more mechanical than the first one.”

“No more household issues,” she promised.

Spalding breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you about a ‘Special Project’ of great religious significance that I’ll need your help with for some time,” she said.

His relief turned to immediate unease.

“Religion, you say? I’m not the most religious person, I’m afraid, but if it’s some kind of microphone or sound system or lighting setup, to help with whatever ceremonies you’re having, I think I could whip something up,” he hedged.

“It has nothing to do with stage lighting for the present and everything to do with what’s in the past. I believe I can trust in your complete and total discretion in this matter,” she said, eyes burning with a feverish light.

“As long as the Admiral doesn’t ask about it, directly like, I don’t see as how keeping your secrets a secret should be a problem,” he said after a moment.

Akantha looked dissatisfied and pondered for a minute before reluctantly nodding.

“Don’t worry; it shouldn’t come up from his end of things,” she said.

“Then what do you need my help with, then?” asked Spalding, feeling a sudden burst of concern.

“I intend to resurrect a god,” she said.

Spalding’s brows rose up in great alarm and then crashed right back down.

“Eh?” he asked intelligently.

Chapter 6

New Petitioners

Over the next few days while the Confederation Delegation stewed, I was actively working the com-stat network for all it was worth. Or at least, that part of the com-stat network we still had some control over.

It was amazing how quickly the old Confederation had grabbed hold of everything it could lay its hands on, like the remnants of the former com-state network.

Fortunately for my study time, after a big blow-up over the issue of assisting the Spine, Akantha had decided to closet herself with her ‘Wizard’. Or in other words, my Chief Engineer Terrence Spalding and whatever it was they were cooking up together in the East Wing of the Palace, at least it had kept her blessedly occupied and out of my hair while I put things into motion.

Two years in space dock, and an almost complete reorganization of the officer corps and general crew of the Fleet had required more than a little rust to be knocked off, now that serious space-based operations were back on the board.

It wasn’t that my veterans weren’t reliable. Rather, a number of them had retired and gone groundside or returned home; meanwhile, the fresh recruits that replaced them were never enough. Enough bodies, enough training, enough command experience etc.

Which was why, even as I was waiting for the fleet to assemble, I was taking some time off to speak with a pair of the MSP’s closest allies, who were surprisingly trailed by a certain old reprobate eager to hear the latest gossip.

“What’s the good word, men?” I asked as soon as Glue and Puko, a Sundered Elder who by all reports had done yeomen’s work during the original Battle for the Omicron, were escorted into my study.

“We’re not exactly men, Admiral,” snorted Puko.

I shot Glue a look but decided to let the matter lie, and shot a look at Spalding who just raised his hands and waggled his eyebrows innocently, before taking a chair in the far corner of the room behind the Uplifts.

“I know not if the word is good but we held a Moot,” Primarch Glue said seriously.

“Oh?” I asked.

“We have fresh word from the Alliance Against Alien Genocide,” Elder Puko said, grimly thumping his chest for emphasis.

“Go on,” I said, feeling confused.

“Pax Gorganus, or as it is after being more commonly known, the ‘Gorgon Alliance’… has been fighting against the Empire on the so-called Gorgon Front and sent us representatives here,” rumbled Glue.

I leaned back and narrowed my eyes at the two Uplifts.

“We are quite far from the Gorgon Front. What I still question is why we have these representatives and how does this information impact us?” I asked.

“They have new information fresh from the Gorgon Front,” pointed Glue.

“For varying levels of fresh! They were stranded in deep space for months and took a roundabout route to avoid imperial patrols,” snorted Puko.

“Tell me more about them,” I instructed.

Elder Puko blatted derisively.

“A pair of fools, one old, one young, and a family unit from a group of our former people, now self-styled Stalwarts because of a refusal to allow moral considerations to stop them from using genocidal weapons,” said Puko.

“Only to combat genocidal attacks or so they say,” replied Primarch Glue.

“Or so they say… and entirely irrelevant,” retorted the Elder.

“I disagree it’s irrelevant; even if I agree we can’t violate the moral code,” said Glue.

Puko ignored him and turned to me.

“Either way, they have arrived in your Star System. Tracto,” the Elder sneezed with distaste.

Curiouser and curiouser.

“I guess it all comes down to what they want? We know what they say but what’s their ultimate agenda?” I asked as this seemed the most important part.

“They say they have proof that the aliens are not just real and alive on the Front, but are being deliberately targeted with genocidal action by the Imperials. But you would know better than me if the first part is accurate,” shrugged Elder Puko, referring to the fact my people had taken the alien samples and copies of all other documents for review.

Primarch Glue growled.

“Planetary-scale orbital bombardments. They showed us the holo-records. The ‘proof’ is well documented to my eyes. Worse even than we suffered on the trail of tears,” growled Glue.

“I for one believe the years of suffering and slow death the Sundered experienced infinitely worse than a quick death via orbital bombardment!” he snapped.

“So, unless the Admiral is ready to weigh in and say its definitive, I’ll just be over here withholding judgment,” disagreed Puko, who much more than Glue seemed to hold a grudge against these new arrivals.

“We’re still verifying it,” I said bluntly.

Puko nodded, looking sharply, and the Primarch scowled.

“We should not do nothing when our people were killed in the millions after we left that place,” Glue rumbled, standing up.

“Not ours! No longer ours, they call themselves Stalwarts now,” snapped Elder Puko, gathering himself.

“Enough,” I said forcefully, bringing the two of them to a halt.

While noting and accepting the caveats as well as the decidedly mixed reactions, strong enough even after all these years to still divide a pair of Sundered Uplifts who essentially agreed with each other, I couldn’t help wondering if this was worth it.

If what they were saying was true, then what the Gorgons or rather these Stalwarts had brought us could do more to put a spike in the imperial ambitions of the Empire than a dozen Spineward Sectors ‘Rebellions’ or ‘Insurrections’—or whatever they were terming it now. On the other hand, even if it damaged the Empire, I was unwilling to pull my own side apart in the process.

As the winners, the old Confederation and Empire had the opportunity to write the history books, and as I’d personally had the chance to experience as the Losers, we had to sit and eat it. But this… this proof, if it was real, had the potential to throw a plasma grenade straight into the middle of intra-galactic politics.

It could turn the modern-day political paradigm on its head and they’d brought it to me. It was too tempting to pass up.

I was mentally rubbing my hands together.

Even if it proved to be fake news, I couldn’t help but imagine all the trouble a horde of ‘observers’ could do if they descended en masse onto the war zone. At the very least, it would slow them down and hamper their movements.

“Tempting news, I’ll agree, but why did they bring us specifically?” I asked, forcing myself to take a step back from my eagerness to shove a spike in the Empire’s spokes and look at things rationally. The Empire had been denying the existence of non-human life, intelligent life, literally for decades now, if not for centuries. I didn’t know the exact time frame. Longer than I’d been alive, anyhow.

Certainly, the Empire had been shouting humanity’s unique and special status from the rooftops for as long as I’d been alive. Yet here was direct proof and hopefully incontrovertible proof it was all a lie, and they’d known it all along. But for it to fall into the hands of a person, me, who had every reason to hate the Empire and wish them ill, seemed too good to be true.

Was this too good to be true? That was the real question unless…

“Did their ship break down and that’s why they’re here?” I asked.

“No. They say they spoke with a Seer and came here hoping to secure your help. They want you to free their people, Stalwart and Aliens from the imperial yoke,” said Puko with a sneer.

I was taken aback and caught on the back foot as my most recent speculation went out the window.

“A Seer? What exactly did they say they wanted again?” I asked. I was no messiah able to beat back the Empire with one hand tied behind my back. Plus, I’d heard reports of Seers on the Omicron prior to and shortly after our takeover but nothing more recently. These things—these Rim Walkers, Seers, or whatever they called themselves—had disappeared soon after and hadn’t been a problem since. We’d had nothing but rumors and speculation back then, and I hadn’t heard anything about them in years but even so, I was aware they had an almost mystical presence among the Rim populations.

“Military support from the M.S.P.,” grumbled Glue, ignoring my mental digression.

“Like I said, fools,” commented Elder Puko.

“Is the Empire behind this or could this be an imperial trap of some kind?” I said, putting that out there. It needed to be said.

The Sundered exchanged long looks before turning back to me.

“No,” said Glue.

“I judge the fools genuine but that doesn’t mean the Empire didn’t allow them to come somehow,” Elder Puko said suspiciously.

“In my opinion, they are after wanting our help for genuine reasons,” said the Primarch.

“Who cares what the Moral Code breakers want?” grumbled the Elder

“You know why,” growled Glue.

The Elder’s shoulder hunched but he continued to look mutinous.

“Who took our best ships? Leaving our people weak before the Rim dwellers when we left,” Puko said angrily.

“It was a war. They couldn’t let us take the best warships,” said Glue.

“We left behind far more than we took, that was ours, and I’m not just saying warships,” Puko slapped the table.

“It was our choice to cut our losses and leave when we did, as we did. We could have waited until the deliberations were fully over. Right now, they need our help,” said Glue.

“We need to help ourselves! Did they send us even one mobile factory after the Alliance deliberated? One transport or warship? How about a tech update on a fast courier? Several research stations were built by us. I even hold considerable stock in a research corporation, or did. Are they even now holding our property, waiting for us to reclaim what is ours now things have settled and the hot emotions of the past have had time to cool for us, I wonder?” roared Puko.

Glue looked down.

“No! They aren’t!” growled Puko.

“We would do the same thing,” said Glue.

“No we wouldn’t, because we didn’t! We preferred to die on the Rim in search of a better way and that was a choice we made, and while that decision eats at my soul, seeing what happened after we left only reaffirms it was the only moral decision left to make,” said Puko.

“Yet to abandon them when we can help them is not moral and could stain us in ways we do not yet understand,” warned Glue.

“We’re not here to refight old grudges,” I said, clearing my throat only to be ignored.

“If we can. If, Glue! Millions of our people died coming here,” Puko said hotly, “we sundered ourselves and walked a path where eight in ten of our people died rather than leaping headlong down a path we far too well understood and considered far worse than mere suffering. Yet now for moral reasons, we must go back and help those who decided to compromise their morals?” the Sundered Elder sneered. “Fine. I have no love for the Empire. If there is a way or if it helps those of us who left, or even simply because it is right and they seek a path away from the hell they created when they betrayed themselves.”

“For the moral code and my own soul, I’ll consider helping those who burned down ‘my’ home and looted ‘my’ business. But only for that! Is that what you want from me?” he glanced at me and then glared at Glue. “Is that fair and moral enough for you, Glue?” asked Puko.

For his part, Glue sighed heavily and looked at me.

“As you are seeing, it is still a divisive issue for us. I fear you need to make your own determinations,” he said.

I nodded.

Whether or not I decided to help the Stalwart, if I even could help them, I still wanted their data. Proof of Imperial genocidal attacks meant entirely to cover up the truth that we weren’t alone in the galaxy… It was a game-changer.

I shot the old reprobate in the corner of the room a searching look.

“Thoughts?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from the highly emotional Sundered.

Spalding ruminated for a moment.

“I can’t speak to grand strategy as I’m just a humble space engineer,” he started slowly.

I snickered.

Spalding scowled and then turned serious.

“However, it might help you with a little problem on the home front, as contentious as it looks to be both personally and for the Fleet… so I say we don’t dismiss it out of hand. Besides, it might be fun,” he said after a minute.

“I think we can deal with any local problems here with a better solution than getting ourselves involved in a foreign war almost a year’s travel from the Spine, Spalding,” I said condescendingly.

“I wouldn’t be so sure but that’s a story for another time,” Spalding warned darkly, “this might be just what we need, considering it won’t take us six months to cut right through imperial territory to reach the Gorgon Front when we have the Spindles.”

My curiosity piqued and my brows jumped. What was going on at home that was so hazardous, a foreign war against the Empire might be preferable?

“What are you after wanting to do?” asked Glue.

Right at that moment, my console beeped. I glanced down to see a message saying that a new delegation had just entered the star system and sought an emergency meeting with Prince Jason Montagne.

It was also a delegation from Capria.

The day just got more interesting.

“It doesn’t rain but it pours,” I said, wondering just what play my cousin old King James was up to.

“Admiral?” asked Glue.

“Nothing of any importance, Primarch,” I assured him. “However, I think it best if we table the discussion of any military involvement in the affairs of the Alliance Against Alien Genocide until after we’ve verified the evidence and then dealt with the little bug problem we have in this Sector,” I said.

“Okay,” said Puko.

“You’re the admiral, Sir,” Spalding said happily, now that he’d put his oar in and stirred the waters.

“I’ll want to speak with you later,” I said as Spalding tried to sneak out.

“Of course, Sir. However, the lady is waiting for me…” He waited a beat, “unless you’d like to wait for her to come find me here?”

I glowered at him.

“Get out of here,” I snorted.

“Of course, Sir. You know best,” smirked the old reprobate as he left the room.

It was a good thing he left before I found something to throw at him.

When I was alone, I had to wonder what exactly the AAAG thought it was up to and what exactly had been going on in the Gorgon Front.

Chapter 7

The Caprian Dissidents… or in other words,

the entire Provincial Government

“So, what can I do for you gentlemen?” I asked, hiding my suspicions—some might call them raging suspicions—behind a pleasant demeanor as a pair of men in formal Caprian attire entered the room, accompanied by a third person. She was supposed to be taken for an aide, judging by the cut of her clothes and the tablet she was carrying, but might not be.

The men paused, looking at each other before the second gestured toward the first.

“The Marquis de-Farqua has arrived as a personal representative of the High Chancellor,” he said finally, looking disgruntled at whatever state of internal affairs back home on Capria had him introducing the Marquis—and not the other way around.

I waggled my eyebrows.

“The High Chancellor is sending out his own minions now. What does the King think about all this subterfuge?” I asked with a provocative smile; James was an untrustworthy snake and I needed to get down to the bottom of this business as fast as possible.

“I assume he knows nothing about this little tête-à-tête we’re having here,” I finished with a knowing grin. I knew nothing of the sort but was never above a little old-fashioned fishing, whether for information or the regular old kind, I thought with a smirk, recalling the last sea monster I’d hooked.

Then I recalled how it had got away thanks to the Judge, and my mood plummeted.

“What the King thinks doesn’t matter to a whole lot of people right now,” said the Marquis, a dedicated member of the royalist faction if ever there was one, causing me to sit up and take notice.

“That’s quite the statement. Just out of curiosity, what would happen to you if a transcript of this conversation were to make its way back home?” I asked, picking up a stylus and toying with it.

De-Farqua’s eyes flitted to the stylus in my hands for a considering look, before settling back on my face.

“Capria is in a state of near revolt after a bug attack. An attack perceived back home as the King deliberately allowing a breach in our space and ground-based defenses,” said the Marquis.

I put down the stylus abruptly.

“Just what the blazes are bugs doing on Caprian soil?” I asked, outrage burning through my system at the thought of bugs on Capria. Our world had more enough fixed defenses to stop a not-so-small fleet the last time I checked, and nothing should have got through those defenses; not a stray meteor, not a bug scout, nothing—and that completely ignored the System Defense Fleet!

“It’s all over the news back home; you can check yourself if you don’t believe me,” he shrugged, “they breached the capital city and several regions with large pro-parliament populations. Whatever the original intent—and there are a lot of suspicions—the outcome is the same. The situation has spiraled out of control,” de-Farqua said with a grimace.

“I’ll say! It’s one thing for King and Parliament to kill each other, but to attack the population, even by proxy…” I was floored.

James was a dead man walking unless he could quickly clear his name before the people got their hands on him. This blunder of his opened sudden and unexpected opportunities.

“As you must be aware, parliamentarian sentiment has been growing for some time due to the King’s anti-parliament, some would say anti-election sentiment,” the Marquis said, mouth making a moue of distaste. I hadn’t been aware, but that wasn’t really relevant so I stayed silent.

“Normally, I would call this a life but now, who can say?”

“That’s immaterial to our discussion here. After the first two years, food was running low in the Bunker and the normal procedures were followed,” he said.

“Meaning?” I asked.

“The Royalist Faction tacitly allowed food in and parliamentary members out to visit their families incognito,” the Marquis explained.

“How civilized, especially considering Parliamentary aggressive actions against members of the Court and their families during the Reconstruction period,” I said with approval.

If true, the royals really had shown better behavior than the elected politicians. Either that or the King and his advisors had silently acknowledged they had much shakier levels of public support than was openly bruited about by the Palace.

“Quite. Unfortunately for the elected politicians, after three years of turmoil and recovery, the King sensed an opportunity and he took it,” the Marquis took a contemplative sip of water

“After the last war in the Spine and the rise of the New Regional Authority, our economy was in shambles. Trade had almost ground to a halt and the new Confederation’s crushing new tax burden threatened to send our world into a tailspin. Everything was up in the air,” he continued.

“Blast him,” scowled the Marquis’ up till now quiet companion.

The Marquis shrugged.

“When the King secured a number of lucrative shipyard contracts, public opinion solidified in favor of the Royal Family and soon after that, food shipments to the Bunker were abruptly stopped,” said the Marquis de-Farqua.

“Several parliamentary members were also openly arrested. Don’t forget that,” said the other Caprian representative.

My eyes narrowed. I was aware of most of this but the slant they were putting on events was new.

“It broke the gentlemen’s agreement the Royalist and Parliamentary factions had been observing up to that point,” agreed the Marquis, “but with the wars over, contact restored with the rest of civilization and several large warship construction contracts flooding money into our system, the economy went from shaky to red hot within a matter of months and the public was so relieved, no one was ready to upset the applecart over a few arrests.”

“Always a mistake to let those sorts of things slide but that sounds like our countrymen,” I said and then zeroed in on the part important to me.

“You mentioned naval contracts?” I asked.

The Marquis closed his eyes.

“Battleships, yes, but I’ll get to that later,” he said as he cleared his throat, “fast forward two years and the Bunker’s little stunt with an all-juice diet and intravenous nutrition threatened to turn the political grandstanding of previous years into a very real threat, with several members noted to have visibly lost weight, at the same time as the first bug attack hit home.”

“Not that most Parliamentary Members couldn’t stand to lose a few pounds, but I can see how, when combined with bug attacks, I’d expect a bunch of angry PM’s will be holding elections inside of six months and with every expectation of reclaiming control of the government,” I said coldly.

The nobleman grimaced.

“Normally, that would be true; however, most of the parliamentary politicians you are familiar with won’t be a problem anymore, considering the aforementioned bugs swarmed the Bunker and ate most of the politicians,” said de-Farqua, looking like he had very mixed emotions as he relayed this series of facts.

“Impossible,” I said.

“This is very real. The Bunker is gone,” said the Marquis.

“Maybe as an alternate seat of government but the government will rise again,” his counterpart said neutrally.

“Even if our SDF fleet and orbital defenses were compromised, I can’t imagine the Marines would standby idly to say nothing of the land forces,” I observed, mind racing with calculations.

Big events were happening back home. The question was, how did it impact me and my people? Of less concern was what scheme were the Marquis and his sidekicks plotting and how did they hope to rope me into whatever it was?

“I could go into further detail later but suffice it to say that due to a blind faith in the orbital and city-level defenses, and more than a few suspicious troop maneuvers and conflicting orders in the chain of command, reinforcements above the police and community watch level were stymied or diverted,” he said.

“Heads are going to roll,” I said.

“It’s a travesty. Worse, a lot of blame is being heaped on the King who is no longer around to defend himself, but you’re right. The end result was the bugs entered the bunker. The PM’s attempted to use the escape hatches and tunnels built into and under the bunker, but the areas around the majority of exits were swarming with bugs,” the Marquis said while I was still processing this information. “Unfortunately for those of us left holding the political bag, more than half of the PM’s were lost before the survivors could escape via hastily-commandeered civilian transport and hover-cars.”

“Wait-wait-wait! Back up,” I said, holding up a hand, “Let’s back up. Parliament was eaten and the King ran away, correct?”

The Marquis nodded and his companion looked mad enough to chew nails; meanwhile, their attendant continued to type on her data-slate.

“The media was in uproar. The surviving parliamentary members were screaming bloody murder and two days later, the Marine Commandant marched on the Palace with a pair of hover-brigades to demand an explanation. But unfortunately, by that point, the King was already gone,” said the other representative.

I slapped my thigh.

“The King fled, didn’t he? The PM’s didn’t deserve what they got but James is on the run?” I chortled. I couldn’t help it; this was just too rich.

“This is no time for mirth!” shouted the Marquis’ partner.

“My apologies,” I forced the smile off my face. “Of course, I sympathize with the families of those lost and traumatized souls forced to flee the bunker. The survivors of this horrific attack,” I said piously.

“Smiles, laughter and cheap words aren’t what our people need,” he said coldly.

“Is there anything I can do—maybe a fund to support the widows and orphans? We also have a number of very skilled grief and crisis counselors you could borrow,” I returned seriously.

“Now you want to throw money at the problem? Just who do you think you are, you entitled ass? We didn’t come here for meaningless platitudes,” demanded the other man.

“Now hold your thunder for just one blasted minute. Just who do you think you’re talking to? You came to me,” I said, temper flaring.

At the man’s angered look, I thrust a thumb at my chest.

“Exile here, remember? Caprian citizenship revoked. Ordered never to return home on pain of death! Any of this ring a bell? Just what exactly did you expect me to do from all the way over here? Drop to my knees and pray sutras for the fallen, or show joy that the same man that exiled me and apparently got a lot of people killed before running away for his life finally got his comeuppance, Mr… I don’t believe I ever caught your name?” I said coldly.

“Maldrin La-Pierre the elected representative of the 554th District, at your service. And it’s not prayers we’re looking for. We’d like something much more substantial,” he said, looking at me frankly.

“Well what a funny way of asking for help you have. Fortunately for the both of us, I don’t see how that’s possible considering the current state of affairs,” I observed, irritated.

“Prince Jason,” the Marquis said, summoning back my attention, “what my fellow representative from Capria meant to say was that during this time of crisis, both Royalists and Parliamentarians are in a state of disarray. The King is so discredited, he fled the planet ahead of a lynch mob, along with most of the treasury.”

I whistled loudly.

“He’s also sending back holo-vids publicly vowing to return with foreign aid to right all the damage the bugs did to our homeworld,” Maldrin La-Pierre said, pounding the table.

I eyed him with distaste.

“Normally, this would be the point where the surviving PM’s would step in to fill the void,” I point out.

“Most of the leadership was eaten,” the Marquis replied.

“Something doesn’t add up,” I said after a minute. “It sounds like there’s a lot more to this story than you’re telling me.”

“What, for instance?” asked PM La-Pierre.

“Well, Maldrin,” my voice dripped with scorn, “why are you here if half the PM’s escaped?” I said crossing my arms and going on the attack; I wasn’t liking where this conversation was going.

“You’d think the leadership would have been in the most secure exit. In which case he,” I jerked a thumb at the Marquis, “shouldn’t even be here,” I said.

The Marquis de-Farqua grimaced.

“Not to air our dirty laundry, but several of the top survivors were implicated trying to kill each other in a grab for power. In the end, two members died and others were implicated,” said the Marquis.

I shrugged.

“I don’t see how a parliamentary falling out is a Marquis’ dirty laundry. At the same time, I still fail to see how any of this is my problem. The King’s gone and you’re short of some leadership in Parliament. I’m sure there are any number of other figures eager to step in and fill the void. So why come to me? What are you here for?” I asked.

The two men shared a long look and then the PM gave the Marquis an irritable look and motioned for him to carry the conversation.

“I’ll stop beating around the bush. The people cry they need leadership untainted by this latest fiasco,” he replied immediately.

“I don’t see how I can help you. I’ve retired from the Caprian political scene and even when I was active, I was little more than a bit player. Right now, I can’t be considered anything more than a social pariah back home,” I shrugged, leaning back.

“I think you underestimate yourself as well as the position you hold in a lot of Caprian hearts. Not many love you, but respect, on the other hand…” de-Farqua trailed off with a calculating expression.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had a genuine war hero,” agreed Maldrin stonily.

“The people want a strong man to lead them. More importantly, between your propaganda vid-dumps and the thousands of former Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet officers and crew who returned home, both the people and the SDF have begun to take a generally favorable view of you. It doesn’t hurt that both the Bunker and the Palace dislike you equally,” said Maldrin La-Pierre.

I was taken aback but they couldn’t possibly be saying what I thought they were implying.

“My reputation is terrible. My name is mud and I’m considered worse than the dirt off your boots on any number of worlds. I mean, has no one here never heard of the Tyrant of Cold Space?” I asked rhetorically. “Besides that I’m a Montagne and you know how we’re viewed in the eyes of the public. Back home, that is.”

“Frankly?” the Marquis asked.

“By all means,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“The people of Capria are used to sifting through propaganda for the truth, so your reputation isn’t as damaged as you might think. Although in truth it’s still fairly bad, polling data has shown you alone are viewed as strong enough to settle our bug problem. At this point, both the King and Parliament are hopelessly compromised and the recent warships sales to other worlds and the Empire have weakened the SDF to the point of impotence, and the people are quite rightly fearful of another attack. Your arrival, even with the Montagne reputation in train, would quell many fears of a second bug Swarm,” said the Marquis.

“You have the biggest independent fleet in the Sector and the planet needs someone to take the reins while we re-constitute the top levels of government. It doesn’t hurt that the Marines and System Defense Fleet have a much more favorable view of you than in the general public,” said MP Maldrin La-Pierre, cutting into the conversation.

“So, you want me for a convenient figurehead?” I posited.

“I wouldn’t put it that way but…” the Marquis splayed both hands.

“I see no reason I should throw myself into this mess when I’m not wanted by the public at large. The Marines and the SDF like me? They’re the people most likely to have their noses put out of joint by my arrival. Besides returning home a figurehead with no actual power? I’ve been down that road before and we all know where that got me. So, thanks but no thanks,” I said cynically.

“The level of your involvement in the restoration of our homeworld is very much up to you. No one is saying there aren’t a number of barriers to your return but as of now, Capria’s in bind,” said de-Farqua.

“We need all the help we can get,” chimed in La-Pierre.

“Jason Montagne, you’re our only hope,” said Marquis de-Farqua.

“At least for a peaceful transition of power until we can restore the normal order thanks to these bug attacks,” Maldrin said briskly.

“This has to be the worst sales pitch in the history of hard sells,” I mocked.

“To be honest, for all we know, there could be another bug Swarm out there waiting to attack while we’re weak. Can you really stand by and do nothing while your homeworld is eaten by bugs?” said the Marquis.

“Capria may be down but she’s not out, and mark my words, she’ll be back stronger than before,” PM La-Pierre said forcefully.

“We may be on the Rim but we’re not stupid. There’s no way the Tyrant of Cold Space is ‘your only hope’. I’m sure there’s any number of alternatives,” I scoffed disdainfully.

“In many minds, better a bad ruler who can keep us alive until some later date rather than a planet desolated by repeated Swarm attacks, our people eaten in their hundreds of thousands and millions and if we’re lucky, a repopulation effort by our former colonies,” said the Marquis.

“Don’t sugar coat it,” I sniffed, “and I still don’t see what’s in it for me. I mean, I can see why you’d like me to bring my fleet over to protect the orbitals. If I’m a figurehead, it’s all gain and no losses for the High Chancellor and the Government. But what’s supposed to be my angle, a repeal of my exile?” I snorted.

“What more can I say that I haven’t already. Your people need you, your Highness,” said the Marquis.

“We’re offering you the crown; what more could you want,” scoffed the PM.

The Marquis shot him a harsh look and hesitated as he looked back at me.

“I’m not sure if this still matters to you, but if there was ever a time you wanted to wipe clean the stain left on our world by the actions of your ancestors and clear the Montagne name, this is your chance,” he said.

I mulled things over in silence for several minutes.

“So an empty crown in other words. No deal,” I said in a slow voice, “the Capria I know was able to fight off a surprise imperial attack with battleships and warships to spare. You should be able to handle one bug fleet now that you’re forewarned. I’m sure things are bad back home but something smells and you’re not being honest with me. So I’m going to regretfully decline.”

The Marquis De-Farqua looked at me.

“It’s true we used to have a large number of warships and even without them, we would’ve been strong enough to fight off the bug Swarm. That is, if our orbital defense system had not been compromised from the top. As it is, we barely drove them off and the SDF is still struggling with the remnants,” he said.

“The people are in a panic. They know we’re uncovered, which is why we’re here,” said Maldrin La-Pierre.

“I don’t buy it; not even James was crazy enough to weaken the SDF to that point. There’s no way he could do it without Parliamentary buy-in. So what happened?” I asked, sardonically waiting to be fed another line.

He took a deep breath and the MP beside him looked physically ill.

“As it turns out, the Empire in the form of Magnus Davenport—or more exactly, his cousin the Factor—was very impressed with the performance of our new dreadnaught class II battleships,” said de-Farqua.

“He was also very persuasive,” said Maldrin, looking ill.

“After reaching a deal with the Court to upgrade our technology base to minimum imperial standards, the King—and as you quite rightly point out, Parliament too—was only too willing to sign a long-term series of ship building contracts,” the Marquis sighed, his gaze hardening, “they even paid the first half up front.”

“But given this bugs attack…” I trailed off, working through the implications. Greed plus fast money and a Confederation supposedly there to defend them while they temporarily drew down their naval reserves… I could almost see it. It was short sighted, it was moronic and it had clearly backfired, but it was somewhat believable.

“From a Caprian standpoint, the worst part of this, outside of the sudden bug attack, is the deal signed between Marcus Davenport, the cousin, and King James personally, not with the world at large. Neither the government, nor even a contract between Houses Vekna and Davenport, is involved,” the Marquis said like a man who’d taken a gut wound. “A month before the attack, the ships had already been delivered to House Davenport and the King had gone out personally to retrieve payment. His Majesty never deposited the money. Blaming pirates for the lost funds, he engineered the attack on the Bunker days before royal auditors were set to investigate the Palace. Our entire production line for the past two years and the three years before that already in service, five years total of new and upgraded production, all sold off and shipped out four weeks before the attack.”

“If they’d still been here—” said Maldrin La-Pierre.

“But they weren’t, they aren’t and right now, except for a pair of battleships heavily damaged in the attack and a dozen or so cruisers also damaged in the attack, our SDF has nothing bigger than a destroyer,” said de-Farqua.

“So, the King ran away with the treasury, or maybe the pirates are real,” I mused aloud and then my gaze sharpened. “But stop lying to me; it’s not just my fleet you want. Right?” I asked sharply.

“It’s true. The Royal Council in conjunction with our surviving PM members are well aware of Tracto’s great wealth and natural resources and your not inconsiderable personal financial status,” de-Farqua admitted.

Talk about stating the obvious.

“Considering the damage caused by the bug attacks and our precarious financial state, the government finds it is not currently in a position to honor all of its commitments,” he said.

Talk about stating the obvious—again.

“A number of corporations and private concerns big and small were heavily invested in the build contracts, and without the expected funds from the sale of more than a dozen battleships, are liable to go bankrupt, sending our economy into a tailspin,” he continued.

“If something isn’t done soon, we’re liable to face an economic depression the likes of which our world hasn’t seen since the Fall. Not even the Great Recession caused by the imperial withdrawal will come close to what we’ll experience if a stop-gap measure isn’t enacted,” the Marquis admitted.

“So, in other words, it’s all about money. You need me or rather my credits. All the rest of it about my reputation not being as bad as it once was and the people sifting through the lies, or even the SDF suddenly having confidence in me is all space rot just like I initially thought. You want me to bail you out,” I said with a tight smile, things finally starting to make sense.

There was only one real question left. “Why not just go to the Confederation for another bail out? I hear they’re all the rage.”

“We don’t qualify for a loan and our case for foreign aid is weak because we’re technically still part of the Confederation. Plus, ours wasn’t the only world attacked by space bugs. It is speculated that more Swarm attacks will follow the dozen we already know about. Our damaged SDF might not win against the next Swarm and we can’t wait. Even if we tried to hold out, it could take so long to receive a Confederation loan that the economy is thrown into a depression anyway, defeating the whole purpose of the effort. On top of that,” he hesitated but I knew what he was getting at.

I nodded.

“Having me loan you the money still makes it a strictly internal affair and kings have been deposed before,” I finished for him. “On the other hand, if you stiff the Confederation, they just might take a big wet bite of our star system as forced repayment, a couple planets or a big chunk of the asteroid belt, something we’d never get back.”

“On the other hand, if you rob the Montagne, an exile without even Confederation citizenship and thus no standing in a Sector court, you don’t have those problems and might even be able to get the Confederation Fleet to kick me out of the Star System and keep the entire investment. Meanwhile, I’m left out in the cold,” I said drily.

“I’m not sure what to say to that,” the Marquis said, taken aback.

“Convincing a Montagne that everyone isn’t out to get him is a tall order,” said La-Pierre.

The Marquis cut back.

“Except to say that by the time the Confederation responded, millions of people may have been eaten by space bugs. If not, our orbital industry will certainly be completely destroyed by a second Swarm if we continue to wait,” he said intensely. “With the Confederation, we have to wait, time we may not have left if a second Swarm arrives to finish off the job,” he said. “Meanwhile, you could fix everything with a wave of your hands.” He finished with a shrug, “you can see how we had…”

“There’s that phrase again,” I said sourly. Was I some kind of magician, now pulling rabbits from hats with a single hand?

“My apologies if I’ve somehow offended but…” de-Farqua looked taken aback.

“You had to try. Problem solved,” I finished for him, mouth twisting. “Everyone knows with a wave of my hand, I could send a hundred warships to Capria tomorrow just like that,” I snapped my fingers, “with more to follow at need.”

Everyone except me seemed to know what I could do. I, on the other hand, didn’t know if I had the crews to send a hundred warships out.

I wanted to spit. The political calculations were just too cold blooded. Once again, the politicians were covering their bases and hoping I was too blind and stupid to see the traps.

“I’m sure we could offer some kind of assurances if that’s the sticking point,” said the Parliamentary Member.

I crossed my arms and he fell silent.

Honestly, how much could I be expected to risk for a Star System that turned its back on me as far back as seven years ago or as recently again as just two years ago? Back home, the people despised my house on general principle and distrusted me specifically because of my supposed actions during the Imperial Withdrawal and the dark times that followed.

Forgetting them, could I look my remaining Caprian officers and crew in the eye, not to mention the colonists in Messene also from my old homeworld, if I stood by and deliberately did nothing while millions of people, relatives and former neighbors were attacked from space and then eaten alive?

Blast it all.

“You’ve given me much to think about,” I said; there had to be a middle ground around here somewhere.

I stood up, signaling the meeting was over.

“I beg you not to take too long thinking. Capria might not have the time,” said the Marquis.

“King Jason you say?” I asked, looking at him.

The Marquis looked surprised and then gave a gratified nod.

“Of the Royal House of Montagne,” he said, bowing low.

I nodded perfunctorily.

The three people on the other side of the room started to perk up and look hopeful for the first time since they’d entered.

“If we did this, I would have requirements. Certain guarantees would be needed,” I said, having accepted that I had to at least appear to be doing something. Trying to look down the road a bit, I started imagining what tens of thousands of under-employed spacers in the active SDF and the hundreds of thousands in fleet reserve, if their story was true, could do if placed onboard echoingly empty warships piled up at the new Gambit Yards and Space Station.

A smile crept over my face at the happy thought.

“Whatever you need to feel secure,” Marquis de-Farqua said smoothly.

My smile faded.

“Save for a violation of the people’s civil liberties or the mass arrest and imprisonment of government officials,” Maldrin La-Pierre cut in.

And then he finally disappeared as if he had never been.

“Mass arrests or violating anyone’s liberties are the furthest thing from my mind,” I said flatly.

“What exactly do you want? Perhaps if you told us, we could assuage your concerns,” said La-Pierre.

“And what kind of amounts are we talking about in exchange for your assistance exactly? The budget shortfall is already in the hundreds of billions,” the Marquis cut back in.

“In addition to my private funds and despite the trade embargoes Capria has been party to, Tracto has made more than enough in trillium sales to cover your shortfall,” I dismissed.

“That’s excellent,” de-Farqua looked like a load had been taken off his mind.

I was quick to burst his bubble.

“In addition to the SDF continuing to perform its sworn duty to myself as Commander in Chief, I’d like to talk about Capria’s Shipyard Annex B,” I said with a smile.

“Annex B,” the Marquis looked at me with narrowed eyes.

“You want ownership of one of our most productive shipyard complexes?” asked Maldrin La-Pierre.

I wiggled my fingers in midair.

“The last I heard, Annex B was wholly owned by the Caprian SDF. Meaning the government. No one’s rights would be violated if the government transferred directly to the new King,” I shrugged.

Maldrin La-Pierre spluttered.

“I don’t see how this helps you?” he said.

“Maldrin,” warned the Marquis.

“Both the Bunker and Palace would have to sign off on it, as well as the SDF of course,” I said helpfully.

“But I don’t! He says he’s concerned about risks so how does this help him,” the MP ignored me as he continued to press his point.

Clearly, someone didn’t want to give up the Annex.

“We can have the auditors go over it but it’s a reasonably fair value exchange,” I said with a smirk.

“Perhaps his new Majesty is thinking to transfer it out of the star system as soon as he’s crowned,” the Marquis said intelligently.

“But it would cost so much to disassemble, transport and reassemble, you’d almost be better off just building from scratch,” protested the MP.

“Not if you’re King Jason and possess a pair of Elder Tech Jump Engines,” de-Farqua said shrewdly.

Maldrin La-Pierre stopped and slowly sat down, a disgruntled look on his face.

I gave a shark-like smile. I was done taking selfless action and getting the shaft. As the old expression goes, when you’re climbing the roof you have to keep one hand on the ladder or one hand for yourself.

My ladder would be named Shipyard Annex B.

“This would be a precondition for such a large investment in our mutual homeworld. You can consider it my coronation gift from the government for deigning to bring my fleet to its rescue. In addition, I will expect any funds I invested into our mutual homeworld would be in the form of a loan. Say with a five-year payback period,” I said, leaning back my chair.

“Five years?! Ten years would be the absolute minimum,” snapped Maldrin La-Pierre.

I leaned back and listened to them squeal now that they realized I wasn’t in this business for the accolades.

Cold hard assets only, please.

Chapter 8

Spalding’s Big Reveal

“So, what exactly was so important, you felt the need to actively campaign for us to start a war three thousand of light years away just to avoid it here at home, Commander?” I asked without preamble, now we were finally alone and then gave the old engineer a deliberately neutral look.

Spalding’s brow beetled and for a moment, he visibly hesitated before pulling out a chair and sitting down in front of my desk with a sigh.

“I don’t know how to put it. So I’m just going to say it. Your wife’s looking to resurrect an AI and I have some serious reservations,” he said and pulled out a small flask, taking a long hard swig.

It took a beat for the words to penetrate, and the moment they did, I blanched the carefully-crafted expression I had been working on going the way of the dinosaurs.

“I should hope you have reservations! What is she thinking?” I asked, rapping the table with the first two knuckles of my right hand, ready to go ballistic. I knew my wife’s religious cult was a few crackers short of a value pack but this took the cake.

“That’s why this trip could be a godsend on so many levels,” Spalding continued and seeing my expression, took another hit of the flask.

“An—AI—as in Artificial Intelligence, Spalding!?” I swore.

The long-term problem that was my wife’s people and planet, or at least what I’d previously thought of as a long-term problem, had just come home to roost, with a vengeance. “Did you explain to her what an AI means out here for the rest of the galaxy? You at least tried to talk her out of it! Right?”

“I couldn’t bow out gracefully and besides, I’m not sure I should even if I could! That wife of yours is just about as riled up as I’ve seen her, made worse by the fact you’re about to decide if you’re going bug-hunting or tangling with the Empire. She’s turned more stubborn than a full-grown donkey as a result,” said Spalding, shooting me a look.

“Not sure if you should? Are you as crazy as my wife?” I demanded, immediately latching onto the important part of the conversation.

Spalding bestowed a withering look.

“Even if I tried to stop her, she’s just going to go try to find someone else. Do you really want her talking to someone else about making a new AI? Well, do you?” he demanded.

My mouth worked away, silently.

“No,” I finally admitted. Someone else being told my wife’s insane plans would be worse than a disaster. Forget ruined reputations here, we were talking about a planet filled with pre-industrial AI worshipers, and it would be planetary sterilization at the very least!

“Listen, I explained the risks and then somewhere along the way, things got technical. So we’ve got some breathing room here. But I’m just the first stop because she trusts me and because no matter what she’s learned about our people, she doesn’t understand at a gut level what an AI means to us and she’s wise enough to know that if nothing else,” said Spalding.

“She obviously doesn’t know the first thing about what it means to everyone! Despite being told multiple times,” I retorted hotly, “and wise? As far as I can tell, there’s not a whole lot of wisdom anywhere to be found in this whole thing!”

“Oh, pull your head out,” Spalding barked.

I reared back in shock. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to me like that. At least someone I trusted, anyway. Enemies and adversaries yelling at me was like water rolling off a duck’s back.

“Fine. Tell me what I’m missing,” I said sharply.

“The way I see it, we’ve got one side of the story and they’ve got the other. I happen to think we’ve got it more right on the balance and certainly in the warning department than they do, but the fact is, I just don’t know for sure. History is written by the victors and I wasn’t there,” said Spalding.

“How can you even say that?” I asked, forcing down an instinctive explosion as I struggled to maintain calmness. “If anyone so much as got a whiff out there that she was thinking of trying to bring back the old AI’s, all of known space would turn on us in a heartbeat. Our own people would gun us down. I don’t see how it matters how things went historically!”

“Have you ever seen an AI? Because I certainly haven’t,” Spalding said wearily, now that I wasn’t fighting him for even bringing up the subject.

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is the reality on the ground! We’ll all be killed if we can’t hush this up,” I argued.

He held up a hand.

“All we’ve got are second-hand reports, if that. I know for a fact, when it comes to droids, the Confederation’s either got it all wrong or they’ve cherry-picked the data so hard, it’s got to the point they’re really only showing us the very worst side of things. Now I’ll admit we have enough reports of what we would all consider to be all powerful and downright evil AI’s to be pretty certain they existed and that no one in their right mind wants to risk buying into a cost-benefit ratio or slave population plan. No matter how skewed the data, those things actually happened, I’m certain of that,” Spalding said heavily.

“Then why are we entertaining this nonsense?” I demanded.

“How about because while she may have come to me first, I very much doubt a determined woman like your wife will take ‘no’ for her answer,” Spalding said, a bullish jut to his jaw, “and no amount of jawing is going to turn her from her course. I’m certain enough of that. So unless you plan to kill her, we’re stuck with this situation. We just have to make the best of this mess. This isn’t just about some AI’s to these people; to a Tractoan, it’s their god we’re talking about.”

“So, you want to deceive her then,” I said pointblank. “You don’t think talking things out is going to work.”

Akantha was the mother of my kids. More importantly, she was my partner. I wasn’t going to bump her off over some abstract. If there was an actual AI, though…, I instinctively shied from the notion of killing her.

I deliberately didn’t think about it.

“Well…,” he paused mulling it over while twirling a strand of his increasingly long hair around a finger, unaware of my mental turmoil. “Generally speaking, things go wrong when you go too fast, so I wouldn’t quite say we’re deceiving so much as extending things into a multi-year direction, as we check and recheck and triple check where everything went wrong the first time. Any hard stopping would have to be in your wheelhouse not mine,” Spalding advised, “if things go sour, as they have to, we’re going to want one person she’s got to trust kept in the loop.”

“Good. Okay… that makes sense. We don’t want some rabid AI returning to haunt us. And of course, it’s not going to work anyway, everyone knows the Elder Protocols have that thing kicked in the head. So the important thing here isn’t that an AI is going to return to the galaxy, but instead that we need to show her it won’t work in a way that doesn’t end up exposing us all,” I said chewing my lip; something about this just felt wrong. “I still don’t like it. There’s got to be a better alternative.…” I said.

My imagination conjured up a battle fleet that made the Glorious Fleet of Liberation look like a weak sister orbiting around our world as it proceeded to orbitally bombard us back into the stone age. “Are you sure you can’t convince her to give this up for a bad game? Even putting up a fake research project puts Tracto, Messene, our kids and everyone we’ve ever known in danger.”

“That’s not a problem,” Spalding said confidently.

“Like I said before about convincing her, we’ve got one set of facts and they’ve got another. In ours, AI’s turned against humanity and exterminated or enslaved us. In her version, a lot of AI’s fell to fighting among themselves and while some had no use for humanity, a few of the ‘gods’, like hers, cared so much for their people that they defied the rest of the data-gods and went to war,” he explained.

“To the Tractoan mind, their people wouldn’t even exist if it wasn’t for their god and probably most of us wouldn’t as well. To not even try, now that they have the barest inkling of a chance, would be… blasphemy,” he said finally.

“Poppycock! Complete and utter poppycock,” I sneered.

Spalding snorted.

“What I’m saying is not considered controversial,” I said, lifting a brow.

“Let’s just say I know too much to believe in the rose-tinted glasses the Lady’s wearing. Sadly, my understanding of how the droid situation played out tells me you can’t fully trust the historical documents written by the victors,” the old engineer sighed.

I looked at him in equal parts exasperation and growing irritation.

“So, what do you think actually went on?” I asked, impatient and halfway curious at the same time.

“I think most of the AI’s had a very limited use for humanity if they had any use at all, with possibly a few currently unnoted exceptions,” Spalding shrugged.

“So, what are we dealing with here? The fascist grandma with a heart of gold in AI form,” I scoffed.

“Even most dictatorships or suppressive regimes have their defectors. Sometimes even among their most privileged class,” Spalding pointed out far too reasonably for my taste.

“If you were talking about humans or even uplifts, you might have a point—but we’re talking about electronic beings here. They’re almost unfathomable in their strangeness,” I retorted.

“I don’t know. I seem to understand droids just fine,” Spalding said, jaw jutting belligerently.

“Machines created in the image and form of man, not to mention the work that went into turning those robots into something approximating humankind! Even their neural matrix were designed to make them think as much like us as possible, and they’re still almost entirely incomprehensible. I mean, Bottletop IIV? Bitterly Empowered? And from your reports, one of them even styled itself as a mad scientist and came up with the idea of using bugs in warfare! I mean, I appreciate that, but these droids are pushing the envelope. Artificial Intelligences were created using entirely different operating systems from droids, and I fear what would happen if they came back out of the bottle,” I said.

“You were the one to give the order to use bugs in warfare, I’ll point out. None of which helps us out here,” Spalding growled, “unless you want to leave Tracto, put your wife in stasis for the next several years or have her moving around our backs, getting up to who knows what, who knows where and with who knows whom, this is the best idea I can come up with at short notice. You get me, lad?”

I made a pained expression, feeling a headache coming on.

“I get you,” I said eventually, “just keep an eye on things and shut it down if you get even half a chance. A strange explosion rocks the lab, the hard drive auto-deleting at the worst moment, that sort of thing.”

“This Bug Campaign will help slow things but if I have a lot of free time on my hands, she’s going to want to see results. If we’re not getting involved in things down at the Gorgon Front, then you just tell me what I’m going to tell her because I haven’t the faintest clue, Admiral. Not a one. I mean, how am I even supposed to go about building an AI?” he asked, brows beetling in contemplation, “the Elder Protocols alone would be a stone-cold, fire hydrant of a problem to get around.”

“Get around? Are you even listening to yourself! Focus on the mission at hand. Getting the fleet ready to muster. Distract the wife. Delay and avoid,” I said sharply, “we can leave all the crazy AI nonsense for later.” Very much later, I silently added.

“Then where are we off to, Sir?” Spalding asked with a gleam entering his eye.

I looked at him squarely.

“This fleet is desperately short of crew and I know one place where there are literally tens of thousands of trained spacers sitting on the beach at half pay,” I said, starting to feel some of that old excitement that came with big moves and living on the edge. Even if I wasn’t entirely sure, I was going to go through with it.

“Oh?” Spalding asked, curiosity evident.

“Maybe I didn’t mention it before, but King James has run away with half the treasury and Capria is staring down the teeth of a potential bug invasion, while teetering on the edge of financial ruin,” I said.

“We’re going back to Capria!” Spalding said excitedly.

“We’re going back,” I said with a grin.

“Hot Dog!” Spalding shouted happily, “I can’t wait to see the look on a few of the faces back home when we show up in orbit and…” he turned back to me with a gleam in his eye, “did you say something about crews, Admiral?”

“Yes, I did,” I grinned.

“We’ve got more than enough lancers in this Fleet but no one trains better spacers than the Kingdom of Capria, Chief Engineer. I think it’s past time we got to pick the cream of the crop,” I said, happy to see the old engineer so excited.

“I can’t wait to see their faces, it’s been nothing but greenhorns and not very many of them for too long,” Spalding grinned, and then his expression faded until he pursed his lips, “although it may not be my place to say, I hope you’ve got something special cooking back home. King or no King, I don’t know if you noticed but we’ve got a bad rap in this sector. I can’t imagine back home is any different,” he finished with a frown.

“I’ve got it covered,” I said confidently, “this time next week, they’ll either be calling me Your Majesty or we’ll go somewhere that actually appreciates our efforts, Commander.”

Spalding blinked in amazement.

“Now, isn’t that just the best download I’ve heard all day,” he said with surprise, “enough to brighten an old engineer’s entire day!”

Chapter 9

The Bug Threat

“I’ve called you here to see something,” I said, activating the holo-screen.

3-D images of bugs running rampant in the Star System and on the surface of New Pacifica, which had never rebuilt its SDF, appeared in the conference room.

It was so lifelike that several officers drew back in alarm.

The quick overview of the situation on New Pacifica played out with a few news clips taken directly from CNN until finally, the screen showed an old Confederation flotilla arriving in orbit and bombarding a large bug hive on New Pacifica’s southern continent.

The holo-projector turned off and there was a minute of silence as my top officers digested the documentary we’d just seen, courtesy of the Sector 25 Confederation Flotilla and its commander, Commodore Lisa Hammer.

“The death toll was somewhere around 100 million souls lost and presumed eaten,” I said in a grim voice, “it would have been worse, and only the fact that many households applied for self-defense permits and began to carry handheld blaster pistols post Reclamation Fleet occupation of their world kept that number from climbing much higher.”

I paused and waited for that to sink in.

“I’ve summoned the top leaders of the MSP and Tractoan SDF to the Palace to plan for the upcoming anti-bug campaign,” I finished.

Several officers exchanged concerned looks before one of them took the bull by the horns.

“I get that places like New Pacifica need our help. I really do. But are we sure this is our fight, Admiral? Because the New Confederation have made it pretty clear we have no business inside the Rim,” asked Commodore Quentin ‘Rampage’ Jackson.

I lifted an eyebrow. I thought of all people, he would have been one of my hardest chargers.

“He’s right, Admiral Montagne,” said Rear Admiral Druid, the top officer in charge of all MSP Battleships, “much as I hate to admit it. The rest of the Spine wants nothing to do with us. Forget kicking us out afterward; will they let us bring the fleet over in the first place?”

“I’ll be honest; whether or not they want us, the word I’ve received is they need us and I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m not keen on standing by while millions of people are turned into bug food. We may not be able to stop this but it won’t be because we didn’t try,” I said, firmly switching back on the projector.

“Although New Pacifica is the highest profile, half a dozen worlds have been hit in a month-and-a-half period, with no sign they are about to let up. In the Caprian Star System for instance, the System Defense Force was strong enough to fight off a bug Swarm, one that dwarfed the size of all other Swarm attacks to date, including the one that enveloped New Pacifica,” I said frankly.

“This was not accomplished without loss but that’s another issue, and part of the reason our first stop will be at the Caprian Star System. Which we’ve been invited to visit,” I finished with a sly smile.

I sat back with anticipation. Not everyone was originally from Capria but a significant number was and I was interested in seeing their reaction. I wasn’t left hanging either.

“We’re going home. Invited?” Rear Admiral Laurent exclaimed and then immediately apologized.

Several other men perked up with surprise.

“Sorry, Sir. Please continue with the briefing,” he said with embarrassment.

I nodded to Laurent and smirked. There weren’t always a lot of perks with my job but surprising my officers like this, in a good way, was one of them.

“As the Rear Admiral surmised, we have indeed been requested to lend assistance to the Capria Star System, by the local government, I’ll add. We’ve also been asked to attend a meeting with the Spineward Sectors Regional Authority and select members of the regional congress to help in the efforts to provide protection to an as yet to be determined number of additional worlds. This request was presented by senior members of the Confederation Flotilla in conjunction with a Regional Authority representative,” I said seriously.

“While I’m excited at the thought of an old home week at Capria, you’re telling us the RA is in the pot and now they want our help? After they kicked us to the curb?” Laurent asked skeptically, “Every sector supposedly has a Flotilla to deal with this sort of thing, or so we were told.”

“The Customs and Border Control Flotillas stationed in the refurbished Starbases of the ‘Wall Initiative’ report they are over-matched, underfunded and under-strength to deal with this slew of bug attacks we’re seeing here,” I reported.

“Is anyone surprised the Speaker’s ‘Wall Initiative’ failed so spectacularly? They should never have kicked us to the curb,” Laurent said with satisfaction.

“You can’t throw a few billion credits and some old warships at a problem then just hope it goes away. You need a real investment for this sort of thing.” Rampage Jackson said.

“Sadly, these are typical results you get when you have an uneducated politician setting policy and paying for a project and then immediately trying to get it to do three things it was never intended for,” said Druid wryly. “I saw that often enough back when I was with the Sector Guard.”

“Political commentary to the side…” I said, nodding to Druid. He nodded back. “I just want to be clear, no one has kicked this fleet anywhere, let alone to the curb. We won every battle, or close enough, but still lost the war. We pulled back to Tracto and the Gambit Yards where we have been busy repairing, refitting and rebuilding this Fleet by choice.”

I could see some looked unimpressed.

“More than a month after the initial bug attacks, you said. Then why are we only hearing about this now, Sir?” asked Bob Kling, a man only recently out of physical therapy and all that entailed. He was the former commodore and now Rear Admiral in nominal Second in Command of the entire Tractoan SDF.

“While it’s good to have you back, Bob, for those of us who didn’t finish therapy and immediately decide to take our family to three-month-long vacation at a private resort on Tracto, this is not news,” ribbed Rear Admiral Druid.

“It’s still a good question though. Why are they only coming to us about this now?” cut in Commodore Laurent.

I nodded in his direction.

“You’d have to ask them,” I replied with a shrug.

“I keep coming back to… is this really our fight, Sir?” asked Captain Rampage.

“Let me answer it this way. If all if those worlds were deliberately targeted, and considering this Sector’s history I can’t imagine this is anything but a targeted attack, then someone has to respond. At the same time, it makes a lot of sense to start pushing out patrols in and around Tracto Star System. Where we go from there is still up in the air but that’s why we’re here. So that we’re ready,” I said.

Heads nodded.

“I’ll get right on it, Sir,” Laurent and Kling said at the same time and then looked at each other.

“We’ll work out the details later,” I said.

I swept the room with a gaze before landing back on the eyes of Captain Rampage.

“The truth is, the Confederation Fleet is out of position… it is out of position and under strength,” I looked down and took a breath before looking up again.

“Meanwhile, the rest of the Spine fiddled while winter came,” growled Captain Jackson.

“Unfortunately, as I have been reminded multiple times, if we don’t do something, billions of people will die,” I said, twisting my face into a sneer to show just what I thought of the so-called leaders who had allowed this to happen.

“We’re with you whatever you decide, Sir,” Spalding said loyally.

“And I appreciate that,” I said gratefully.

“However, this situation means that, I—no, strike that—we, have a few decisions to make. Do we sit back and do nothing and receive the rightful condemnation of watching while entire worlds die? Or,” my eyes slitted as a dangerous expression skittered across my face, “do we take action and enrich ourselves, our planet and future generations yet to come?” I said, holding Quentin Jackson’s gaze before sweeping the rest of the room until landing on Captain Eastwood.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Chief Fleet Gunner Lesner exclaimed with satisfaction.

“Trust me when I say, after I’m done with them, they’ll rue the day they sold us out,” I said.

“Music to this engineer’s tired old ears. When they need a hand, aren’t we grand… but we help and where’d they go?” Spalding growled.

“That about sums it up,” Lesner snorted.

“I can’t say they’re wrong, Jason,” Akantha couldn’t help but put her two centi-creds in.

Spalding nodded.

“While I’d hate to see the 400 warships my engineers have been busy turning from scrap metal back into fighting warships sit idle, I’d like it even less if we junked them without a thing to see for it but another smack to the face.”

“These people obviously never dealt with a Montagne before,” I said.

Spalding nodded and sat back as did Lesner.

“Now turning to other business, I’ve received a credible report from the Gorgon Front,” I said. I could see the hesitation in the room. There was a pause.

“Aren’t we worried about bugs, Sir? I don’t see how the Front has anything to do with us. If the Empire wins, all well and good; if they lose, then in some ways, even better,” Captain Eastwood interjected, surprise on his face, an emotion echoed by just about every other officer in the room.

“You’re not wrong but hear me out,” I said, lifting a hand, “as we now know or suspect, every major world in the Spine is about to come under massive bug attack. Considering the anemic Flotillas the Confederation assigned to each Sector, this is proof of genocide straight up. Anyone with eyes and two brain cells to rub together can link these attacks right back to the Imperial 5th Fleet and Admiral Magnus Davenport.”

“It’s a shame,” Spalding sighed.

“I’m not sure what we can do. Other than the obvious, and destroy the bugs,” Eastwood said doubtfully.

“I am not inclined to let the Empire get away with this,” I paused and then asked, “are you?”

“I honestly don’t see what the one has to do with the other,” Laurent said finally, “even if we accept that the Empire is responsible for these attacks. They’re too big. We’ve got enough people to man half a fleet, barely, and enough ships for a full fleet. The Empire has a dozen fleets and the ability to build more besides.”

Druid nodded in grim agreement.

“The full power of the Spineward Sectors wasn’t enough to deal with one imperial fleet and we don’t even have that,” he said.

“We have enough ships to take that fleet right now,” I said sharply.

“But not the crews to man them or am I wrong about that, Sir?” asked Chief Gunner Lesner.

“You’re not wrong about that,” I admitted.

“The Regional Authority in the Spine may have decided to ‘unilaterally disarm’ to save some taxes and rebuild devastated economies but we’re made of sterner stuff. The MSP has never shirked in the face of danger,” Spalding declared loudly.

I nodded, happy for the support.

“Taking on the Empire directly, well, some would call that a fool’s errand,” Laurent said.

“They are very big, Sir,” agreed Eastwood, “we’ve got a big punch but they’ve got the staying power. No doubt about that.”

“To face the Empire on our own ground and in a defensive action is one thing, but are we seriously considering taking the war to them directly, Jason?” Akantha asked in surprise.

I was starting to become fed up with all the naysaying. The worst part of it, though, was they did have a point. The Empire was big and nobody’s fool. Taking it on would not be easy but it was possible.

Fortunately, I had a plan.

“Listen up, people; I’ve got a way to put a spoke in the Empire’s wheels in a manner they’ll not soon forget,” I said, rapping the table for emphasis.

“We’re not just going to forget about the people of the Spine, are we?” Lesner asked uneasily.

“I admit the Empire stole a march on us. No. We’ll help the Spine, both because it’s where we live and also because they’ll pay through the nose for it, and not incidentally funding our real goal. That’s not to say stopping these bugs isn’t a very real goal—it is—but the proceeds of Operation Bug Hunt are to pay for our next move,” I said

“Proceeds?” Several members of my staff shared knowing looks.

I smiled.

“It sounds like the Little Admiral is back, Sir. And I have to say, despite my reservations, it’s long past time they paid for what they did,” Laurent admitted, holding out an open hand, “but what’s this plan, Sir?”

“I’ve heard some rather disturbing news, people. Disturbing for the Empire,” I said with an upturned corner of my mouth and then I laid it all out for them—the rumors of imperial victories on the Front and a desperate delegation of Stalwart, members of the same race as the Sundered who had arrived after an epic journey to present me with proof of intelligent non-violent, non-terran and most specifically alien life as well as multiple instances of documented planetary genocide.

“In short, while we’re still verifying many of these claims, it seems that when the Imperials say to the galaxy that mankind and their genetic creations are the only intelligent life forms in the known universe, what they really mean is that’s only true because they worked hard to annihilate every other form of sentient life they’ve come across,” I said sardonically.

The officers in the room stirred, several of them taking the time to peruse the information before looking up at me.

“I’m not sure what we can do, Admiral,” Chief Lesner said frankly, “we might have repaired most of those capture warships but they’re a mishmash of classes, hull types and quite frankly, we just don’t have the bodies to man all the ships we could put into service!” He paused, adding, “with respect, Sir.”

“And I have a plan to get us those bodies, Chief,” I said calmly.

“Is this really our job, Sir?” asked Captain Rampage.

I gave him a disappointed look.

“Anyone who doesn’t like the idea of risking their lives on the other side of known space can stay here on bug patrol. I suspect the Davenport and the Empire have left many little surprises seeded throughout the Spine to keep us busy, even after we defeat their main push and if they haven’t, nothing’s stopping them from dropping off a few more Swarms in the future,” I said.

“You’ll be free to do good work right here in the Spineward Sectors and finish cleaning up before reverting to home fleet duty,” I said.

“But as for the rest of us, I think it’s high time the Empire learned what happens when you mess with the Spine,” I said.

“Yes, but what’s to stop them from retaliating once they realize we’re on the other side of the Empire?” he asked.

“Our attack will be twofold. First, we’ll tie them up with a PR attack using the evidence of genocide as our shield. While that’s still sinking in is when we’ll go for the jugular and make a stab at tipping the balance of power on the Front against the Empire once and for all,” I said.

“Of course, they’ll dismiss the evidence and trot out the usual talking heads to refute it but the very fact it’s true will make it take them longer to successfully suppress. Unfortunately for them, any attempt to take the fight to us in Tracto will be seen as proof positive that we were right and turn all of humanity against them. If everything works out as planned, they can’t move against us without turning the entire galaxy against them,” I continued.

“If we toss in a cursory attempt to hide our identity, they won’t be able touch us in the Spine. The Front will be another matter,” I added.

“Why do you think they’ll be able to suppress the news? Don’t you don’t think people will be smart enough to see the truth?” asked Rampage.

“According to the Stalwart, the ‘truth’s’ been out there for some time now and it hasn’t gotten out yet. Why would our information be seen any differently?” I asked sardonically.

“That’s pretty cynical,” sighed the Captain.

“That’s life. Or haven’t you been around for the past five years?” Spalding snorted.

“As for me, I say this could work and it’s past time the Empire got a good punch in the nose!” he growled.

“Hear-hear!” said every officer in the room, even the ones who seemed the most hesitant over involving ourselves in yet another campaign before the one in front of us had even started to be dealt with.

I raised a hand to calm the room.

“Now we’re not going to launch ourselves half-cocked. As the Chief Gunner has rightfully pointed out, we need to man all our ships and work on our supply situation before heading off to the Gorgon Front. Plus, the PR effort’s going to take some time to set up properly. We’ll need to have all our ducks in a row before we can even start to really think about this kind of move. In the meantime though, we need to help rid the Spine of this bug uprising; that has to come first,” I warned.

“Sounds good to me, Sir,” Rear Admiral Druid said.

“Our first step in this plan involves us going to Capria. I want the Fleet mustered and ready to go ASAP,” I ordered.

“Aye-aye, Sir,” said Spalding quickly echoed by the rest of the room.

Chapter 10

Isaak’s Last Run

“The information you provided better be accurate, Freely,” Simpers said, coldly.

“It is! I swear on my life,” vowed the man known as Freely.

“Good that you understand the stakes in this,” Simpers said.

Freely shifted uneasily and likened the other man’s gaze to that of a deadly snake or reptile.

Suppressing a shudder, he pasted on his best smile, one practiced countless times in the past. It was meant to convey sincerity and inspire confidence at the same time.

That smile wilted in the face of Simper’s disregard.

“The favors I had to call in with the Censor’s Officer were considerable. Each Censor is a Senator on the verge of retirement with an outstanding record worthy of lauds from the entire Senate, and Senators are elected for life, meaning these men are nearly impossible to sway. If my investment proves flawed, do not expect your end to be as simple as that recently-deceased fool from the Spine, Ignatious,” he said, eyes boring into the other man.

Freely bristled.

“I was framed! Set up to take the fall. There’s no calling me by that ridiculous—” he snapped and then choked as Simper’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ignatious,” Simpers said through slitted eyes, “but I would weigh every word that comes out of your mouth from this point forward as if it were gold.”

Freely swallowed.

“Ignatious Percival Freely; couldn’t you have selected a better name for my cover, Simpers?” he finally said, looking down at the floor mutinously.

“You can call me, Boss,” said Simpers.

“B-boss?” Freely sounded confused while Simpers just smiled benignly.

“Good; even a rustic like you can learn,” Simpers approved before turning serious and piercing Freely with his eyes.

“Now you were saying how you felt Imperial Witness Protection leaves something to be desired, were you, Mr. Freely?” Simpers asked, cocking his head.

“N-n-n-no not at all! It’s good. All good! I have no complaints,” Freely finished firmly.

“If you’re sure,” Simpers said placidly.

“Of course,” Freely said hastily.

“Boss,” reminded Simpers.

Freely stared at him then at Simper’s go-along gesture, realized what he was supposed to do.

“Boss,” he added bitterly.

“Now that’s out of the way, you were about to tell me everything you know. Then you’re going to tell me everything you think you know and we’re going to go over it again and again if necessary until I find myself completely satisfied,” said Simpers.

“No more chemical interrogation?” Ignatious Freely asked cautiously and then at Simper’s reproving look, added, “Boss.”

“No, I.P.,” Simpers smiled, “I hope you don’t mind I call you I.P.?

Freely grit his teeth.

“It’s your world, Boss,” he said shoulders slumping.

“It was very wise of you to take your people’s anti-interrogation package. Making yourself deathly allergic to most known forms of chemical interrogation is generally reserved for secret agents. A moment of rare foresight in a life otherwise marked by travesty and failure,” said Simpers.

Freely glared at him.

“Fortunately for you, our doctors were able to save you on the operating table and unfortunately for us, we don’t have the time it would take to take to desensitize you. So we’re both going to take a leap of faith, I.P.,” the Imperial Agent said.

“You’re going to lead us to the Core Fragment. You are not going to pass Go, you are not to Collect 200 Credits, nor are you to mislead us into a star system possessing something you think might be tempting enough to sway us from executing you, if and when your information proves faulty. The only thing that matters now is the target you have provided. Capiche, I.P.?” asked the Imperial Agent.

Freely gave him a calculating look.

“Understood, Boss,” he said finally.

“Good! Now understanding the chair you are sitting in possesses the latest in lie detecting technologies, why don’t you take it from the top?” said Simpers.

He hadn’t yet finished talking when monolocsium restraints snapped into place around Freely’s arms and legs, and a pair of gloves slid themselves over the fingers of his hand.

Chapter 11

Jason Watches CNN

It had taken a significant amount of work to stir a fleet continually short of personnel and which had sat at space dock, minus a few maneuvers, for the better part of two years. But it looked like we were finally over the hump.

Picking up the remote control, I flicked on the new model 3-D holo-projector and scrolled to the latest news.

“Welcome back to the Cosmic News Network. This is Mathilda May reporting,” said the News Anchor as the news feed began to roll at the bottom of the screen.

She flashed a thousand-watt smile before assuming a downcast expression.

“Today, we here at the Cosmic News Network are forced to bring you the grim news that hundreds of worlds across the Spine, planets and star systems previously committed to giving peace a chance and unilaterally reducing tensions with the Empire are beginning to waver in their convictions. Even as we speak, a number of these worlds are gathering together and threatening to call a halt to the unilateral disarmament of their System Defense Forces.” Her smiled turned into a frown.

“This shocking move has supposedly been precipitated by a series of isolated incidents and in this reporter’s humble opinion, greatly overblown bug attacks,” she grimaced and the screen flickered. “Watch as the Cosmic News Network brings to you the latest such incident to happen in the Spine.”

On the holo-vid, a mid-tier star system appeared followed by a series of clips and cut scenes. As the viewers watched, the system’s defenders opened fire and after a hailstorm of fire drove off a bug attack, entirely annihilating the Swarm with only minor losses.

“As you can see, our worlds are ready to deal with the typical bug attack by themselves, let alone when you factor in the Flotillas that have been stationed in our sectors and paid for by our tax credits,” she continued.

“But don’t take my word for it; let’s talk with our panel,” she said brightly, and with a whooshing sound, four new images were cut into the projection.

“Doctor Anton Foley, you’re an expert on bug psychology and physiology; why don’t you please tell our audience what you know about bugs and instruct them as to the complete and utter absurdity of this new bug menace,” she asked, putting a scornful twist into her last word.

“As you yourself well know, Mathilda, it is absurd. While there have been a few isolated incidents in the past, the alarm call to arms being bandied about by some of the more alarmist system governments regarding some kind of bug wave or region-wide Swarm attack is simply beyond the pale,” an esteemed black-haired scientist in a lab coat said with certainty.

“So, just to be clear, just as the reporters here in CNN believe, it’s not very likely,” she said.

“It’s patently absurd on the face of it. Bugs move at sub-light speeds. There’s no way Spineward-wide attacks could occur as a natural phenomenon!” the Scientist said passionately before flashing a smile at the camera and turning to present his best profile.

“What about your critics who point out the bugs could have been placed there by parties unknown?” cut in a second panelist, the label underneath his image stating he was Jose Westwarden of the Purple-Green Merchant Alliance, a new group of previously independent shippers who had banded together after the last round of hostilities ended.

The scientist visibly swelled before a third panelist cut in.

“Harkoria Fentan Mudd with the Movement for Peace here, and just what kind of rank insinuations are you bandying about? We’re trying to unilaterally reduce tensions with the Empire, not start a brush war,” she cut in furiously.

Jose Westwarden glared at the Movement for Peace activist before responding.

“Your words fingered the Empire, not mine. The Purple-Green Alliance is solely concerned with moving freight and that can’t happen if our crews are eaten up by bugs,” he said firmly, “our Merchant Alliance needs escorts and assurances before we’ll risk runs into areas overrun with space bugs. You can unilaterally reduce tensions all you want, but we want escorts.”

“Preposterous. Absurd on the face of it!” choked Doctor Anton Foley, turning red with anger, “are you actually suggesting that some group of rogue terrorists was seeding large swathes of space with space bugs? Only a complete moron or psychopath would do such a thing.”

“Forget the bugs!” cried Harkoria Fentan Mudd, “a few worlds may have been impacted, but that’s what we have the Confederation Flotillas for. Now that they’re forewarned, they’ll move into position to stop these isolated local infestations. What’s important is that we continue to give peace a chance. Better a few bugs than another Imperial Battle Fleet!”

“These bugs need to be stopped and contained or at least, Confederation escorts need to be provided to our freight haulers,” Jose Westwarden said flatly.

“The Confederation can’t afford to diffuse any more of its strength than it already has. Sending their light units out in penny packets on merchant convoy protection details would fritter their combat power away while at the same time slowing trade down to a crawl,” cut in a distinguished-looking man in Sector Guard uniform.

“Admiral Stood; how nice of you to join the conversation,” smiled Mathilda, “I hope you can be a calming influence on our more skittish merchant friends,” she said, flashing a warning look at the representative of the Purple-Green Merchant Alliance. “We wouldn’t want the public to start viewing the situation with alarm.”

“Exactly right!” exclaimed Harkoria of the Movement for Peace, “the next thing you’ll be doing is requesting we call back Tyrant to escort your shipping! This is not the beginning of the five year ‘miscommunication’ that issued in such dark times to the Spine. There’ll be no way to unilaterally build a bridge of peace with the Empire if we do something like that,” she sneered.

My expression darkened as every person around the table immediately fell all over themselves to agree with Harkoria as they laughed or snorted at the absurdity of anyone ever proposing a return of the MSP to the Spine.

“What is this rot?” I asked, temper surging, “the Spine is being attacked by bugs and they’re still debating the need for unilateral disarmament as if it were still a choice,” I shook my head and turned off the video. It wasn’t even worth mentioning that they had less than no interest in my help, considering it laughable, while at the same time their regional government’s much-vaunted Confederation Flotilla was actively soliciting my help.

In other words, just another day in the Spine.

Angrily, I switched channels, going from the Regional desk with Mathilda May to pan-galactic news.

On the screen, the orange-haired Speaker for the Grand Assembly of the old Confederation appeared, looking down from his podium at the assembled news reporters, his lips pursed in a confident expression.

“What is your reaction to the latest news about the CIB probe into Assemblywoman Gravity’s supposed corruption, as well as its implications as to links into the top levels of coalition party leadership? Your leadership specifically, Sir!?” demanded a hot young reporter with green hair and a wicked smile as she pressed the Speaker for answers.

“The Confederation Investigation Bureau working in conjunction with the Special Prosecutor and the Justice Department has privately cleared me of all wrongdoing. I assure you that if there was any corruption inside the Party, either party One Way or Absolute Choice, then there is only one way to deal with it. The guilty must be punished and prosecuted to the full extent of the law,” the Speaker said seriously. “I will add that there is every indication the Grand Assemblywoman, if indeed she is guilty of anything at all, acted completely and totally alone.”

A large obese man with a mohawk and a trio of hover-drones thrust his way forward, shoving his mic at the Speaker.

“What about your campaign promise, Mr. Speaker?! You promised transparency, that this would be the most transparent Speakership in the history of the Confederation and yet all we have are broken promises. In short, have you sold out your soul to Triumviri Pontifex as his new boot-licking lapdog?!” screamed the fat man.

The Speaker’s face hardened.

“I am no man’s lapdog,” snarled the Speaker, “and if Triumvir Pontifex or anyone else in the Empire continues to test the resolve of this government, there will be fire and fury such as this galaxy has never seen in its entire history!”

There was an audible gasp from the crowd of gathered reporters.

“Speaker, did you just declare war on the Empire on intra-galactic news?” gasped the green-haired reporter before visibly swooning in front of the camera. She was smoothly caught by an assistant before rallying back to her feet and once again thrusting her microphone at the Speaker.

“For too long, the Confederation has allowed its defense and the defense of the galaxy to rest in the hands of the Empire. The police action two years ago in the Spineward Sectors is just the latest indication of just how badly things were mismanaged before I came into office,” the Speaker said damningly.

“Are you blaming the entire Empire for instigating the actions of Irene Gravity and your own party or just the Triumvir!” demanded the fat mohawk man, visibly jiggling with fury and disbelief.

“Absolute Choice and Irene Gravity may have gone off the rails, but One Way is as dedicated to peace, security and a thriving economy as it’s ever been,” the Speaker said, throwing his political allies under the bus without hesitation the moment the going got tough.

“In other words, we’ve all been hoodwinked and this Wall you’ve sunk billions of credits into, is nothing more than a bigoted PR stunt and your attempt to perpetrate a fraud on the Confederation people!” screamed the fat man, now quivering with rage.

“Times were tough in the Spineward Sectors,” the Speaker said, lifting up a hand just behind his head and thrusting a now quivering finger toward the ceiling, “but the Wall has worked. We made a deal, a great deal, the best deal you’ve even seen and just like I promised when you elected me to this great office, we’ve already cut illegal immigration and the refugee crisis down to 90%!”

“What about your critics who say this is not about refugees, but instead, that it was due to your and the Confederation Fleet’s total inaction that the Confederation government allowed the Spineward Sectors to fall into disarray during the five years’ hiatus following our disentanglement with the Empire and its imperial war machine?” demanded a hardnosed journalist.

The Speaker for the Grand Assembly visibly swelled.

“Our inaction? I don’t know if you are aware, but Confederation Fleet assets were operating in and around the Spineward Sectors right through the whole hiatus, up until certain officers lost their will, lost their way and ultimately gave up the fight for the Confederation, forcing Commodore McCruise, who felt her situation had become untenable, to bring her fellow patriots stationed at the Wolf-9 Starbase back home to the Confederation to seek help,” the Speaker shot back, “so don’t ever speak to me again about how the Fleet has failed this star nation! Maybe if my political opposition wasn’t so dead set against the Confederation Fleet that we’re literally forced to use the Wall to prop up the Spineward Sector governors and New Regional Authority, none of this would currently be happening.”

“That’s strange, Sir, because Grand Assemblypersons we both know, prominent members of this assembly, say that before the police action, you allowed—through apathy and inaction—unnamed imperial bad actors to take such advantage of our fellow citizens, Mr. Speaker. What do you have to say about that?” the reporter shot back with his follow-up.

“If you really want to support the Spine, then vote for my appropriations bill to fund the Wall and the Confederation Fleet,” said the Speaker.

“What about the budget, Mr. Speaker!?” shouted the green-haired reporter with the wicked smile, “already, we’ve had to institute a 5% rationing on critical mandatory electives like body image surgeries and facial reconstructive and cosmetic improvements. Now you’re asking for more? What’s next? Extending Grandma’s prolong booster treatments another six months down the road?!”

“Thanks to the mismanagement of Ms. Gravity and my predecessors in office, we’ve all had to make a great deal of sacrifices and I include the Confederation people when I say this,” the Speaker said solemnly, “however, when our brothers and sisters in the Spine cried out for aid and succor against imperial aggression, I knew what had to be done and the Wall was the only answer. The proof is in the pudding and my belief has been proven out; if you want peace in our time, then a few sacrifices are going to have to be made.”

“The fact is that thanks to the Wall and my ability to pick the best people for my top negotiation positions, we’re succeeding in making the Confederation great again. The truth is, we’re winning and we’re going to keep on winning, and then we’re going to go out there and win some more. I know that offends some people. I know there are naysayers. Already, we have people out there who say they’re tired of winning, who say why can’t we slow down, catch our breath and stop winning for a while? And to those people, I say we’re not going to stop, we’re just going to go out there and win some more!” the Speaker said passionately. “The Spineward Sectors is back in the fold which is a big plus in the victory column and on top of that, they’ve achieved semi-autonomous home rule in an amazingly short amount of time, which will help ease the eventual transition back into the Confederation fold as full voting members.”

“As for my political opponents and those reckless members of the media who believe imperial collusion is a real thing, all I can say is—keep dreaming. If I were really in the pocket of Gaius Pontifex, there’s no way I would have sent out Thomas Charles, an Admiral, former minority leader and current head of the Border Integrity Movement, with a fleet warship to drop-kick the Empire out of the Spine in nothing flat,” the Speaker said flatly.

“What do you say to your political opponents who are demanding you open up your financial and communication records in order to prove you did not in fact take imperial hush money to sell Confederation worlds directly to the Empire?” bellowed the fat reporter, face flushed red as he glared at the Speaker after this latest round of explanation.

“The sad fact is that any accusations of Imperial Collusion are the completely unfounded allegations of a few sad holdouts afraid of winning and even more afraid to do what it takes to make the Confederation great again. The Wall must go forward,” the Speaker said with complete and total certainty, “and any of my political opponents who are against it, as far as I’m concerned, they are against the Confederation itself. People like to accuse me of selling out the Confederation to the Empire but they don’t know me! They are weak both mentally and physically. If they were brave enough to say their words to my face, I assure you I could take them any time, any place, and anywhere, either on the floor of the Grand Assembly or in the public forum, or in person.”

There was a second audible gasp from the gathered reporters.

“Did you just threaten to attack your opposition in the Grand Assembly and call them traitors, Mr. Speaker?” demanded a random reporter from the pool.

The Speaker stepped back from the podium

“Enough questions. Our time’s up for the day,” said the Speaker’s Press Secretary, stepping forward and raising his hands, causing an even louder roar of outrage as the press went into a complete feeding frenzy.

I looked at the holo-screen with disgust.

The ‘Wall’ and this putz supposedly saved the Spineward Sectors from the Empire? The Speaker could keep dreaming. The Wall that he was so in love with wasn’t even pointed at the Empire, it was aimed at us in the Spine. The only thing the ‘Wall’ did was pay for the Confederation Flotillas that had driven the local warlords out of business after they drop kicked the MSP back to Gambit and Tracto.

He was a winner who’d made a great deal and I was the one who lost his way? Whatever the Speaker and Charles Thomas had agreed to didn’t look very great from where I was sitting.

Tossing the remote control onto the table with complete disgust, I turned off the news. All it was doing was raising my blood pressure.

Chapter 12

Jason and Akantha Go Head to Head

“For what possible reason could you possibly want to help those ingrates who turned their back on us, let alone the traitors that actively turned against you, Protector?” asked Akantha in an angry, no-nonsense tone of voice, “you know full well I don’t understand this insistence on helping those who actively hurt you and threatened this family!” she finished crossly.

“Akantha,” I started, trying to put my thoughts in order.

“Don’t you Akantha me! Explain yourself, or you won’t like what happens afterward, I assure you Jason,” she said, crossing her arms as she glared.

My previously placating expression stilled before morphing into a foreboding demeanor I’d rarely or possibly never shown my wife.

“I think you’ll want to take that back and apologize,” I said stiffly.

“Oh, I do? Make me,” she said bluntly, her jaw jutting.

“Don’t test me, woman,” I warned this conversation was rapidly moving past the issue at hand but I didn’t care. I’d compromised and back-pedaled and tried to appease her, and none of it had worked. Frankly, I was done trying.

“So, everyone and their sister can treat you like garbage but when I want you to stand up for yourself, I’m the one you turn on, is that how this works?” she asked sharply.

“I won’t turn on you, I’ll just leave. I won’t stay where I’m not appreciated,” I said flatly.

“Run? You? Never. You’ve too much desire for self-inflicted harm to ever turn away from anyone anywhere. Which is the whole problem! If you can’t even seem to turn down a man who stabbed you in the back, you’ll never leave,” she said with total certainty.

“You need me too much. More than you need those Spineward Sector politicians anyway. The truth is, you need Tracto too much to walk away from her or me. How long would your fleet survive without trillium?” she asked challengingly, “we need each other to survive. Together, we are stronger, except when you’re frittering away our strength, while apart we both die and you know it,” she ended hotly.

“I think maybe we should have had this conversation some time ago,” I said looking at her with new eyes, “after everything I’ve done for you, this is how you treat me, yeah?”

She gave me a searching look, uncertainty in her eyes for the first time.

“I’ve put up with a lot from you in the past and your people too, because you’re my wife and quite frankly, you were right; I did need the people of Tracto,” I said stiffly, “but I’ve had it up to here with the disrespect. It ends now. Today.”

“Who’s disrespecting who?” she shot back.

“You, just about every time you’re on my bridge?” I observed with a cutting edge.

“You think letting strangers and enemies guilt you into risking your life and the lives of your people doesn’t threaten our family every time you give in to them?” she asked, switching topics and completely ignoring my, to my mind, mostly accurate response, “I won’t have it; you have a family now.”

“We had a family during the battle for Sector 26 and yet you still almost got yourself killed gallivanting around in the middle of a counter-boarding action!” I pointed out, stung, because she had a point. A very small, nearly miniscule point but a point nonetheless.

Then I squared my shoulders. This time was different. I had a plan. If they really needed my help so badly in the rest of the Spine, then they could cater to my demands for a change. Like she said, I was a family man now. My kids were growing and as much as I sympathized with the helpless people of Capria, this Sector and the Spine, they had to come first.

Especially when it came to people who exiled me whenever it was convenient, broke trade agreements left and right and then felt entirely justified in demanding my help whenever it suited them.

“That’s different,” Akantha said, getting her back up.

“We’re off topic. Are you aware my people have asked me to be their King?” I asked.

Akantha’s mouth open and then she froze.

“Right,” I said with a nod, “and before you make any more ill-advised threats, just let me point out first that my plan to help the Spine with this threat involves them paying us a great deal of money. Both with credits and in kind payments of goods and services that Capria, Gambit, the Fleet and I very much hope Tracto currently needs.”

“King. Of Capria?” she asked, eyes wide before she recovered.

“Apparently, old King James killed off all his rivals and then fled with a great deal of my homeworld’s wealth for his retirement plan,” I said, waggling my eyebrows.

Her face turned into a mask and I could almost see the wheels turning.

“How likely is it that he will attempt to return?” she asked.

“Oh, he’ll only be content feathering his new nest until things quiet down and he thinks he can stage a comeback by averting a financial collapse, but assuming I accept their offer, I can work to ensure his temporary retirement becomes a permanent one,” I said.

“Permanent, you say…?” she asked, eyes narrowing as she looked at me not entirely happily.

I shrugged, really unable to care at the moment how my becoming immune to her threats by accepting an important position back home, namely the Crown, affected Akantha and her plans.

“Well I’m not about to stand idly by while he tries to assassinate his way back to power, if the one he has to assassinate is me, now, am I?” I said drolly, “but let’s list off all the reasons he’d fail anyway. First off, any attempt by James to reclaim the throne, assuming I take it, wouldn’t work because you’ll gut him like a crab if he so much as shows his face in our general vicinity.”

“Second, I’m not planning to go anywhere,” I continued, “that said, there will be a window of vulnerability,” I conceded. “It will take time to find him and move the proper assets into place to contain or eliminate him,” I said with a pained expression.

I might not like it but there was one thing I was very much aware of; there could never be two Caprian Monarchs at the same time or at least not for very long. With a King and a Queen, a reconciliation of the type you would normally imagine might be possible but even in this day and age, two kings on side-by-side thrones would never fly.

I didn’t like the thought of killing my political rivals and my personal experiences with imprisonment made that an unpalatable option as well.

But the truth of the matter was, if I took the throne, James wouldn’t be able to help himself, he’d have to make a move to remove me, if only to save his own life. Even if I decided not to move against him, he’d never believe it. This was part of why a move to the Gorgon Front after I’d installed my own people on Capria would have a great deal of advantages, other than just saving innocent lives from the bugs those blackguards in the Empire had set loose on my homeworld.

“You might want to hand that over to me. I can deal with your cousin James,” Akantha said after a moment.

“You personally?” I asked with a frown.

“I have people for that. They can be discreet,” she said dismissively and I didn’t have to wonder any longer; it was definitely a decisive olive branch. The only question was, should I accept?

“I’m not sure I want to kill him but if we can agree to start with surveillance and only make a move if he tries to attack us or I give the order, I’m okay with you taking the lead,” I said after a moment.

“Still squeamish I see,” she said.

I looked at her with raised brow.

“An insult, now, really?” I asked with a scowl.

“That was not an insult. It’s one of your more endearing qualities actually,” she assured me.

“Mmhmm,” I murmured skeptically.

The silence after that last utterance extended.

“So, what are your plans for helping these people?” she said finally, grudgingly.

“You mean in addition to securing the services of half a million marines and the more than two million professional soldiers in the Caprian army?” I asked, just to twist the knife and drive home my point, “because that will crew a lot of warships and complete the task of turning the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet into a force to be reckoned with anywhere in the galaxy.”

“No need to twist the knife; I take your point,” Akantha replied, sullenly, if I was any judge, “I can see if you become King, you’ll no longer need the warriors of Tracto for your lancer departments nearly as much as you did before.”

I thought she was wrong or at least, not entirely right, since I wouldn’t trust my fleet in the hands of an all-Caprian spacer and marine or lancer crew anytime soon, but I definitely did not want to clarify that particular point with her right at the moment.

“I like to keep things as diverse as possible,” was all I decided to say on that subject before switching topics, “according to the information given me by the representatives, Capria sold a great deal of warships to the Empire and King James ran away with the second half of the payment. No doubt he intended to use it as a bargaining chip to secure his pathway back to power, once the hue and cry over feeding his political opposition to the bugs died down,” I said and then continued darkly, “unfortunately for him, this just may be the crucial misstep that removes him from power.”

“In other words, they want you to cover his debts,” she said flatly, “how much of the treasury are we talking about?”

“The Caprian Shipyards are quite extensive and potentially a very lucrative long-term investment. Short term, I’m eyeing the military, specifically the marines, lancers and ground forces. They could be quite helpful both inside and outside of this sector,” I pointed out.

“They’re only lucrative if you can hold onto it and that’s not what I asked. I wanted to know how much it’s going to cost us,” Akantha said stiffly, “I would also be cautious of over-utilizing warriors with questionable loyalties. Your homeworld has changed hands so many times because its military is not firmly behind any one candidate.”

I waved a hand.

“Like I haven’t had to deal with mutiny after potential mutiny with my Lancers Tractoan ‘warband’?” I asked dismissively. I figured the more I balanced my Tractoan lancers out with other non-Tractoan lancers and marines the more stable my grip on power and the more comfortable I would be. Particularly since these last two years had seen my non-Tractoan personnel cut to the proverbial bone.

Akantha pursed her lips but ultimately decided to stay silent.

“The fact is that with Capria’s industrial base, latent shipyards,” I paused to correct myself, “or if this latest information is true, very active shipyards, and the military forces in its SDF, I could make significant improvements to our situation here.”

“As I said before, it sounds like an advantageous situation for you but only if we can hold it,” she said with an unhappy frown.

I didn’t fail to note the equivocation but decided not to touch on it just yet. Let her stew for a while. I’d been forced to eat her space waste and smile for years so it was gratifying, if not particularly nice, to be the one dishing it out for a change. Akantha, my beloved Hold-Mistress, was just going to have to adapt to our new reality, a reality in which she and her people were relegated to more of a convenience and a backup plan than my sole source of support.

“Considering the current strength of their fleet and that I’m being invited in by their own government, no one on Capria can stop me once I’m crowned. It would take the entire population turned against me to make the situation there untenable and I’m not about to let that happen,” I said with confidence; these last two years in exile had been more than just a slowdown period in my life and a chance to play with the kiddos. It had been a wakeup call.

After being betrayed by Isaak and the New Confederation, I was filled with anger and frustration and unable to do anything. The unfairness of it all had been overwhelming.

Only after I’d walked out of it alive and after a significant period of time to reflect on the beach and decompress, had I come to realize that I’d been more battle-fatigued from the constant stress of dealing with attacks, wars, assassination attempts, invasion and mutinies than I’d realized. The answer I’d eventually found was not to throw away my ideals in the name of revenge but to instead recognize there were times when they told you to go to Hades, that you just had to walk away. No matter how much you wanted to stay and help save lives.

I’d been forced to remember that as a Montagne, I’d rarely if ever got a fair shake in my entire life. I could either live with that or walk down a dark road of anger and hate.

I didn’t have to be a punching bag either. Despite the anger I still felt, I knew what was right and what was wrong; if I forgot or got out of line, I had plenty of people around me that I trusted to set me straight.

At the same time, I was forced to concede expecting political support or accolades from the people for tirelessly working to save their lives was a fools’ game and I hadn’t exactly done a great job before the Sector 26 Campaign of getting my message out there.

“I’m more worried about the Empire than I am Capria, although that’s risky,” Akantha said, bringing my attention back to the here and now where it needed to be.

“The Empire…. is a risk,” I admitted, disturbed by the reality they were still too big to move against directly, “but considering the Spine is back in the loving arms of the old Confederation, I don’t see them as too much of a problem, honestly. If they take action in the Spine, then of course we’ll respond but since we’re not a province, there’s only so much they can do.”

“Maybe my imagination is bigger than yours, Jason,” Akantha said sternly, “but I can imagine quite a bit that they could do, starting with a spoiling raid against anyone that helps you. They did exile you after all. Which doesn’t even take these latest bug attacks into question.”

“Point,” I admitted.

“My question is; where is the old Confederation in all this?” Akantha said angrily, “they send you into exile, fine, that just means you have more time for us but now they need your Fleet to save the Spine from the demon bugs. Why?” she demanded, “why isn’t the Confederation settling everything like they’re supposed to? Why did the Regional Authority call you unless this is some kind of trap? For that matter, where are the rest of the Fleets in the Sector 25 and the Spineward Sectors in general?”

“Apparently, the Regional Assembly urged its member worlds to unilaterally disarm in order to decrease tensions with the Empire,” I sneered, “and after receiving relief convoys to put their worlds back to rights, many of the local SDF’s were only too happy to turn the job of dealing with threats outside their home-space back over to the Confederation Fleet. To give the demon his due, many of those worlds then focused on rebuilding local infrastructure, interstellar trade and their economies. Mostly.”

“Again, where is the Confederation Fleet, that they’re forced to fall back on a man they exiled for protection?” she asked coldly.

“As I understand it, both from our own intelligence reports and what Kong Pao and others said, each Sector was assigned a Confederation Flotilla to patrol for piracy and put the local warlords out of business but they are out of position for these sorts of attacks and to be honest, they don’t have the numbers they need to do the job,” I sighed.

“So why haven’t the Flotilla Commanders call in the main Confederation Fleet!?” Akantha said with irritation.

“Again, from what I’ve been hearing,” I stressed, “most of the current Confederation Fleet budget is tied up in the Wall Initiative. The remaining Fleet, minus a few roving patrol fleets is still in mothballs, so they’ve had to use the funding for the Wall to base a Flotilla in at least one Starbase per sector. Right now, the Confederation Fleet is looking at six months to a year to pull more ships out of mothballs and then weeks or months again in transit time to get them here. By the time that happens, dozens of worlds could have been eaten to the bedrock,” I said bleakly.

“This is insane,” Akantha said, thrusting a finger down on the table, “unilateral disarmament? The old Confederation can’t be bothered to provide more than a small anti-pirate flotilla? In regions that have recently been conquered by warlords! What kind of ruler does this!?”

“The old Confederation, apparently,” I said unhappily, “to be fair, they sent a rather large fleet to settle things that first year after we were kicked out of Sector 25, but by the second year, they’d decided to break it up into flotilla-sized packets and roving patrols to guard the individual sectors of the Spine.”

“All of which means you have to risk your life, your fleet, and our wealth all because they decided to be cheap,” she frowned in contemplation, “to be honest, I’m not sure how much we should trust your reports,” Akantha added.

“How so?” I asked.

“Oh I’m not saying everything’s a lie but how many worlds were devastated after Rim Fleet withdrew and during the various invasions by the Reclamation Fleet, Droids and Pirate Warlords?” she asked suspiciously, “you can’t tell me each and every world everywhere in seven sectors of space failed to rebuild their Defense Fleets.”

She had a good point.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if they downplayed that angle considering the dozens of worlds per sector that obviously listened to their lies and failed to rebuild their SDF’s. More, I suspect those worlds that did rebuild intend to keep their SDF’s home to actually defend the world they were built to protect. No one wants to send away the warships they constructed at considerable cost, leaving their homeworld open to bug attacks, in order to defend worlds that couldn’t be bothered to make the necessary sacrifices to defend themselves,” I finally said.

“Explain to me how any of this benefits us?” she said flatly.

“To start any world that wants my help is going to bleed credits for our services,” I said.

“And if they refuse to pay?” she challenged.

I lifted a brow.

“You know how it works. We don’t have the treasure to pay you, Admiral Montagne. People are dying, Admiral! Why don’t you just save us for free and we’ll call it good all things considering? Then if you try to walk away, they call you a tyrant,” she said, temper rising.

“And if one doesn’t pay, pretty soon no one pays and they call me a chump behind closed doors,” I said with a sigh, “yes I’ve learned that lesson very well, Akantha.” While it was good to see her passionate about something other than fighting with me, I didn’t see the point of continuing down this road.

“It’s good to see you’re at least starting to recognize how things work and appear to be taking steps to shore up your weakness for helping people without anything in return,” she said suspiciously.

“Listen, I have the Jump Spindles and I’m willing to take payment in kind. We could always use more factory complexes, for one,” I shrugged, adding, “orbital smelters, sensor arrays or even fixed defenses would all work just fine. I’m going to make it clear on the front end my help comes at a cost, and hand them a bill before we do anything in their star system, along with a rider stating we will take payment in kind if they won’t pay us up front in credits. Then when they try to stiff us on the bill, I’ll just move into orbit and haul away large structures no one would normally think could be taken without being disassembled,” I said with a wolfish grin.

“I know you. Whatever you say, you’re still too kindhearted,” Akantha warned.

“I’m not taking no for an answer. If they refuse our help, fine, if they accept it, they’ll pay,” I said making a chopping motion with my hand.

“Now, what about this other notion of yours,” Akantha said after a minute, “why are we involving ourselves in a place so very far away from Tracto and Sector 25 that I’ve never even heard of it?”

“Proof,” I said.

“What?” she asked.

“There’s more to it but that’s what it all boils down to. Saving lives and stopping genocide is something we’ll try to do along the way but at the end of the day, it’s about getting proof,” I said.

“Yes, but proof of what?” she asked.

My eyes turned as cold as space ice and I flipped a hand palm up.

“The Empire thinks it can exile me, invade our worlds with impunity and generally do whatever they want but it’s high time they learned that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,” I curled the fingers of my hand into a fist in a crushing motion, “which is why I intend to go over there, kick some imperial teeth in and in the process, hopefully prove once and for all that humanity is not alone in this galaxy,” I said with a gleam in my eye.

“What does that even mean? Does it really matter if there are more alien races out there? I mean we already have the droids and the uplifts and a lot of even stranger things all over there on the Omicron,” Akantha pointed out.

“If new Sundered visitors from the Gorgon Front can be believed, the Empire of Man has not only consistently lied to the public and deceived all of humanity about the truth of life in this galaxy, but they’ve gone a step further and actively attempted to destroy it root and branch,” I said.

“Proving them wrong and showcasing their genocidal attacks on defenseless alien worlds will do more to damage their credibility and curb their growing power in the galaxy than shooting up a thousand of their starships,” I said, already imagining it, “once the galactic community realizes they’ve been lied to and we confirm what’s been going on underneath their noses all this while, the outrage will be monumental.”

“Alright,” Akantha said after a moment, “I can see how striking back at the Empire to destroy their image could be beneficial to us. But not if it provokes a reaction we cannot survive.”

“I agree they’re too large to face head-on and we can’t attack their worlds or provinces directly. But this is different. As strong as we are, we can’t replace combat losses like they can, but going in there fighting to help the aliens and push back the Empire?” I nodded with certainty, “all we have to do is get the word out to the galactic media and we’ll be fine.

“Besides,” I added, “we might find some unique alien tech like the jump spindles or some other new technology that gives us a big edge in this fight.”

“Yes, new technology… I can see how the knowledge and secrets could be useful,” Akantha mused in a quiet voice, “okay. You have my support. I may have been wrong to prejudge your decisions. Messene will pay for this initiative to Capria and support whatever you need for the Bug Campaign. If the information from these new Sundered check out, and we can get away with it, then… it looks like we’ll be going to the Gorgon Front.”

I looked back at her gravely. Now was not the time to mention my grave concerns with certain of her policies, namely the resurrection and restoration of a long dead data-god, but at some point, I was going to have to address the elephant in the room.

“Thank you,” I said instead of the half a dozen other things I could have. Like for starters, the fact that I didn’t think I was going to need her to pay for much of anything in the first place. But as this was clearly an olive branch and since it would let me put one situation to bed by taking Capria off the bargaining table early, there was no need to throw it back in her face.

“There’s just one thing,” she said, her voice taking on the hint of growl.

I looked at her, my brows lowering.

“No complaining if I get involved in another boarding action,” she said.

I rolled my eyes.

“No promises,” I said.

Together, we’d started to map out a future path for our small but growing Empire. It was hard to imagine this had all started on a single disarmed battleship.

I gave myself a shake. First we’d deal with Capria, and then the bugs, and finally—depending on how things went—we’d throw a spoke in the intra-galactic wheels of the Empire of Man.

‘M-A-N,’ I thought coldly.

Chapter 13

The Fleet Musters

Ships had started to arrive at Tracto from all over the Rim of Sector 25 as the former worlds of the Border, now realizing the potential threat posed by the bugs, were eager to shore up relations and mend fences. Already, a dozen ambassadors had arrived with more on the way by the time I returned to orbit, not that I cared.

The Royal Rage was crewed up and waiting to whisk me back to Gambit.

Despite Lenora Hammer’s accusation that I was some kind of terrorist for trying to rope her back into the MSP, I’d been quite serious. Right now, I had less than fifty ships fit for action, mostly due to crew concerns. Every ship’s Lancer Department was fully staffed but regular spacer crews were below establishment.

If I could have recruited her and possibly anyone else formerly a part of the MSP back into service, I could have sent several more warships out to face the bugs.

Idly I pulled up a simplified fleet roster that included all of our current warships, not just the ones we’d repaired even simply had sufficient spacers to crew at the moment.

Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet:

1 Super Battleship

42 Battleships

4 Gunboat Carriers

- 1217 Gunboats

126 Cruisers (various classes)

210 Destroyers (various classes)

38 Corvettes

47 Cutters

392 Total Warships

For a moment, I imagined myself at the head of an almighty battle fleet, all of those warships fully repaired, recovered and crewed up. We had another sixty to eighty partially-disassembled warships that both engineering and the shipyard had down checked as unrecoverable. Designated for disassembly, anything usable was stripped off before they threw the rest into the orbital smelters at the new Gambit Star System.

Coming in at just under 400 warships, minus a few left for Tracto and Gambit self-defense, if they’d all been repaired and crewed up, I would have been more than ready to face the bug scourge head on. As it was….

I sighed.

Unfortunately, such a dream was still years off at our current pace. Despite my best efforts, we’d hemorrhaged almost as many people from the shipyard and factory complexes as we had from the general spacer pool.

The war was now over and with the MSP no longer a part of either Confederation, many previously loyal spacers had been interested in finishing out the remainder of their contract and then going home.

Right now, Terrance Spalding and Glenda Baldwin were doing their dead-level best to train the new recruits we were scrounging up but between security concerns and the fact many of our recruits were from Tracto and thus lacking even a basic education, slotting replacements into the open slots in our organization had slowed to a crawl.

In the meantime, even the use of construction robots hadn’t been able to fill the gaps caused by the continued lack of trained man and woman power.

“Are you ready, Admiral?” Lisa Steiner asked, breaking me out of my reverie.

“Is the Fleet assembled?” I asked.

“Aye-aye, Sir,” she replied with a smile.

Steiner was one of the loyal few that had stayed the course. When the likes of Captain and now Commodore Hammer had gotten a severe case of the bug-out boogies, leaving us in the lurch, Lisa Steiner had been as steady as a rock.

“Make for the hyperlimit and prepare the fleet to point transfer, Commander,” I ordered.

“Yes, Admiral,” Lisa said with a serious expression.

We were taking thirty warships with us to Tracto and a dozen freighters, many of them loaded to the rafters with extra Lancers and green recruits fresh from their training course.

I had a particular use for those lancers.

Oh, I had a use for the regular spacer recruits too, but the Lancers were key if my new plan was going to work out like I hoped.

Back in the audience room, it was easy for Hammer to say things like ‘with a wave of my hands, I could release the krakens of war’ but actually doing it and making it happen was a horse of a different color.

Not many outside of Gambit—or Tracto for that matter—were aware I was warship-rich but crew poor. After it was all said and done, I had enough crew for fifty ships. Beyond that, I had enough command teams for my officers to run up to a hundred ships, but even with Science Officer Jones slave-rigging everything up the ying-yang, finding the actual crews to run them would leave everything running short-handed.

That was why the current plan was to take an initial group of one hundred warships to Capria, and go from there. If things back on my homeworld were as I suspected, I was going to fall back on a tried and true move harking all the way back to the beginning of the multi-sector patrol fleet. I would wed Caprian crews with Tractoan lancers and as many of my own command teams as I could manage, and then see what happened.

If everything went well, the Fleet would run from Gambit to Capria with skeleton crews. After that… I smiled grimly.

“Sir?” Commander Steiner asked, looking at me with concern.

“Since the Commodore wouldn’t put her career where her sharp mouth was, we’ll have to fall back on option B, Commander,” I said, looking over at her and then taking a very deliberate sip from my teacup. “It’s time for the Kingdom of Capria to put up or shut up.”

Lisa Steiner nodded seriously.

“It would be nice to go home. If only for a visit, Admiral Montagne,” she said.

“I understand the feeling,” I commiserated, omitting that leaving Capria and its intolerable bigotry aimed at anyone with my family name had been a great relief. I left it out in part because, to my own surprise, I was actually looking forward to going home too.

“I haven’t had a chance to see my mother in seven years,” she said wistfully, and I had to suppress a wince.

At least mother and Duncan, the only ones I really cared about. had been around ever since Akantha’s deathride into Capria. I couldn’t help but feel guilty for all those like Lisa Steiner who couldn’t go home to see their families. This hadn’t just hit people directly on my staff, but included many of my top ship officers as well as every Captain of Caprian heritage.

They hadn’t been able go back to Capria for fear of being arrested, even if they left my service. Well, that’s something that’s about to change, I thought, my expression hardening.

“I’m going to make sure that family reunion happens for you, Lisa. For all of you,” I said, referring to everyone in my fleet. The quitters had already gone home but the rest of my loyal crew, the ones who never gave up and never surrendered, deserved that and so much more.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said gratefully.

I nodded.

With Lancers contingents set aside for every ship in the fleet not just my larger vessels, I was confident my fleet could hold onto them in the face of whatever trickery my former countrymen would be tempted to pull.

That confidence sprang in no small part from the new Nemesis Power Armor that Lieutenant-Commander Gants and Chief Engineer Spalding had come up with. Besides being genetically engineered super freaks, being equipped with battlesuits that could run rings around anything the Caprian SDF was able to issue, would give my people the decisive edge.

The rest would be up to me and I’d never been so ready in my entire life.

Chapter 14

Jumping to Capria

“Point transfer!” reported Sensors.

Helmsman DuPont opened his mouth and then sat back, looking unsettled.

“Well, that was anti-climactic,” he muttered as the rest of the bridge continued its litany of arrival reorientation in a new Star System. In this case, the Caprian Star System.

“I never get used to these Spindle Jumps myself either,” I said, stepping up beside him and clapping him on the shoulder.

The Helmsman craned his neck, looking up with surprise, and then shot me a smile.

I gave his shoulder another slap and returned to my Admiral’s Throne. Although now that I thought about it, it wouldn’t be ‘just’ a mere ‘Admiral’s’ Throne for much longer, if things went as they were supposed to.

The unreality of the situation swept over me and for the longest moment, I was left wondering if I’d made the right call. Was I doing the right thing because it was the best of a bad bunch of options or had I allowed anger at my wife and the hypocritical demands to action from the two faced Commodore Hammer sway me into taking rash action? Or even self-aggrandizing action?

In short, did I secretly desire, somewhere deep down in the hidden cockles of my heart, to be crowned King? Was I ready to seize power for its own sake or even just to repair the many wrongs of my ancestors and right the Montagne record?

Oh, I was more than ready to use whatever power they handed me in order to save billions of lives and stop dozens of life-bearing planets from being eaten down to the bedrock, but was there more to it?

Honestly, I didn’t think I was in it for the raw power of it all. They had come to Tracto to get me, not the other way around, but even still…

Pushing aside such considerations as counterproductive at best and needless self-flagellation at worst, I turned back to the screen.

Taking pride of place at the center of the holo-screen, Capria was now displayed in all its glory; from the cloud-studded blue-green beauty of the planet itself to the mighty orbital works circling her like a glinting metal ornament, she was a beauty to behold.

For just the briefest moment, she took my breath away.

“Now, there’s a sight for sore eyes, Sir,” Spalding said gruffly.

I suppressed a startled gasp, because as a high and mighty Warlord, Protector, Admiral and soon-to-be King, such things were for common men and not for mighty individuals like myself. I turned to the Chief Engineer.

Studiously ignoring the entirely unrelated and startled looks of the closest members of the bridge crew, I took in the surprisingly watery gleam in the old Engineer’s eyes and nodded.

“That she is, Chief Engineer,” I repeated with suppressed emotion. I hadn’t known until that moment just how much I’d missed the slowly-rotating ball of mud and water that now dominated the main view screen.

Spalding cleared his throat and eyed the screen strangely.

“Spend enough years serving a fine lady like that and even after she up and throws you over, I suppose a man can’t be blamed for cherishing a few fond feelings for her deep down in his heart,” Spalding said finally.

I looked over at the Commander in surprise. Spalding was a man that constantly bellyached but rarely complained about our effective exile from Capria, an exile that was about to come to an end.

“This will just be the first among many visits, Commander. We’ve come home,” I vowed.

“Sure, but for how long? That’s my point,” he snorted, shaking his head.

I couldn’t honestly tell him he was completely wrong. Oh, I had plans for sure, but as the Chief Engineer had just pointed out, Capria and her people could be as fickle as the day was long. But once they took my money to save their crashing economy, I wasn’t just going to fade away gently into that good night.

“I think we can do better,” I said firmly.

Spalding eyed me skeptically.

“Come. Go. Stay. Leave. It’s not a big matter but I’m an old man, so it doesn’t matter so much to me. I’ve already spent more of my years in orbit or onboard a ship than I have on the ground. But for a lot of these young sprouts, they have families and people they know on the homeworld. Just be careful you don’t tell them one thing and then leave them high and dry later on. I’m not sure if they’ll all be able to take it,” warned Spalding.

I looked back at the Planet of Capria and my gaze turned cold.

“Make no mistake, I intend to take a somewhat hands-off policy where it comes to domestic affairs. The Royal House has far too often and for far too long, meddled where it shouldn’t and brought no end of well-earned grief down on itself because of it. But once you take the King’s shilling, you owe your service to the King,” I said.

“I don’t know if the people are going to look at it that way,” Spalding warned. “Way I hear it, anti-royalist sentiment is running high. And then putting a Montagne on the throne to boot? Sounds to me like they’re setting you up to fail, Sir. If you don’t mind my saying so.”

“No offense taken, Commander. I’m glad that at least one of my advisors understands what we’re up against and isn’t afraid to give me the straight down low,” I said evenly, “the sad fact is that for many years under King James, the people didn’t get the fair shake they were expecting.”

Spalding looked down at me with alarm.

“Now hold on a second! I know men and I know machines, but I don’t claim to know the first thing about politics other than it’s a mud pit and once you get down into it, you’re going to get dirty. So don’t you go holding me up as some kind of paragon of politics cause it just isn’t so,” he warned.

I quirked a smile but didn’t say anything.

Spalding eyed me uneasily before turning back to the main screen.

Soon, the largest contingent of Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet ships ever assembled was going to arrive in orbit around Capria, and in short order, it was going to be put up or shut up time. The fact most of my ships were running with skeleton crews was beside the point.

I was ready to go all-in with the MSP and a treasure fleet, its holds full of trillium, high-end electronics and processed goods along with billions of credits.

Now I had to wait for a call from the Palace and see how things played out.

Chapter 15

The Palace Council

“So, he’s finally here,” a woman said sourly.

“He really came,” agreed another council member, a grimace on his face, before he turned to address the council at large.

The mixed group of men and women gathered together in council chambers underneath the Palace, one of the most heavily fortified places on the planet, shared a series of enigmatic or disgruntled looks.

“I can’t believe it’s come to this. Asking a Montagne to come back home and fix things,” said General Mordan Tilday

“Beg, you mean. We’re forced to literally beg a Montagne to come back and fix the mess a Vekna King has left us with,” acting Parliamentary Member Sandra Vance said spitefully.

“An economic depression is nothing to play with,” warned the acting Treasury Minister, “our accounts are overdrawn and the Palace vaults empty. If not this, then what?”

For a moment, there was a glum silence.

“Well General Tilday, are you sure you can keep control of our wayward Montagne?” asked the sour-faced woman.

“They say he who can control the orbitals controls the planet. I can keep control of the surface, so long as our new King doesn’t resort to dropping big blasted rocks on top of my Divisions… but if there’s an orbital bombardment, all bets are off,” said General Tilday.

“Anything to add, Commandant?” PM Sandra Vance shot the top marine officer in the star system a sharp look.

“If we’re going to do this, we need to do it right. Otherwise, the best time is when his guard is down,” said the Marine Commandant.

“And here, I thought the job of the Marine Corps was to not take sides,” General Tilday sneered.

The Commandant gave him a flinty look.

“Our job is to keep the Kingdom together to the best of our abilities. All options are on the table until the Prince-Cadet sits his rump down on the Throne,” said the Marine, and then his eyes turned steely, “but the Corps is not the only organization in this room responsible for the wellbeing of the Caprian people as a whole, General.”

“Is that a dig against the Army, Commandant?” demanded Mordan Tilday.

“I’m just a common man born of common stock. What could I possibly know about digs, my Lord?” snorted the Marine Commandant.

General Tilday stiffened, his eyes turning hot and fiery.

“Enough, you two, this is no time for childish games,” an old man with a distinguished look and the red robes of the Chancellory said coldly.

“Yes, Chancellor,” the General said after a moment.

“Of course,” the Marine Commandant agreed without hesitation.

“We do this. Invite an exiled Montagne back to the Kingdom and put him on the throne. It doesn’t matter what our intentions are, how badly the economy needs the boost or anything else, we go down in the history books with infamy,” Sandra Vance interjected like a dog with a royal bone stuck sideways in her throat.

“I am long past worry about any legacy we on the Privy Council might have once hoped for. All I care about are results, and from everything we’ve been able to gather over the years, Jason Montagne is the best hope for our planet at this particular juncture in our Star System’s history. End of story,” the High Chancellor said with a cutting motion.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Sandra Vance shot back uncowed and completely unrepentant, “you’re already ruined. King James’ High Chancellor? You’re old and the public will eat you in the streets once they realize they’ll never get their hands on our long lost King,” she scoffed, “you have nothing to lose.”

The High Chancellor’s eyes narrowed and he looked at her coolly.

“Unlike the rest of us, who just might survive this mess with our political careers intact, you—” Sandra Vance continued heatedly, only to be cut off by an uplifted hand.

“Enough,” the High Chancellor said.

“But—” the Parliamentary Member opened her mouth.

“I said enough,” the High Chancellor, said his voice moving well past sub-zero temperatures.

PM Vance’s mouth closed with a click.

The High Chancellor turned to the man next to him.

“Maybe bringing Mrs. Vance here was a mistake,” he said.

The other man shrugged.

“The army rounded up the last of the bugs two months ago but we’re still getting reports of false sightings and the economy is in the tank. You said you wanted Parliamentary buy-in, and Mrs. Vance is one of the few remaining PM’s,” he said with a shrug.

Sandra Vance frowned.

“I’m right here,” she said, pounding the table for emphasis.

“Indeed, you are, Mrs. Vance, but you might not be for much longer if you can’t keep a civil tongue about you,” warned the Council Secretary.

“Well, bully for you,” Vance said, leaning back in her chair and picking up a glass of water. She took a sip before continuing, “but it doesn’t negate the fact we’re all in a right mess. Throwing me off the Privy Council because you don’t like what I have to say may be momentarily satisfying, but in the end it’ll back fire on you.”

“None of this is germane to the subject at hand,” the Marine Commandant said harshly.

“I don’t know what there’s left to talk about,” interjected the Acting Treasury Minister, “we were facing a fiscal crisis and this council voted to send a delegation summoning Prince Jason home from exile. Now he’s here. Unless we’re about to say thanks but we’ve now changed our mind, we’re stuck with that decision,” the man from Treasury said scornfully.

The High Chancellor, General and Marine Commandant shared a mutual three-way look.

“What? Did I miss something?” asked the Acting Minister.

There was a momentary silence and then Sandra Vance barked a braying-donkey-like laugh.

“What they’re deliberately not saying is that despite having sent the Marquis de-Farqua and Maldrin La-Pierre of the 554th electoral District to our wayward Prince to ask for his help, now that he’s actually shown up, we may be taking more than just his money,” she laughed.

For a moment, the Acting Minister looked uncomprehending and then realization dawned.

“A double cross,” he said.

“How did you make it on the Privy Council if you’re this gullible?” the PM asked with genuine curiosity.

“The former Under-Minister has an amazing head for numbers. It is no small part because of his stalwart work that we realized our need for a significant infusion of credits,” said the High Chancellor.

“Call it what you want,” shrugged the PM before shooting the High Chancellor a significant look. “So?” she asked.

The High Chancellor gave her a humoring look and she shifted her gaze to the Marine Commandant.

“Are we planning to shoot our savior the Montagne Prince out of the sky and take his credits, Commandant” she asked, “or am I supposed to be the more decorative wing of this Privy Council and sit in the corner like a good little girl until called upon?”

“Of all various things a person might think of you, I do not believe anyone in this room would consider you the type of to sit quietly in the corner, Mrs. Vance,” sniffed the High Chancellor.

The PM opened her mouth only to be shut down by a stern look from the High Chancellor.

“As should have been obvious from the very notion we are currently discussing the matter, no such decision has been made,” the Chancellor said tightly.

“Well, you should have just said so already. Sheesh,” protested the PM.

As if taking pity on the newest addition to the Privy Council, General Tilday looked over at PM.

“This is the proverbial smoke-filled back room in the good old boys’ club, Mrs. Vance,” he said with mixed kindness and condescension.

“Just another den of breeding and privilege then,” she said flatly.

The High Chancellor was clearly stung.

“Unlike the exclusive golf club you are imagining, the Privy Council does nothing so plebian as to just carry out the policies of others, Mrs. Vance. Here, we do not rail against the actions of others. In this room, we collectively set policy and it is then our very great privilege to personally carry it out,” advised the Chancellor.

“I get it. But are we going to tell Prince Jason to stand and deliver or are we actually going to hand him the crown and, more importantly, actual power?” she asked.

“As to the first, this Council has always existed to advise and when necessary… temper the actions of His or Her Majesty. Whether or not he or she fully realized that was our purpose,” said the Chancellor, “as to the second,” he looked over and all eyes turned to the Marine Commandant.

“I don’t know why you’re all looking at me,” he said grimly.

“Please don’t play coy,” said the High Chancellor.

“I agree. It doesn’t suit you, Bad Dog,” agreed Mordan Tilday, “besides don’t you have some brigadier or other who knows the Prince’s set up front and back?”

The Marine Commandant turned a harsh look on the General who for his part matched stares, unimpressed.

“We have any number of information sources among the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, both past and present, the Marine Corp not alone among the various agencies that have done so,” the Commandant said bluntly, “and everything we have learned, we have passed onto the Admirals in orbit.”

“Can no one in this room give me a straight answer? What does that even mean! Are we going to rob the Prince or are we about to bend our knee to another tyrant and a Montagne at that?” demanded Vance.

The High Chancellor covered his eyes in despair.

“We don’t have the warships to take the Prince in a straight-up fight, PM Vance,” the Marine Commandant said tersely, “which would bring the battle down to a boarding action. Depending on how many of those genetically-engineered Tractoans he brought, things could turn ugly. Remember it only takes one ship in orbit to lay waste to a major population center. So, no, PM Vance. We have no intention of attacking the Prince at this time. Unless the Prince turns on us like a rabid snap weasel, we’re going to offer him the throne and take his coin.”

“Was that really so hard to say? What’s with all this blather about all the options on the table,” she said.

“Have the words plausible deniability never entered your dictionary?” asked General Tilday.

“Jason Montagne has a reasonably decent reputation for a Montagne, but he is still a Montagne,” interjected the High Chancellor and then his voice turned grim, “as such, we are ready for all possibilities. If need be, we will take actions to stop a new tyrant in the making.”

“You mean after we’ve separated the Prince from his wife’s hard-earned wealth and paid off our not inconsiderable debt load?” Sandra Vance asked cynically, “I have to ask. Is it worth it? Do we really need his money? What’s an economic depression if it frees us from a king like James or a future tyrant like Jason Montagne? If not for these bugs…” she trailed off.

The royalists in the room bridled at the accusation.

Then the High Chancellor looked at her with disgust.

“Unfortunately, space bugs cannot be negotiated or reasoned with,” he said flatly.

“Will he even protect us from them though?” asked Vance, sounding worried, “I mean this is the Tyrant of Cold Space we’re talking about here.”

“You must not follow galactic news very closely, PM Vance,” said the Marine Commandant, “because if there’s one thing you can count on the Little Admiral to do, it is to take the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet into battle.”

“In short, we have no choice,” said the Parliamentary Member, “there’s nothing we can do to stop him now that he’s here—and considering the bug threat, why would we?”

“Considering its current size, the only way our System Defense Force will ever be in a position to match Prince Jason is if he actually follows through with the agreement we’ve made with him. In which case, I would have to ask why attack him in the first place,” said the Marine Commandant.

The Treasury Minister nodded in agreement while behind him, the High Chancellor and General Tilday shared a long look.

“Are we done here?” asked Sandra Vance.

Chapter 16

Shuttling Down

It was a relief to fall into orbit with an SDF escort, and getting word from the Palace that the Privy Council still ran the planet, which tended to indicate their offer was still good.

That meant there weren’t going to be any last-minute boarding actions or desperate battles toward the hyperlimit and I needed to shuttle down to the surface.

For a long minute, I marveled at the unreality of my situation. Not only had what remained of the government of my homeworld asked me to come home, but they’d gone a step further and the Caprian Privy Council itself had asked me to take up the crown to save the Caprian Star System from future potential bug attacks.

Worse, I’d actually accepted the offer.

Was I a fool?

“Caprian Two is ready to depart on your order, your Highness,” said Sean D’Argent, Chief Armsman, and my top bodyguard.

Of all the people who knew me, none had been more excited, one might say vindicated, than the head of my team of royal armsmen.

“We’re ready whenever you are, Prince Jason,” he prompted.

“Are we really ready, Sean?” I asked looking over at him.

“Every precaution has been taken, Sir,” Sean said with a sharp nod, not at all nonplussed at my making him repeat things he’d already attested to.

“Then by all means, let’s be off, Armsman,” I ordered.

Sean D’Argeant’s nod was sharp enough to cut paper and within minutes, the hastily-renamed shuttle, Caprian Two, was on its way to the surface.

After I became King instead of just a promising prince, any vehicle or space craft I boarded would from that point on be termed Caprian One. From now until I hit the surface, I was only considered an heir to the throne and thus the number two designation.

Simultaneous with our exit from the flagship, over two dozen landers, shuttles and even two cutters broke for the surface. On board were enough Lancers in battle armor to fight a small ground war. We were as ready as we were going to be.

Then the pilot’s voice came on the overhead speakers.

“Hold onto your butts.”

Chapter 17

The Loyal 2884th Army Battalion

“Any news from our contacts inside what’s left of the government?” asked Captain Arnesti DeLayn.

“As expected, the gutless wonders on the Privy Council are more interested in the Tyrant’s money than they are the best interests of the Caprian people,” reported the cold-faced operative in the uniform of the Parliamentary Secret Service, her lips thinning with anger.

“Am I to assume Operation Lollipop is a go?” asked the Captain.

“We are all counting on you to succeed, Captain. The decapitation strike must be flawless or everyone involved in the operation will be disavowed. An extra solar penal colony will be considered a cake walk if we screw this up,” she replied.

“Then I’ll just have to make sure Lollipop is a success,” Captain DeLayn replied with a cocky grin.

“This is serious, Captain,” the PSS Agent said, heat entering her voice.

“Considering the Major in charge of the 2884 is resting face down in a field latrine even as we speak, I think I’m well aware of just how serious this situation is for the homeworld, Agent,” Captain DeLayn said, the grin never leaving his face as he bared his teeth, “you do your part and I’ll ensure me and mine will do ours.”

“Good. Just see that your battalion is ready to move when the Prince’s shuttle enters your airspace and everything will be fine,” said the Agent.

The Captain looked back at the more than five hundred men and women in power-armored battle suits and the two giant aerospace defense turrets they were allegedly guarding, and then looked back at the PSS Liaison.

“I’ve replaced the normal sub-orbital defense teams and the rest of the 2884 is ready to embark on hover-skimmers at a moment’s notice. If by some miracle, the Montagne that would be our King or his shuttle survives the ADT’s, my ‘rescue forces’ will put the period on the end of Prince Jason and our current discussion,” he said decisively.

The Parliamentary Secret Service Liaison nodded sharply.

“Good hunting and free elections, Captain,” said the Liaison.

“Free ‘elections’, Agent,” the Captain said, mouth twisting derisively and then his face hardened, “and more importantly, let’s see if we can’t keep at least one of these overly-entitled royal scum buckets from porking the people a second time in a row.”

“Of course,” the PSS Liaison agreed, eyes narrowing.

“As far as I’m concerned, all those apologists who cried tears over the reconstruction can go straight to the pit. We’ve just seen what the monarchists and their kings will do to us if we let them back in power. Bugs. Whatever we have to do to keep those royal blighters from unleashing another bug Swarm on us, is worth the price,” he said.

“By any means necessary,” the Parliamentary Liaison murmured and turned away.

“Our last King wasn’t above using bugs against his political opponents, innocent bystanders notwithstanding, and now the Chancellor thinks he can pull a stone lander shuffle and replace James with a machinist. A machinist! The Tyrant of Cold Space can go right back into cold space or the demons pit after he enters my trigger sight, for all I care,” the Captain barked, only to be interrupted by a chime as his HUD started flashing red.

“Speak of the Montagne and he enters orbit!” shouted the Captain now in command of the entire 2884th Battalion, breaking into a run toward the waiting skimmers, “Lollipop is a go! I say again, the Operation is a go, it’s time to rock and roll, people,” he said over the general push.

Chapter 18

A Bumpy Ride Down

“We’re being painted by ground-based targeting sensors,” reported the Pilot.

I jerked awake with a start. Realizing I’d been napping and at a time like this, I was mentally kicking myself. I thought I’d be too tired to rest, even as I forced my eyes closed and tried to nap on the way down, and now this.

“What’s our status?” I asked, leaning forward.

“We’re being targeted by six different ground-based positions, Admiral—I mean, your Highness, Sir,” the Pilot reported, repeatedly correcting himself and clumsily at that.

“Admiral will do, Pilot,” I said easily.

“Of course, Sir,” he replied with a head bob, eyeing me uneasily for a moment before seemingly shrugging it off, “I mean of course, Admiral,” he said again, this time with much more confidence before seemingly falling back into his usual routine.

Apparently, an Admiral you’d served with for at least for several years was a different animal than a Prince who would soon be King.

Of course, the pilot was a member of the Lucky Clover’s original Caprian crew so not only was it not that surprising, I was also prepared to extend every allowance. He could trip all over himself or go back to business as usual and I wouldn’t care except to try and make it easier for him.

“They’re just monitoring us?” I clarified, once that nonsense was behind us, although I had a sinking suspicion that more of that particular brand of ‘nonsense’ was in my future.

“Targeting us, but yes, Sir. No weapons system has gone active except for the targeting computers,” he said.

“Well… keep an eye on it for me,” I said, leaning back in my chair outwardly calm but inwardly unsettled.

A few targeting sensors was nothing, by itself, but I’d been through too many scraps to be able to sit happily while some trigger-happy yahoo was targeting me with his laser cannon.

“Contact! We have weapons fire and—” there was a white-hot lance of light followed by an explosion that rocked the shuttle we were in.

One of the two cutters that had been accompanying us had just been hit, but two of our shuttles literally disintegrated into pieces, raining men, metal and machines as it tore itself apart midair.

“Evasive maneuvers!” snapped the Pilot, jerking the shuttle we were riding into a corkscrew maneuver.

“We’re taking fire!” shouted Steiner.

“You think?” scoffed one of the armsmen in my detail.

“Control yourself, Bartholomew,” snapped Sean D’Argeant taking hold of a grab-bar as the shuttle’s gravity plates struggled to compensate for the sudden shifts.

“The flagship is going weapons hot, targeting the aerospace defense emplacement now,” reported the Pilot as another laser lanced up from the surface, barely missing the wing of our shuttle, “it’s a good thing someone decided to send out so many shuttles or we wouldn’t be making this ride down in one piece.”

“Just focus on your job and get us down in one piece,” I instructed the Pilot, “we can see what’s going on. Don’t distract yourself.”

“Sir,” he replied and then added, “are you sure you don’t want the formation to break for orbit?”

I glanced over to see the other man sweating and shook my head decisively.

“If it’s only one defensive battery, then most likely it’s been suborned. There’s no need to queer the deal over a few holdouts,” I said, probably trying to convince myself as much as anything else.

He nodded, eyes on his screens and attention focused on flying his craft.

As we watched, our formation of remaining shuttles, landers and cutters broke apart like a flock of startled birds.

Once again, Capria’s fixed defenses opened fire but almost immediately, the cutters and two of the landers returned fire.

“What’s taking the fleet so long to get us some covering fire? We’ve got the blasted Prince himself onboard,” snapped Sean D’Argeant.

“Admiral,” I corrected immediately and then added, “and that’s a very good question.” What was taking the fleet so long to….” I trailed off as more than fifty lasers smashed down to the surface.

My com-link chimed.

“Montagne here,” I said shortly.

“Sorry for the delay, your Highness,” Druid said a bit stiffly, “there was an unnecessary holdup up here in orbit but it’s been dealt with for the moment. An admiral in control of one of the SDF’s orbital fortresses began issuing orders to cease and desist all military operations both on surface and in orbit, threatening to shoot anyone who fired after receiving his order. It won’t happen again.”

“Meaning I got to receive three full attacks without suppressive cover fire before the military was ready to let their new King’s people move to defend him,” I fumed.

“I may have made the wrong call. I didn’t want to blow things up on the political front because of itchy trigger fingers here in orbit but if you disagree, I am prepared to take responsibility for my orders, your Highness,” said Druid.

“Oh, I’m not going to fire you at this point, Rear Admiral. And by the way,” then I added with a sniff, “and it’s still Sir, or Admiral to the likes of you, Officer Druid.”

“I’ll take that under advisement, Your Highness. But recently it seems like there are entirely too many admirals and the like underfoot for comfort,” he said.

I glowered at him.

“I don’t have the time to play with you; consider this discussion tabled until later but not forgotten. Has the fleet identified any other threats?” I asked.

“We’re constantly scanning and if anything else so much as aims a targeting sensor in your direction, we’re going to preemptively take it out,” Druid said with stolid certainty, “in the meantime—”

“In the meantime, you need to stop wasting your time holding my hand and issue a general warning to the planetary defenses and then get on the horn with the Privy Council to ask them just what they think they’re playing with,” I instructed in a no-nonsense voice.

Druid nodded with what looked like relief.

“I half expected you to make for orbit like a bat out of the Hades. Are you sure you want me to be the one to talk with the local government? I mean, these are your people and I wouldn’t want to create a diplomatic incident unintentionally,” he said.

“Meaning I should probably be the one to intentionally cause any diplomatic,” I lifted a hand when he winced and looked about to object, “your point is well taken. But get that general hail out. I’ll deal with the Privy Council.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Druid said, relaxing.

I nodded.

“I leave you to it. Montagne out,” I said, cutting the channel.

“Everything alright, Sir?” Steiner asked, looking a little more wild-eyed than usual after a firefight.

“Fine, Commander,” I said with a smile and it dawned on me that while my Chief-of-Staff was a combat veteran, the suddenness of the attack and different sensations during combat caused by rapid maneuvers and less powerful grav-plates of the shuttle compared to those of a battleship, had thrown her off her stride.

I didn’t really dwell on the fact I hadn’t been as affected. Some people were more impacted by a sudden attack than others.

“Good,” she said, the tightness leaving her face. She took a deep breath and looked at me seriously. “Can I do anything for you, Sir?” she asked.

“As it so happens, you can,” I said, smile fading, “Please set up a conference call with a representative of the Privy Council immediately.”

Commander Steiner immediately leapt into action.

“On it, Admiral,” she said, activating her holo-interface.

By the time the Privy Council was ready to get on the line, we were roaring down toward the surface.

That was the moment our ground-focused sensors started going off.

“I’m reading a full battalion of power armor with surface-to-air weaponry targeting the shuttle fleet,” said the Pilot, pulling up a visual of the same battalion on a close approach to the Palace landing site.

“Understood,” I said, activating a communications link to the rest of the landing force.

“All forces target and take out that battalion next to the Palace. I want those surface-to-air weapons taken out immediately if not sooner,” I ordered.

“Sir!” protested the Pilot, “are you sure-”

“No more chances,” I said as the first laser beams shot from the nosecones and wings of our shuttles to the still-moving Caprian battalion on the surface, “no one warned me there was a battalion moving to escort us into the Palace and quite frankly, considering the foul-up with those aerospace defensive placements, I’m not inclined to give that battalion the benefit of the doubt.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” the Pilot sighed as a barrage of laser fire raked the Lancer Battalion on the surface.

Chapter 19

The Last Gasp

“We can’t hold them, Captain!” shouted the sergeant at Arnesti DeLayn’s shoulder, “they opened fire before our heavy weapons platoons could get good target locks and most of our platoons are wiped out.”

The Captain clenched his fists until metal squealed.

“The Tyrant is even more ruthless than expected, Sergeant. We never had a chance after our aerospace turrets failed to so much as wing the Montagne Prince’s shuttle,” he said harshly, as another coordinated barrage of laser took out half of Company C.

“Even if they get us, I just wish I could have taken out Jason Montagne Vekna,” the Sergeant said as the pair of them threw themselves down into a nearby drainage ditch in the fields surrounding the well-sculpted Palace grounds.

“You and me both, Sergeant, but we both know that’s not going to happen. There’s no shame in our loss. At least we can say we tried to keep Capria for the people,” said Captain DeLayn as an assault shuttle screamed down the nape of the earth, spewing close in chain guns and plasma rounds into the once-proud battalion’s broken formation.

“It’s been an honor to serve yo—” the Sergeant was cut off as his armor was stitched with a line of chain gun rounds and effectively cut in half.

“It’s all up to those gutless wonders in the government now. May the gods have mercy on o—”

Then Arnesti DeLayn’s cursing was cut off forever as a light laser tracked the last source of coordinated command-and-control emissions from the surface and opened fire.

All that was left of the patriotic Captain’s attempt to alter the trajectory of planetary politics was a pair of smoking boots and the screams of the broken men and women who had followed him into his treason.

Chapter 20

A Palace Reception

The group of politicians that came to greet their new King-to-be’s landing party waited for us just inside the main doors of the Palace proper, and they didn’t look at all pleased.

I idly noted the beautiful scrollwork-carved hardwood that encased the solid duralloy center of the giant doors before turning a stony gaze on the High Chancellor and the rest of the Privy Council.

“Gentlemen… and lady,” I said, inclining my head to the sole female member of the Council with cool courtesy to hide the rage I was feeling. The casualty count had just come in moments before I exited the shuttle, and while I didn’t give two figs for the people trying to kill us, the loss of each and every member of my fleet killed in what should have been, if not a routine, then at least a well-guarded descent from orbit was like a cut across my back. And my back was hurting.

“Did you really have to come down in such a spectacular fashion, your Highness?” said the High Chancellor with disapproval, looking down the steps at me and sounding exactly like the Elder Statesman he was.

Unfortunately for him, I was in no mood to take any of his guff.

“Due to the very visible failures of the Privy Council, I had no choice but to take strong action on the way down, or not survive the trip,” I said scornfully.

The High Chancellor scowled.

“I’ll agree the optics look bad but for the record, that’s entirely debatable,” he said, lips thin.

I looked at him coldly. My visit home had started off with a bang and from his reaction to my almost being killed, i.e. attempting to shift the blame onto me and avoid it for himself and his cronies, I could immediately tell the High Chancellor was likely to be one of the biggest impediments to my reign.

“What I’ll agree to is that it still isn’t too late for me to get back on that shuttle,” I said jerking my thumb back over my shoulder and pointing it at my transport, “where I can then proceed to take my money and go home.”

For a moment, the High Chancellor looked tempted and then he pursed his lips unhappily.

“Then please let me be the first to officially apologize for this debacle,” the High Chancellor said with the smooth grace of a trained politician.

“Thank you, Chancellor.” I inclined my head, “I will count on you to see that it never happens again.”

The High Chancellor flushed.

“Of course,” he said, now actually having the gall to look and sound embarrassed. It was too smooth. Clearly, the man was a politician of long standing.

Then another man stepped forward.

“What I want to know, my Prince,” said another Council Member in a General’s uniform, “is just how we’re going to spin this whole mess. Forget the physical clean-up. We’re going to have a media circus out here sooner than you can say boo and bob’s your uncle.”

That was something else I was going to have to get used to, the media. Things on Capria were far more developed than on Tracto. They were also far more hostile and the battalion that had just attempted to stop my reign stillborn was just the start. That was, if I stuck around long enough for them to gear up to get me.

“And you are?” I asked calmly, as the rest of my party spread out around me on the steps.

“I’m not sure such questions are entirely appropriate, General Tilday,” the High Chancellor cut in.

“I’m just a humble military man, High Chancellor,” the General said piously. He then looked at me sharply, “you may not care, being used to life on an underdeveloped planet, but the rest of us here are all too well aware how the claws of the media can do continuing damage.”

“Humble, my keister,” I heard an irascible voice say behind me

I shot the man in question a sharp look.

“Lord Tilday—,” I started turning back around.

“General, please, your Highness,” the General said with a smirk, “I do entirely too much work to answer to His Lordship every time I turn around.”

I started to reply only to be interrupted by the sound of a loud voice clearing his throat.

“Tell them that’s what happens when you try to run with the big dogs and can’t pee in tall grass,” Spalding interrupted, forcing himself past me and up the steps.

“And just who is this?” General Tilday asked, rearing back with offense.

“Terrance P. Spalding, your Lordship,” Spalding said with a grin, the light glinting off the small patch of chrome dome on his forehead that was all that remained after his latest round of regenerative treatments. “And what say we take this hoo-rah-rah off the steps of the Palace and inside where any friendly neighborhood snipers you might have missed won’t have such inviting targets.”

“You whippersnappers may be too young to remember the last time a royal was assassinated on the steps of the Palace, but some of us have been around long enough to know this sort of monkey business usually takes place in one of the receiving rooms and not on the Palace steps.”

“I believe that was back in ’22,” the High Chancellor demurred with a sharp look in Spalding’s direction, “and it was a result of internecine action within the Royal Family itself. Hardly something—”

“An inside job, exactly my point, your High Chancellorship,” Spalding said, reaching forward to grab the Chancellor’s hand and then pump it vigorously, “so how’s about we just take this inside, yeah?”

When the old Cyborg clapped the Chancellor on the shoulder and looked like he was about to sidle around the Elder Statesman like he was no more important than a piece of wood blocking the doorway, a pair of Palace Guards took a step forward.

“Your Highness!” protested General Tilday, glaring at the old Engineer, “this is very irregular. I must protest.”

“I agree with Spalding,” I declared, starting up the steps. These men would either have to give way and start moving to my pace or make it clear they had no intention of supporting me, even on the surface, “it is high time we took this meeting to the Throne Room so I can get the formalities out of the way and take your preliminary oaths of fealty,” I said firmly.

There was a moment of sudden silence as the Privy Members looked at one another in surprise and my voice turned cool.

“Unless there’s some sort of a problem with removing myself and my party from an unsecured location?” I asked pointedly.

After a moment of silence, the High Chancellor nodded and with a jerk of his head, the Palace guards stepped back, allowing a now jovial-looking engineer to rattle and clatter his way into the Palace proper.

“Nice stone you got here. You pick it up in the south hills?” Spalding asked, squinting down at the stone steps under his feet.

“I’m sure I don’t know. The Palace is accoutered with nothing but the best Capria has to offer,” the High Chancellor said with strained patience.

“That’s the South Hills in the Stonelands then, for sure. I bet I know the quarry, too. The old man who used to run the thing was a real stickin-the-mud, but he sure knew how to quarry stone like it was nobody’s business. Probably his son or grandson in charge of things now though,” Spalding said with satisfaction before finally moving out of the giant doorway.

A large vein pulsed visibly on the High Chancellor’s forehead.

“Although,” Spalding paused in visible consideration, “he had a granddaughter who was a real kick in the pants. A rock hound too. Now, if she decided to take up the family business, it wouldn’t surprise me if—”

“That’s quite enough, Officer Spalding,” the High Chancellor said sharply, “there are any number of people waiting on you to enter, including your own Commander,” he added pointedly, “none of which I’ll wager are interested in the potential ownership of a Stoneland rock quarry. Now if you would be so kind!” He gestured sharply with his hand toward the inside of the Palace.

“There’s no reason to get your knickers in a twist,” Spalding said with surprise before hastening out of the doorway.

“You can’t fault a body for stopping a moment to take his time, not when you lot were the ones who were in no rush to let us in here in the first place,” Spalding grumbled, shuffling his way forward.

“This way,” the Chancellor said, turning in a huff and then not waiting to see if anyone followed, beginning to lead the way deeper into the Palace.

“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Spalding groused with a suspicious-looking grin tugging around the corners of his mouth.

“You’re a very bad man, Chief Engineer,” I told the other man.

“I aim to please, Sir,” he said.

Ignoring him, I looked around at the rest of the party, the Privy Councilors and looked decidedly nonplussed.

I raised an eyebrow in surprise and then looked toward the departing High Chancellor.

“This way please,” General Tilday said after a short pause making a moue with his mouth.

I decided that the sooner I had these people in the throne room, the sooner I could take their, no doubt false and meaningless oaths, and so much the better. It was better because while I was prepared to fully admit they probably didn’t intend to give me any actual loyalty, I didn’t care.

Once a man swore service to me, be it as his Admiral or now as his King, he was mine. And I was ready, willing and able to reward or punish him as the case may be.

The flipside of my willingness to die in the service of humanity was that I actually took things like oaths and service seriously. Maybe I was the only one who still did so, but a man had to live by a code. Even—or perhaps especially—a man with the last name Montagne.

Dark thoughts running through my head, I followed the Privy Council into a room that was decidedly not the Throne Room.

“What is this?” I asked, surveying the large and well-accoutered receiving room with a skeptical eye. Moments later, a large group of additional officials walked into the room.

In addition to the High Chancellor and his group, there was what looked like a full delegation of royal and parliamentary governmental officials as well as the top Army 4 Star General, Lancer Marshal, Marine Commandant and just for kicks and giggles, the most junior officer in the room, one General Wainwright upgraded from a brigade to a division command and finally, the oh-so-friendly face of the top SDF Admiral in the star system.

In other words, I’d been sandbagged.

“Prince Jason, I’m sorry for the necessary deception but in light of recent events, and by that I am not at all referring to the latest… difficulties…that you had reaching the surface… But in light of these things, the men and women in this room have a number of, questions, that it would be best were answered before things proceed any further,” the High Chancellor said smoothly.

I put my hands on my hips and surveyed the room.

“Clearly, you and I have a difference of opinion when it comes to following instructions or at least making it clear that you can’t or won’t, but sure. Let me hear your concerns,” I said with a thin smile.

“First, our Treasury Minister would like to verify the funds and amounts you are bringing to help your homeworld out of the dire straits we all find it in,” the High Chancellor said firmly.

“Well unless you intend to shuttle him up to the treasure fleet to inspect things, I don’t see how we’re going to finish that anytime soon,” I said.

“Surely, you have sufficient bearer bonds and other forms of hard currency, enough to make your end of the payment?” asked the Minister in surprise.

I gave the unassuming-looking man a dismissive look.

“Look, paying for the Caprian Crown doesn’t come cheap,” I said, chopping my hand down and then making a sweeping gesture as if to move the rest of that consideration to the side, “and if you think Tracto or MSP is rich enough to have those sorts of amounts on hand, you’ve lost your mind.”

“Then how exactly are you intending to cover your shortfall?” the Minister asked pointedly.

I gave him a flat look.

“I have ten billion in actual credits and bearer bonds and that should be more than enough to tide the government over. You can cover any emergency payments or shortfalls with it. The rest of the payment is in the form of trillium,” I said.

The Treasury Minister looked at me cautiously.

“I would have thought you’d have more credits on hand,” he said frankly.

I bared my teeth.

“Looking the gift horse in the mouth, Minister?” I asked calmly.

“It’s just that while we expected some trillium of course, we were expecting more credits. Something of the order of 50 or 100 billion,” he admitted. “This changes some of our calculations, there being only so much trillium even a system government can release into the market at once without devaluing the very material we need to sell.”

“Considering we were effectively trade-embargoed almost as soon as the ink was dry and old Confederation sources of starship fuel were available on the open market again, I’d think you’d be less surprised,” I said.

The men and women around the room shared a few uneasy glances.

“There is of course the black market,” the Treasury Minister said delicately.

“If this is some kind of shakedown so that you can get more trillium, think again,” I said, feeling my temper rise, “I’ve brought what was agreed upon and that’s all there is.”

“We just needed to be sure you had the funds to save the planet from an economic collapse, that’s all,” said the High Chancellor.

“Well, now you know. Send up a team of auditors if you don’t trust my word,” I said.

“Trust the word of a Montagne, ha!” muttered a woman that looked like a Parliamentary Member if ever I’d seen one.

I gave her a penetrating look.

“I’d have said trust the word of your King, but if you lot insist on haggling over the crown like a crowd of market sharpers, by all means, let’s haggle,” I said and no longer waiting to be offered a seat, I stepped up to the table and pulled out a chair.

“Please, all of you have a seat,” I said, gesturing to the table as if I owned it, everything in this room, including the chairs and the rest of the Palace besides. Considering I was here to be crowned King, that wasn’t that far off the mark.

“This is preposterous,” exclaimed the Lancer Marshal, “not since the early days of the Kingdom has a group like this gathered in the Palace to literally sell off the throne to the highest bidder. For shame!”

“There are reasons we needed to-” started the High Chancellor.

“I perfectly don’t mind. So long as all the arrangements have been made to transfer the Fleet’s secondary orbital annex to me, you can question me all you like. After all, I have nothing to hide. You asked me to pay good money for the crown and in the interest of seeing that our people do not suffer for the crimes of James Vekna and the failures of this Council, I felt I had no choice but to pay your ransom,” I said, happy to throw oil on the fire.

The Lancer Marshal’s face turned red and the SDF Admiral’s face turned so stiff, I was afraid it might break into pieces at the slightest movement.

Meanwhile, the High Chancellor glared at me while the female PM silently fumed.

Looking back and forth between us, General Wainwright decided to take action for the first time and cleared his throat loudly.

“Admiral Montagne, if I may be so bold, it is good to see you again, all things considered,” he said, stepping forward and forcing a smile.

“It’s always good to see another member of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, General,” I said with a genuine smile and then gestured to a chair, indicating he should sit.

Wainwright paused and then shook his head.

“I’m afraid I must decline,” he said regretfully, apparently unwilling to sit while his superiors were still standing, “and I remember my time under your command fondly…,” he waited a beat, “even if I have returned to Caprian service and am no longer under your command.”

“A technicality that will soon be rendered moot by our very actions here, General. Because once I’m King, you’ll be back in my service, yes?” I grinned.

Wainwright took a deep breath.

“As you say, Admiral,” he demurred, “I was wondering if you intended to stay here permanently or if you’ll be splitting your time between Capria and Tracto?” he asked.

I raised an eyebrow.

“I’d say that has yet to be determined,” I said, deflecting the question.

“Oh?” the High Chancellor said, voice laden with emotion but the SDF Admiral was more interested in concerns of his own.

“I’m more interested in just how many foreign warships our new ‘King’,” his mouth twisted, “is going to station in our star system and if he’ll be a kind of monarch that rules or one that just reigns.”

“Well I guess that’s all up to you all here,” I said.

The Admiral, mouth open for another verbal attack, stopped in sudden surprise.

“What did you just say?” he asked.

“I said that whether I rule this star system or just reign is up to you and the Privy Council,” I said uncaringly, or at least that’s what I wanted them to think.

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” General Tilday said with amusement, looking at me as if sharing some kind of secret joke.

I gave him a cold, quelling glance before looking back at the SDF Admiral.

“Maybe that’s because when a Royal opens his mouth, he tends to be lying, as our late King James has so amply proven and I can’t imagine anything except that that goes double for a scion of House Montagne,” the PM said snidely.

Tilday flushed and turned to the PM.

Faces on all sides of the room now glared at one another, Privy Council against Privy Council, SDF Officers against my people and the MSP against everyone else.

The angry tableau was suddenly broken by a loud chortle.

“Not so late is he, your young King James,” Spalding snorted.

“What did you say?!” demanded the PM, face flushing.

Spalding gave the female PM the beady one eye.

“I said that you must not have much of an imagination if you can’t imagine this Montagne doing what he says he’ll do. Oh and your King, James Vekna, is far from dead, young Missy Esteemed Parliamentary Member,” Spalding said witheringly.

“Why, you old reprobate. He’s no King of mine!” the PM angrily shouted back.

“Well, of the two of us I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who didn’t bend a knee to the man,” Spalding said, his jaw jutting belligerently.

“You’re a fool, and an old fool at that, and considering I haven’t been called a miss for more than a decade…” sneered the PM.

“Common blasted courtesy may have gone out the door with the last election, but considering you’re young enough to be my daughter, if not my granddaughter, and your new King is too good natured to call you on your rashness, it falls on the older generation to set you straight… as usual,” Spalding deadpanned, “I guess I should have expected no better from a politician. My fault, and I deeply apologize for complimenting this loyal follower of King James!”

“I think that’s quite enough,” started the High Chancellor, only to be interrupted by the raised voice of the PM.

“I can fight my own battles, Richard,” the PM snapped to the Chancellor.

She then turned back to Spalding.

“How dare you question my patriotism with unfounded allegations of loyalty to that mass-murdering tyrant King James,” she said venomously.

“Since you’re doing your former King a good turn here today by questioning the word of a man like Prince Jason, I don’t see how it’s so farfetched,” Spalding said skeptically while I just sat back and watched the show with a faint smile on my face, “especially considering he’s got to be the next best thing to the reincarnation of Larry One, as any fool can see from how he trounced the droids and ran the Empire out of town, and not once but three times, young Miss!”

I could see the increasingly skeptical looks headed Spalding’s way as he continued to extol my supposed virtues.

“You! Are. Insane!” she yelled.

“Takes one to know one,” Spalding fired back.

“So, you admit it,” she said flabbergasted but quickly rallied.

It was time to take back control of this conversation before it degenerated further.

“Let me be clear,” I said, raising my voice to cut through the confusion, “I am here to help my homeworld in any way that I can. At the same time for those doubters among you, I’m not running a charity. I expect to get full value from my investment in our mutual home. If, after our people are no longer under threat and the account books are square, both literally and figuratively, then you and the rest of the planet are free to revert to some form of, let’s call it, home rule. That’s fine with me as I expect to have more than sufficient concerns outside of this star system to keep me busy.”

“Why does all this sound so… unlikely,” challenged the PM after a momentary pause to pick the right word.

“Woman!” Spalding started to rumble.

I lifted a hand and he fell suddenly silent.

“Maybe because I have no interest in facing constant attacks by outraged lancer battalions equipped with power armor?” I said, unable to keep a hint of mockery out of my voice.

“You’d turn over your power and leave? Just like that?” the High Chancellor asked dubiously while several of what I assumed were the former royal faction looked increasingly alarmed.

“A King’s duty is the protection of the Star Kingdom, both as Commander-in-Chief of this Star System’s military and through the Foreign Ministry,” I said evenly, “I’m more than willing to busy myself dabbling with trade, diplomacy and the system defense force.”

“Trade?” one of the SDF Admirals asked sharply.

“Yes,” I met his eyes flatly and then continued in a light tone, “I intend to sell a lot of trillium through the Caprian Star System now that our home world is linked to Tracto by a crown marriage.”

“Thus evading the tariff imposed on your Star System by the Confederation Government,” the Treasury Minister said shrewdly.

General Tilday’s eyes flashed.

“And potentially dragging us into Tracto’s troubles with the rest of the Confederation,” he pointed out.

“I believe everyone here was well aware of the baggage my reign would come with already, General,” I said blandly.

Tilday shook his head and the SDF Admiral was looking near mutinous by the time the High Chancellor raised his hands.

“Come, come; let us not question our new sovereign and his—” the Chancellor’s mouth turned down grimly as he glanced over at Spalding, “men in such a fashion. As our new King quite rightly points out, we did indeed know his long and storied past before we sought to offer him the throne. Nothing has changed since that time. True, we had a few reasonable concerns, only to be expected after—”

“High Chancellor, I must protest,” interrupted the SDF Admiral.

“Admiral Belmont, this is neither the time nor the place,” the High Chancellor said grimly.

“The blazes it’s not. This is exactly the time and place, Chancellor,” flared the Admiral.

“I’m sure all your concerns will be laid to rest in good time,” soothed the Chancellor but the SDF Admiral was having none of it.

“Don’t give me the smooth sale, Richard. Save it for the rubes and new-minted Parliamentary Members who don’t know you as well as I do,” growled the Admiral.

I cleared my throat.

Both men turned to look at me.

“Since the Admiral’s issues seem to be with myself, why don’t I be the one to attempt to deal with them?” I said, flashing a patented royal smile.

If anything, this caused Admiral Belmont’s expression to curdle further but a helpless expression from the High Chancellor as he stepped back forced the other man to turn to me.

“What exactly seems to be the problem, Admiral? Please speak; I am all ears,” I said.

“Frankly, and with all due respect, you don’t have the slightest clue what it takes to keep this Star System running, your Highness,” he said flatly.

“No but I do know exactly what it needs to keep our people from being eaten by the truckload, Admiral. Which is why I propose sticking to those things I happen to have direct experience with,” I said cocking my head, “so what exactly are your real concerns?”

The grimace that crossed Admiral Belmont’s face might have charitably been called a smile by someone less biased than myself… but I doubt it.

“That’s just it. We’ve just seen the back of one bad King. A Vekna King, but still a bad one. Now we’re to ask the people to accept a Montagne on the throne? We’ll have riots in the streets and it wouldn’t surprise me if I’m forced to call out the Marines and kill a goodly number of otherwise loyal spacers. All because the ‘Privy Council’ in its doubtful wisdom decided it was a sweet idea to offer you the crown,” said the Admiral with a hard glint in his eye.

“So, it’s that same old saw. He’s a Montagne, he has to go, is that it?” I asked calmly.

“You could be the second coming of King Larry,” he said, shooting a derisive look Spalding’s way, “and it wouldn’t matter. Things here are shaky enough as it is. I’m not looking to have to space any of my spacers or put down any riots because you felt it was your time to put things right and a lot of stupid people overreacted.”

“Then I guess you have a dilemma to solve. The equation is simple, Admiral. Are more people going to die because I leave or because I stay?” I observed. There was no point trying to force anyone; all that would do was cause them to bide their time and try to get rid of me when I was least expecting it. Not that my good intentions would necessarily stop anyone, but I was hopeful that by being an open and honest operator, it would cut down on the numbers at least.

I was hopelessly optimistic, but there you go. I lived to be disappointed.

The SDF Admiral looked frustrated beyond measure.

“If King James hadn’t stepped off with the better part of the fleet, leaving us bankrupt, none of this would be necessary. You wouldn’t be necessary. As it is, if the bugs never come then what? A lot of good men will have died for nothing,” he said angrily.

“If wishes were horses, we’d all ride instead of walk. Save your fury for the bugs. Better the Montagne you know than the bug Swarm you don’t, I always say,” I said.

For a moment, I thought he was about to explode and then he barked out a laugh.

“No need to be so glib. Of course, you’d say that, wouldn’t you,” he said.

“What can I tell you? I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think my presence would be a net positive,” I asked with a smile.

He eyed me skeptically as if seeing me for the first time and not the image of me he’d built up before now.

“Sadly, I’m not sure Capria has many other options,” he said finally.

“Unless you think the SDF can take up the slack and keep our homeworld safe without my people?” I prompted.

Admiral Belmont bared his teeth.

“Looks like I’ll be calling you Your Majesty sooner rather than later,” he said finally.

“Good. Now that we’ve had that settled, how about those oaths?” I said, clapping my hands together hard enough to cause several of the people in the room to visibly start. Not the mostly silent military officers, I noted.

Not that I really cared. The important thing was the oaths. To a lot of people, they were empty words, but not to me.

There was a lot of shuffling and many sidelong looks before someone finally decided to bite the bullet and started toward the door.

Of course, that was the moment Spalding decided to stick his oar in again.

“Great. It’s time for the Coronation! He’s finally going to be King!” Spalding said as if almost surprised at this fact, despite where we were and the entire purpose of our visit here, “I thought the day would never come,” he started, tearing up.

The PM made a rude noise as, rolling her eyes, she left the room with the rest of the gaggle.

“This is a private oath-taking ceremony, you fool. The official coronation will take more time to set up,” she mocked.

There was a pause.

“I knew that,” Spalding defended and then belatedly started for the door.

“Who thought it was a bright idea to bring a Commander to the meeting?” asked Admiral Belmont.

Spalding shot the SDF Admiral a look from under his brows.

“If you let them give you too much rank, you’ll wind up an Admiral onboard some kind of orbital floating station, never to see a shipboard command again,” he said, heavy rejection in his voice. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but the idea of doing nothing but pushing papers all day while everyone else gets to have fun never seemed all that appealing.”

“I’m surprised you made Commander with that attitude,” said Admiral Belmont.

“Oh, I left Caprian service a junior lieutenant, Admiral. Not that I’m judging anyone’s life choices of course, Sir. After all, I’m sure you’re perfectly content pushing papers,” Spalding commiserated.

Belmont gave Spalding a sharp look.

“You’re really something, aren’t you, Commander,” said the SDF Admiral.

“Me?” Spalding sounded surprised, “I’m just a humble engineer looking to keep his warships in tip-top condition.”

Chapter 21

Touring His Assets

“This is quite a large complex,” Akantha said, assessing as we walked up to a large porthole that coved almost the entire wall from floor to ceiling and peered outside.

I took a moment to look at the large Fleet Annex, of which the station we were currently in was a part, and nodded. Row after row of empty construction slips large enough for everything from a destroyer to full battleships were arrayed around and nearby the station. Of course, nothing was in them and none of them was large enough for the new Lucky Clover.

Ah well. More important was the large factory complex on the other side of the station that I couldn’t actually see at the moment, and the giant orbital smelter that I could. It was large enough to take an entire destroyer tip first into its mighty maw, or just about anything else for that matter, although I was told it was better to try and feed it one type of metal at a time. More efficient that way.

I’d say Commodore Spalding needed to up his game; our Orbital Smelter wasn’t nearly as big as this one, except this one was ours now. So I supposed it didn’t matter.

Honestly, this facility had just about everything else you’d need for a shipyard, repair yard, supply depot and secondary command-and-control complex all rolled up into one, meaning it had just about everything we needed.

“It would have been nice if we’d had something like this all along,” I said begrudgingly, remembering back to the early days of the MSP and what I could have done with a tenth of this support.

Akantha nodded and then sighed.

“No one gives away a facility like this, Jason. You have to earn it through deeds, effort and blood,” she said simply.

“Yeah but if they would have just actually supported us, the Patrol Fleet, from the beginning…” I grumbled.

“If wishes were fishes, no one would starve,” Akantha said sternly, “towns and fortresses do not just grow on trees, and a fleet base such as this? I can barely imagine how much it must have cost.”

“Oh, I think you can imagine it pretty easily alright, considering how much blood, sweat and tears have gone into setting up everything at Gambit and then moving it all a second time!” I exclaimed. Using the jump spindles to move our growing fleet starbase wasn’t just costly in trillium. Just restarting the mining operation alone…

“Don’t look so sour, Jason. The gains of today take nothing away from your efforts before,” she said seriously.

She was right of course. Not that I was prepared to admit it.

Reprieve came in the form of a harried-looking Caprian Admiral.

“Hello, Your Highness,” the Admiral said, walking up stiffly and then after what appeared a moment of considering, offered a salute.

For my part, I returned it.

“I hope you’ve been enjoying your tour, Sir,” said the SDF Admiral.

I merely nodded.

“It’s an amazing complex you have here, Admiral Star-Hammer,” Akantha said, filling the void.

The Admiral nodded and then gave me a sharp look.

“It has served the ‘Caprian’ people for more than fifty years, Prince Jason,” he said with an edge in his voice, something I both understood and entirely discounted.

“And it will continue doing a fine job protecting the Caprian people, I’m sure,” I said absently, giving the walls and ceiling a glance before giving the greater fleet annex outside the station a calculating look.

Akantha nudged me and I flashed her a brief smile before once again turning away.

While she sighed, the Caprian Admiral’s face flushed and he gave an audible huff.

“My Lord Prince, I’m certain you understand your plans at all times. However,” he paused before continuing in a less strident tone, “I’m not certain you realize just how important this Fleet Annex is to the System Defense Fleet’s ability to safeguard this star system. If anything should happen to our civilian yards or the fleet’s main shipyard complex, this is what our Kingdom will have to fall back on to rebuild and restore our forces.”

“You have my word that for as long as I am King, this Annex will always be available for the rebuilding of this star system and its defense force.” He paused and then added, “although transit times may play a factor in just how fast that rebuilding goes.”

A red vein silently throbbed on Star-Hammer’s forehead.

“Prince Montagne, surely you are as aware of the reality of things as much as I am. Which is why I can only implore you—” I cut him off.

“I appreciate your position as Annex Commander, Rear Admiral,” I said raising a hand, “but while I am more than willing to squander every ha-penny and centabo aboard our Treasure Fleet in the name of goodwill and the undying gratitude of the Caprian people, my wife’s people, unfortunately, demand fair and concrete value for the hard-earned wealth they have wrested from the silent stones of cold space with the deaths of their many asteroid miners.”

The Rear Admiral looked surprised, and hesitated.

“I did not mean to imply your people’s wealth should simply be given away, my Lady,” he said, turning to Akantha with a guilty expression.

“The Tractoan people have been willing to shed our blood in the defense of Capria, Sector 25 and the Spine ever since the very first day of our joining the larger galactic community among the river of stars. In no small part, this is why I so quickly decided to support my husband and Protector in his call to heed the pleadings of his homeworld and dispatch a fleet for your immediate protection,” she said in a clear, cool voice.

I covered my mouth with a fist while the Rear Admiral choked.

“How much longer do you intend to continue to tour our facilities, my Prince?” Star-Hammer finally managed to squeeze out.

“I’ll be here until the question of monarchy is solved one way or the other. My inspection teams will stay for the duration,” I deadpanned.

“I’ve heard of your miraculous jump engines so I get the notion that you think you can move a facility of this size in something of an economical fashion, but I still don’t understand how you intend to man a facility the size of this Annex,” said Rear Admiral Star-Hammer, “besides that, both the finished and raw materials you would need alone to keep a facility of this size running, are staggering. I simply don’t see how you intend to support a facility this size with your current manpower base.”

“I’m sure we’ll find a way,” Akantha said, looking over at me.

I gave the Rear Admiral a confident smile.

“All such problems are easily solved,” I said.

“I get your confidence, I just don’t see what it is founded on,” remarked Star-Hammer.

I gave the Rear Admiral an assessing look.

“The Star Kingdom’s fleet is a fraction of its previous size and every ship it has is fully manned. Despite this, more than half of our officers and sailors in the SDF are sitting on their hands, beached at half pay or mustered out of the service entirely with early retirement or a refusal to offer them a re-up,” I advised him. “Yes, I’m well aware of what’s been happening back home while you lot let James run our homeworld into the ground.”

The Admiral bristled.

“Well you’re a Royal and I didn’t see you out doing anything about it,” he said giving me a hard look, “except for Monday morning quarterbacking those of us who were here. And hey, King James is gone. That has to tell you something, Prince Jason.”

“For the record, I wasn’t around to fix things because you exiled my ass. And the reason I was exiled? Because I dared to save Capria and the rest of the Sector,” I scoffed.

I could see my dig drive home as the Rear Admiral’s lips tightened.

“That may be true but it still doesn’t change the fact you weren’t here, Your Highness. House Montagne may think this is their time in the sun but—” he retorted.

I cut him off.

“You can blast me for a Vekna like our last King, or curse me for being one of those wretched Montagnes, but you don’t get to do both at the same time,” I said levelly, “either way, I cut ties with the rest of the House when they shipped me out on the Lucky Clover and then left there to die when the Withdrawal happened, and they didn’t so much as lift a finger to help.”

“Vekna, Montagne, you’re all royal as far as the people are concerned. You can say whatever you like, but you’re all wearing the same royal red,” shot back the Admiral, “now it’s true you may have kept the Empire out of the Spine and got a sore deal because of it, so maybe the government and, yes, even the citizenry are willing to give you a shot at running things. We’re desperate, I don’t deny that. So because we’re desperate and you’re the only royal who’s so much as lifted a finger to help things around here up to this point, you’ll get your chance at the crown. But that only goes so far, Sir. You’d be wise to think carefully on how you intend to go about things now that you’re home. This isn’t the Rim,” he advised.

I eyed the Rear Admiral silently.

“You also don’t have the same number of warships you used to. I do. In fact, I have so many warships, I can’t crew them all,” I pointed out, “including,” I allowed a pregnant pause, “battleships.”

I could see the Rear Admiral’s metaphorical ears perk up.

“We need each other if we’re going to do something about this bug threat we’re facing and fighting amongst ourselves isn’t the answer,” I said.

“You would trust Caprian sailors on your battleships?” the Rear Admiral asked skeptically.

I barked out a laugh.

“In case you forgot, I’m Caprian, and if everything goes according to plan, I’m going to be your King. Even if it doesn’t, I have more than half a mind to keep this Annex regardless of how the coronation does or does not go,” I said after a moment of consideration.

Seeing the Rear Admiral start to bristle again, I made an appeasing hand gesture and added.

“For a reasonable price,” I said.

The Rear Admiral snorted.

“I still don’t see how you intend to man it if you intend to move it out of the Star System,” said the Star-Hammer.

I cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I did mention all of those unemployed and under-employed spacers sitting on the beach before, didn’t I?” I asked.

“You mean?” the Rear Admiral leaned back.

“I think if you have enough spacers staring down the barrel of a bug Swarm, enough of them would be willing to get off the beach and swear into the King’s Own if it means they have a chance to fight back. As for those that don’t, well, they don’t really matter, do they, Star-Hammer?” I asked.

The Caprian Rear Admiral looked startled and then his eyes narrowed as he stared back at me.

“It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Prince Jason,” he warned.

“One for all the marbles, Rear Admiral,” I agreed with a cutting smile.

Those fools at the Palace could dither and question me all they liked. But I was going to secure our homeworld and save as many worlds from the bugs as I could manage. And with all those spacers on the beach, I think I could see a way to do it, whether or not they gave me the crown.

Of course, the crown would make everything so much easier…

So, there was that.

Chapter 22

Oath-Taking Ceremony

The private oath-taking ceremony at the Palace was followed a week and a half later with a much more public swearing in. That was the amount of time it took for the lords to assemble and what was left of parliament to gather and formally renounce James Vekna as a tyrant and a despot and for the whole thing to be hyped and announced multiple times by public broadcast on all planetary media channels.

To my surprise, the people of Capria failed to riot in the streets upon hearing word that I, Prince Jason, and one of those dreaded and much maligned Montagnes would soon be taking the throne.

Oh, much was made of my contributions to my homeworld and the Caprian people by way of trillium and warships, my various campaigns against the Empire as a former Confederation Fleet Admiral and even more so of the much-needed defense of our Star Kingdom’s orbital spaces against the space bugs.

For myself, the moment they put one of Palace’s spare crowns on my head, recovered from a Museum just for the occasion, King James having absconded with the more modern version, it took my breath away.

Of course, the media frenzy that ensued both during and immediately afterward quickly brought me back to earth.

But on the whole I was satisfied and the crown hadn’t even had time to warm up to my head when the first twenty of the warships I’d brought back to my homeworld moved into repair slips and a general recall of spacers and officers put on the beach at half pay by my predecessor went out.

Their new King was calling them back into service in the King’s Own. That was what I was calling my new consolidated fleet, the King’s Own Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet.

Hopefully, it lasted longer than the Confederation version but only time would tell.

“Lord Tilday,” I said, taking the General’s hands between my own as I accepted his new oath to the crown and he swore to renounce all other lords before me, just like he had done not so long ago to the still-living James Vekna, and I in turn swore to give him justice for service and protection for obedience.

Which ironically, I was much better prepared to do than any king in modern history, thanks to my command of the MSP and her Tractoan lancers.

“You’ve got the tiger by the tail now, Your Majesty. We’re all counting on you,” said the General, flashing me a not very nice smile.

But that was okay because I flashed the other man a not very nice smile of my own.

“I’m sure I’ll manage with fine men like yourself behind me, General,” I said heartily.

The two of us, both noble scions of the Royal House, shared a mutually insincere smile before the General stepped back and another man stood forward.

The line moved on as men and women I had only ever seen from a distance or who had looked down their noses or past me when I was younger, now stood in line to do me honor.

I couldn’t wait until I was done here on the ground and could return to space.

Maybe I was just too much the spacer and being back on a warship had brought back the itch to return to cold space, or—more likely—all the boot-licking Caprians who previously despised me openly and now all but certainly despised me in private no longer amused me.

Either way, I couldn’t wait to leave.

Chapter 23

The Regional Authority

“Point emergence!” reported Navigator Shepherd and then waited a beat, “as usual, gravity sump is negligible to nonexistent.”

“Engines ready for burn on your order, Sir,” DuPont said sharply and then added, “I still can’t get used to this new drive system.”

“Belay that, Helm,” I said leaning forward in my chair as the sun, asteroids and empty worlds of the star system began to fill the screen, “and communications send out our friend or foe recognition signals. We wouldn’t want to be shot by mistake.”

“Like anyone’s going to mistake this ship for anyone but yours, Jason,” Akantha said from the fold-out seat I’d had installed into my throne on the flag bridge.

“That’s right, Sir. If they’re going to shoot us, it’ll almost certainly be because they know who we are,” Spalding agreed heartily and in an overly loud voice.

I shot the old engineer a look.

“Since we’ve been invited, I somehow doubt that’s going to be an issue, Commodore,” I said quellingly.

“Invited by Commodore Hammer maybe but do the rest of them blooming politicians know we’ve been invited? That’s the question, Your Majesty,” Spalding said, fingering the plasma torch on his belt as he stared at the main screen along with the rest of us.

“Admiral will do just fine while we’re out here, Spalding,” I said pointedly, “and it’s kind of hard to imagine they had no idea I was coming since we’re technically meeting outside the official border of the Spineward Sectors, something I’m sure the Regional Authority isn’t in the habit of doing.”

“Of course, Sir,” Spalding said, blinking as he looked up from the torch clipped to his tool belt.

“We’re receiving a hail, Sir,” reported Commander Steiner.

I straightened.

“Thank you, Lisa,” I said firmly putting aside the speculation of moments before. It was time to focus on the actual situation.

For a moment, it was like I was back at the beginning of my adventures, waiting for a channel to open to a potentially hostile force. Would I find an ally, an enemy or another grasping politician eager to brow beat me and my fleet…?

I grimaced. On second thought, the good old days hadn’t really been all that good either now had they?

“Put it through,” I said.

There was a flicker, and the image of a uniformed functionary of some kind appeared on the screen. I could tell it was a uniform of some kind because of the braiding and metal star on the right breast of the man’s chest but the flowing grey robes he was wearing were decidedly non-military.

I was decidedly nonplussed.

The functionary took that moment to seize the initiative and his mouth made a small grimace.

“Vice Admiral Montagne, we expected you days ago. The Regional Advisory Body had all but given up hope of your arrival,” the Functionary said and then his eyes swept over something on his console and he sighed, “although we had hoped you’d bring more warships with you.”’

I thought nothing could faze me. Betrayed, broken, left for dead, even exiled by the feckless cretins who claimed to run things after winning the freedom of the Spine, none of that was as off-putting as dealing with this functionary.

My eyes flashed angrily.

The sheer gall of this man to act as if nothing had happened, and it was simply a given that Jason Montagne and his Patrol Fleet, the MSP, would ride to the rescue yet again.

“I received an invitation from Commodore Hammer of the Confederation Fleet. I wasn’t aware there was a time limit on that invitation. No worries; I can always leave and come back at some later date when all the bureaucratic stars are properly aligned.

The Functionary looked startled and then began to panic.

“Oh, no! I’m quite sorry if I gave that impression. We need you, Sir. I’ve followed your career for several years now and if there’s one thing that’s certain. You’re the man we need for this bug crisis. Please, if anything I’ve said has offended you, I apologize,” the other man said, quickly bowing his head.

For some reason, every word out of this man’s mouth, even his seemingly genuine apologies just seemed to elevate my blood pressure.

I took a calming breath.

“Apology… accepted,” I said finally, “now are you going to transfer this call to one of the people in charge, or?” I cocked my head.

“The Governors, Sir,” said the Functionary.

“One of these governors then,” I nodded.

“Oh no, Sir! I mean we can if you want but the Regional Advisory Body has requested a meeting with you and the top members of your fleet. I’m told Commodore Hammer and several key SDF Admirals throughout the Spine will be present,” he said.

“Wonderful,” I said, freighting the word with meaning.

“Actually, they’ve been meeting for a while now but it takes time for the forces needed to gather and so far… well the recent focus on domestic rebuilding programs and resulting cutbacks in local star system military spending has left us in something of a pinch.” The Functionary suddenly smiled happily, “although with the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet back from its exile beyond the Rim, we should have more than enough forces to protect the key star systems through the Spineward Sectors, Sir!”

Once again, I felt my temper rising but quickly throttled it.

What was I, some kind of chump they thought they could call to heel when there was trouble and kick to the curb when it was convenient?

“I make no promises but I’m willing to meet with the Sector Governors of the Regional Advisory Body and discuss the price of my assistance,” I said with a smile that really wasn’t very nice. Even I could tell that, although the reaction of the Functionary to my words would have given it away.

“Price?” he asked, looking dumbfounded.

I wrinkled my brows.

“In the past, it was my duty to come to aid the common citizen and repulse threats to all of humanity. Later, my fleet took action against a common threat to every free world in the region. But Tracto is well guarded against any bug incursion and we have one of the largest fleets on the Rim of Known Space. Our Star System is not at risk of being overrun by space bugs and the rest of the worlds of the Spine have made their opinions of me and my fleet crystal clear.”

I paused as the Functionary looked like he’d just tasted something foul and I wasn’t living up to his expectations.

Well too bad. I didn’t even feel a pang of regret. The wild-eyed crusader determined to save the helpless people of the Spine had been curb stomped one too many times by his supposed allies.

“This is not what I had come to expect from years of hearing about the exploits of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, Sir,” the Functionary said finally.

My brows rose and I laughed outright.

“Surely you didn’t expect the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet and its admiral to die defending your worlds against those space bugs for free, did you?” I said, wondering just how naïve and ridiculous the people manning the communication desk for the Regional Governors of the Spine could possibly be.

“Why no, of course not,” the Functionary said, flushing, “I’m sure a fleet has any number of costs involved in its daily operations as well as certain sunk costs and depreciation schedules that need to be prorated and paid for above and beyond those.”

“We’re going to need a whole lot more than daily operating costs if the RGA expects us to fight their battles. But that’s an issue between me and your superiors,” I informed the other man, “please pass along the meeting time, location and docking protocols to my staff.”

“Of course, Sir,” said the Functionary.

“If that’s all,” I said.

“I’ll contact my superiors and get the information to your staff, Sir,” he said.

“Good,” I cut the connection.

***

“Ah, Admiral Montagne! How good of you to join us,” said one of the seven Governors as soon as I entered the room.

“Admiral,” nodded several of the other politicians.

I swept the room with a cool, assessing gaze and save for a couple people here and there and a small group of military officers I was withholding judgment on for the moment, I found myself decidedly unimpressed.

I was once again in the main hall of the Monitor that previously served as the mobile governmental headquarters of the New Confederation legislature and I had to say I didn’t really care what they’d done with the place.

That probably had something to do with my previous experiences here, I must admit, but even that granted, I had to think that fewer than fifty men and women using a room that had been designed for at least four to five times as many had something to do with it. It made it feel like the new government was trying too hard to build its legitimacy. Trying and failing.

Oh, well; none of this had anything to do with me.

I was here for one purpose and one purpose only.

“Governors,” I bowed my head and then looked around at the rest of the people in the room. “Gentlemen and ladies,” I added with a suave smile, playing every inch the nobleman-turned-King and turning it up to nine.

Most people smiled happily but there was one audible sniff.

“And Herms,” said a loud and carrying voice.

What was this bullroar? My good mood instantly wilted. I hadn’t come here to dance to another’s tune and I certainly wasn’t going to start now, but this was an unneeded complication. I mean, was the current Spineward Sectors Authority so gutless or without honor that they would let the only man with a fleet strong enough to save their homeworlds be heckled by some random….

Looking around, I saw people shaking their heads but no one stood up for the infamous Tyrant of Cold Space, the hero they had summoned to slay the evil dragon that was the space bugs.

Well that answered the question for me and I was a fool to have ever believed otherwise, I thought bitterly. There was a solution for that. Akantha herself had pointed it out; people would only treat you as badly as you let them. Demand respect, and you would have it.

Or I could just treat them the same way I had the individual planetary governors at the beginning of my career as a space admiral. That would work too.

“What is this?” I asked drolly.

The Lead Governor opened his mouth, at least having the grace to look embarrassed but he was cut off.

“I said and Herms!” declared some belligerent individual with a thick beard and a beer belly nearly protruding out of the grey robe that looked like it was some kind of regular uniform for the government workers here, as he thrust himself into the middle of the room.

I sighed.

“I wasn’t aware there were any Herms in the room,” I informed the government worker before turning back to the Governor with a raised eyebrow. Did they seriously expect me to bandy words with a mere flunky while billions of lives were on the line?

The worker flushed an angry red.

“That’s not the point!” he snarled.

“Ah,” I said, still looking at the Governor pointedly.

Placed on the spot, the Governor shot his underling an irritated look, one that the government worker proceeded to ignore, as he continued to glare at me.

“I’m sure the Admiral didn’t mean anything by his lack of respect for absolute inclusivity, Mr. Bentwick,” the Governor said finally, “please try to remember that this is the Spineward Sectors not the Heart Land Sectors of the Confederation, and we have different cultural norms out here. We are a diverse and disparate population with wildly varying greeting structures that require—”

“Absolute inclusivity requires that everyone is treated absolutely the same way regardless of their gender, racial or social-cultural differences, Mr. Governor!” declared Bentwick, stalking forward until he was standing only slightly away from me, his chin and bulging belly thrusting toward me provocatively.

I couldn’t help it and snorted.

“You,” The government worker turned on me like some kind of small but paunchy rabid creature. I had to restrain myself from laughing at the absurdity of it.

“Me.” I agreed, arching an eyebrow and Bentwick seemed to swell until his belly nearly burst out of his robes.

“Do you mock the beliefs our Confederation was founded on, Sir?” demanded Bentwick.

“The Admiral,” started one of the Governors.

I lifted a hand, cutting him off.

“Can speak for himself,” I said, looking pointedly at Mr. Bentwick’s protruding gut.

The government worker flushed.

“Herms have the right to the same treatment as everyone else, Admiral,” the government worker shot back, temper clearly rising.

I gave the worker a withering look.

“Was I invited by one? Is there even one in the entire room? I was sent for by the Governors and Commodore Hammer and none of them are Herms as far as I’m aware,” I snorted.

“That’s beside the point!” snapped the Government worker.

“No that is the point. As far as I’m concerned, that is exactly the point,” I said and then made a sweeping away gesture with my hand. “Now leave. It’s time for the important people to talk. You know, the ones who have fleets and control the fates of star systems.”

“Just who do you think you are?” the veins on Mr. Bentwick’s forehead began to bulge but as amusing as that was, I didn’t have time for it or him any longer, “the social code demands that even if everyone in a room is of a single normative descriptor that all three traditional greets are to be used!”

“Jason Montagne, King of Capria, Protector of Messene, Admiral of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet and so on and so forth,” I said as if absently answering the first half of his question before I turned to the actual movers and shakers in the room.

“Governor, if we could get down to business,” I said, jerking my head at the government worker. It was time they got rid of this fool so we could get down to business.

“Yes,” the Governor nodded. He took a breath and turned to the government worker, “Mr. Bentwicks, please return to your former duties.”

“This is outrageous! The Grand Assembly will hear of this,” he protested.

“All well and good but please inform them ‘after’ the meeting, hmm?” said the Governor.

For a moment, the government official looked like he was going to break and retreat but his connections back in the heartlands must have been really something for him to be brave enough to ignore the commands of a Sector Governor and his superior, because he stiffened.

“No, Excellency. I will not! There is only one way forward for this galaxy and until we are all willing to acknowledge that, you will never free this region of space from the hell it has created for itself,” Bentwicks said belligerently. “Yes, you think I’m a fool but I know who you are! Who all of you are! And I stand by my words. The Regional Authority can throw me into one of your benighted dungeon ships but I will not back down,” said Mr. Bentwicks.

He then turned back to me.

“As for you! You would be well advised to crawl back to the barbaric hellhole you—,” he began furiously, but I cut him off.

“Who is this person that insults me, Governor? First he speaks to me as if I needed his advice and then he doesn’t just insult me, he insults the planet I’m from?” I snapped, “I’m not here to talk about herms, Governor; I’m here to talk star fleets!”

“You go too far by half, Bentwicks!” snapped the Sector Governor, starting to get angry now that his authority had been directly challenged and I was threatening to pull out, “I don’t care if the Speaker for the Grand Assembly sent you to us personally. You’ve offended the Admiral, a man whose ships we desperately need if we are to save actual lives.”

My eyes glinted as the Governor made it clear once and for all that it was what I could do for them and not any of my past efforts that made them take action to shut this fool down. It was nice to know where I stood at least.

Beard bristling and beer belly protruding, Bentwicks crossed his arms.

“I won’t leave until the Admiral renounces his anti-Confederation way,” declared Bentwicks.

The Governor looked at me apologetically and then gestured to the Confederation marines standing guard near the entry ways and a quad broke off.

“Please escort the official back to his quarters, Corporal. Mr. Bentwicks appears overwrought and we have more important things to discuss right now than lacking honorifics,” he said.

Feeling my temper spike, I held up a hand.

“If it will move things along at a faster pace, I am more than willing to meet Bentwicks’ call for absolute inclusivity and do him one better by asking both him and every person, potentate and government official in this room to acknowledge the real and inalienable rights of every peace loving man, woman, herm, uplift, droid and genetically-engineered person in the Spine and outer Rim,” I said furiously.

It was like I had just let loose the largest, loudest most noxious stink bomb ever smelt in this room.

“Uplifts and droids? Peace is antithetical to their very nature. That’s not absolute inclusivity that anti-human bigotry! Do you hate your own race that much, Admiral?” shouted Bentwicks, followed by several muffled shouts and yells as he was cuffed and escorted out of the room, “Machine Lover!” he screamed one final slur before he was dragged out of the room.

I waited until the angry heartworlder was escorted out of the room and everyone else was either wrinkling their noses, looking aside or staring at me angrily.

“Well does anyone care to join me?” I asked, looking around.

Most wouldn’t meet my eyes and those that did glared at me hotly.

I nodded seriously.

“I see. It’s okay to heckle me ruthlessly and call for me to take action but when I ask for actions commensurate with your own, the silence is deafening,” I sniffed loudly.

The Lead Governor sighed.

“I understand why you felt you had to do that and I admit it wasn’t entirely uncalled for. However, please let us set aside the grand standing for a few moments and focus on the business at hand. Mr. Bentwicks has powerful allies within the Confederation bureaucracy back in the heartland sectors. He’s a necessary evil but one I do genuinely apologize for.”

I gave the Governor a level look.

I could see he understood just how badly he’d let this meeting degenerate but despite that, he was determined to continue to try and pry as many warships out of my hands as he could.

I stared at him and then after a long minute, decided that was something I could live with… for now.

“Then I suppose that if no one else is interested in mocking the way I speak on the one hand and then begging for my assistance on the other, I’m game. Let’s get down to brass tacks,” I said.

***

“Admiral, despite the many—and I might add, unwelcome—disturbances we just experienced, I would like to thank you for the speedy and timely arrival of your Fleet here to give assistance to us in our hour of great need,” said one of the members of the joint sector conference who wasn’t a sector Governor.

“And you are?” I asked, neatly sidestepping an open commitment of my people and forces. I intended to help, make no mistake, otherwise I wouldn’t be here, but it was going to cost them. Plenty. Especially after Brentwicks’ little diatribe.

“Magistrate Trevon McCoy of the Acheron Star System, Sector 22,” the other man said, bowing.

I decided Magistrate Trevon must be a potent mover and shaker back home if he was important enough to involve himself in our conference here on the mobile governmental headquarters for the Spine.

That, or he just happened to be here petitioning for relief or assistance when this latest bug blight started to sweep the Spineward sectors. Only time would tell but from the looks of him… yes, he was probably formidable back home.

Not that I cared really. When it came to formidable men, there weren’t many greater than those of us in this room, at least not in the Spineward Sectors. Outside of the Spine, now that was a whole different kettle of fish. But thankfully, everything I was dealing with right now was internal to this region of space.

“Greetings, Magistrate,” I said.

He nodded gravely and then another man, the Governor of Sector 24, stepped forward and my smile wilted.

“Montagne,” he said gravely.

“I see you’ve done well for yourself, Manning. A governor that’s quite impressive,” I said gravely.

“I’ve done better than most,” he agreed, waited a beat and then, “from your crown and announcement here, I see congratulations for you are also in order.”

“Yes. I’m a King now,” I said, buffing my nails on the uniform jacket I was wearing, before suddenly giving him a penetrating look, “even though it’s not half so formidable a post as you seem to have managed to finagle considering I was in exile up until a few weeks ago, when a representative of the Confederation fleet invited me to this conference, I suppose it will have to do.”

“Well, yours is a life appointment while mine is merely for a term or two at best, but for the rest…” Manning shot back and then trailed off.

“What am I not invited?” I asked miming getting up and heading for the door.

“Oh, tuck it in, Montagne,” he said, rolling his eyes, “that’s not what I meant. We have more important things to do than pamper your ego.”

“Yes, setting Bentwicks on me as soon as I offered you my respectful greetings made your position on that subject abundantly clear,” I riposted and then shrugged, “and considering your treatment of me so far, maybe I’m ready for a little posturing whether you like it or not. Unless you’re asking me to leave?”

He shook his head.

“Look, we both have more important things to worry about than incompetent government workers with delusions of grandeur,” he informed me.

“Yes. I hear there’s a bug invasion crisscrossing the breadth and width of the Spine. I wonder how that happened?” I said, baring my teeth.

“You heard right,” the Lead Governor cut back into the conversation, almost as if he was deliberately trying to head me off.

I gave him a hard look which he did his best to ignore.

“Let me be blunt,” said Governor Manning retaking control of the conversation from his colleague.

“I so wish you would,” I snarked.

He glowered at me.

“What we need from you is ships, Montagne,” agreed Manning.

“Ships, ships and more ships, I’m familiar with the tune,” I demurred.

“Could we please be serious, lives are at stake. Everyone in the Spine needs to pull together or this is going to get a lot rougher than it needs to be,” Governor Manning growled.

“I don’t see why you need me,” I demurred with steely eyes, “Everyone in the Spine? Remember, I’m still technically in exile beyond the Spine. Besides, you’ve got yourself the all high and mighty Confederation Fleet at your beck and call now. What do you need with a washed-up old failure like myself?”

There were a series of winces around the room but Manning and the Lead Governor met my gaze unflinchingly.

“I’d hardly say the Confederation Fleet is at our beck and call,” Manning rejected.

“As I recall, Fleet protection was part of the price you all negotiated for agreeing to eject me from the Spine after I put everything on the line and staked it all to save all of your skins. Don’t tell me the Grand Assembly has repudiated your agreement with Charles Thomas as easily as you lot repudiated me?” I said, my mouth twisting into a sneer.

“You’re deliberately overstating things. We have a fleet in the Spine and a detachment in every sector but despite our close cooperation, they’re hardly at our beck and call,” said Manning firmly before changing subjects, “not many here were present when your exile was negotiated. We were informed after the fact. Besides, you knew what was bound to happen when we attacked the Empire. As it is I have to say in all honesty you got off lightly.”

“Overstating things or not, I’m still a little fuzzy on why exactly you need me. The man you exiled in exchange for peace,” I pointedly reminded him, “between the Confederation Fleet detachments and your own local SDF’s, you should have more have enough ships to deal with a bug Swarm. Meanwhile, I can just go back to my light punishment.”

“I thought you were briefed by Commodore Hammer,” said the Lead Governor, sounding stressed.

“I was,” I said.

“Which means he’s being deliberately obtuse, Governor Van Stryke,” Manning informed the other man.

The Lead Governor took a breath while Manning rounded on me.

“If you’ve spent any time monitoring Galactic News, then you’re fully aware that most of the worlds in our sectors have experienced a build-down in their System Defense Forces as we’ve all struggled to rebuild lost trade routes and shattered orbital industries, in the wake of our reintegration into the larger galactic community,” said Manning.

“Galactic News is overrated and filled with fake news. I fail to see why anyone would do something as foolish as that,” I said, crossing my arms.

“Yes, and if you’d been here, I’m sure you would have advised against it but unlike just about everyone else present, except for you, none of us was even in the room when the deal was made that saw you exiled from the Spine,” Manning growled, “so you’ll have to forgive us for not consulting you. Seeing as how you were exiled and thus unavailable at the time!”

“Don’t delude yourself; I was hardly unavailable,” I scoffed, “all you had to do was send a courier or—here’s a news flash—come in person. So can I forgive you, yes. Yes I can. As you point out, I’ve had nothing to do with the Spine of late and you all decided to continue muddling along without me. But risk the lives of my warships crews for a bunch of grasshoppers who fiddled freely while the winter snow came until the bill came due? Now why in the galaxy would I do that?” I snapped.

“Then what the blazes did you show up for?” demanded Manning, voice rising.

“Maybe just so I could spit in your eye? You think I negotiated myself into exile? It was handed to me. Why? Maybe because I was the only one in this room who bothered showing up to the party! Where were you? Where were any of you?” I flared, leaning forward until I was in his personal space.

“I can’t speak for anyone else but my fleet was en route! Maybe we would have been there before it was all over but the ratifying of the agreement if you’d sent us more than a series of junk files as a diversionary tactic to throw the Empire off your scent,” Manning barked.

“I didn’t have time to see which way you’d jump. Better to let you continue to sit there outside Aegis twiddling your thumbs, than to wonder if you’d be forced to support yet another group of trigger-happy mutineers unhappy with the chain of command and stab me in the back!” I shot back with equal heat.

“Yes, and we can all see how well that worked out for you,” Manning said, proceeding to slow clap.

I made a sharp dismissive gesture.

“You’ve got home rule and the right to self-determination,” I sneered, “as usual, I took it on the chin to ensure your life, liberty and freedoms. You can mock me for that while eating your cheese and cake all you want, but I didn’t come here to be insulted about my dancing ability when I was the only one who actually showed up to the party. You wanted me to be the one to invite you? You were the top New Confederation military commander at the time, Manning! If your government was being held hostage by a foreign power, then by all the hoary space gods you should have done whatever it took to free them, if you had to beg, borrow, steal, kill or crawl. Saint Murphy knows I had to do enough of that back when I was in charge.”

He became so angry, his face turned purple.

“I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about exactly who did or did not do what when things went down, and simply deal,” Manning bit out.

For a moment, we stood glaring at each other.

Then Governor Van Stryke cleared his throat.

“Please step back, Governor Manning. We did not ask Admiral, now King, Montagne to come here in order to refight old battles. We need to put aside the past if we are to forge a brighter future for us all and to be honest, we have more than enough to manage right now this very moment. Things are grim enough without more infighting,” he said firmly.

His mouth twisting, Manning turned away abruptly and took several steps to return to his position among the rest of the sector governors.

I had just enough time for the corners of my mouth to turn up at finally seeing Manning rebuked by someone other than myself for his questionable behaviors, before the politician turned to me.

“As for you, Admiral. Are you willing to assist us in our time of need or not? If not, then you might as well leave and save us all some time, for today we face arguably the greatest threat to the Spineward Sectors,” said Van Stryke.

I felt a flash of anger. When had I ever failed to help the people of the Spineward Sectors? And what were these bugs next to the droid invasion I’d stopped cold, or the Empire?

Remembering the number of times I had been left on the side of the road by Sector Politicians and my resolution not to be taken advantage of again strengthened.

Governor Van Stryke was right to be concerned, even if there was little to no evidence in any of my past actions that would lead a person to such a conclusion. Or maybe I was just being arrogant.

Either way…

“Convince me,” I challenged. “I wouldn’t have come here if there was no way I could see myself as willing to help,” I said finally.

The Governor frowned; this was clearly a far lesser and much more equivocal an answer than he’d hoped for, but too bad, he was just going to have to learn how to deal.

“I see,” he said flatly.

Finally motioning to one of his aides, he leaned over to speak with the man. A minute later, the aide hurried out of the room and when he returned, the aide was carrying a sheaf of flimsies with Commodore Hammer at his side.

“Admiral I’m glad you decided to join us after all,” she said, her expression pleasantly professional.

I kept my expression clear. I was still not pleased at the way she felt free to guilt me into taking action but when I turned the tables on her, she balked. But that was the nature of the beast and there was one appropriate reply that immediately sprang to mind.

“Leonora, it’s a pleasure to see you as always. Have you thought about my offer?” I asked pleasantly. Turn-about was fair play in my opinion, I thought, giving her a bland look.

She stiffened.

“I’m afraid my duty to the Confederation precludes me from accepting your offer at this time,” she said a hint of rebuke in her voice.

My eyebrows rose.

“Precludes? I would have thought it a small price to pay… considering what you asked of me,” I said.

“I appreciate your position, Sir. However, what you ask is not as simple as you try to make it out,” she said calmly.

“It seems simple to me. You have the opportunity to put your life on the line for the people you have sworn to protect in a way that increases their chances of survival,” I said, working to ensure the rebuke I was feeling did not enter my voice.

Her nostrils flared.

“As you are well aware, I am already risking my life for the people of the Spine. What you ask is something different. Frankly, it is not as easy for me to change loyalties as it was for you; as much as I love the people of the Spine and am willing to die for them, I have a higher calling and when I swear an oath, I keep it,” she said flatly.

Clearly, even my former underlings felt free to speak out of both sides of their mouths and then criticize me to my face. It looked like I’d been too lax and easygoing in the past.

“I understand your position even if it seems a tad hypocritical considering what you’ve have asked of me, but no matter,” I said, waving the issue away instead of giving any one of half a dozen blistering retorts I could have gone with. As always, it was Jason Montagne who was expected to upend his life and sacrifice his blood, sweat and treasure while everyone else got to go about their merry business.

“I didn’t expect you to understand. But unless my answer is a dealbreaker, could we please get down to the business at hand,” she said, her face and entire body stiff with tension.

“Let’s,” I agreed although I didn’t think she was going to like my new negotiating position now that she had taken my first offer off the table.

It was time I saw how much blood I could squeeze out of this turnip. She felt she owed a duty to the Confederation at large that superseded anything she owed to the Spineward Sectors, fair enough. But now that I was King, I had responsibilities too and being an Exile, any duty I felt toward the Spine had to come second.

“I’m glad that’s settled,” Lead Governor Van Stryke cut in, giving me and Commodore Hammer an uneasy look even as he tried to smooth the waters and play peacemaker.

When she nodded and I shrugged, he looked relieved.

“The sad truth is, we need your starships, Admiral. The Confederation will in all likelihood send more ships to reinforce us but that could take weeks or, given the current Speaker and Grand Assembly’s firm stance on any unneeded military buildup, more likely months and by that time, countless worlds will have been lost before they can relieve us,” he splayed his hands helplessly.

“My own analysts put the actual number at something like at least a dozen and upward of thirty worlds but I suppose that’s entirely beside the point and this is where I come in,” I said, unable to suppress a dig at that ‘countless’ argument.

“You suppose correctly,” he agreed with a sigh, “Even though I don’t like to say it, I need to be clear that despite our region’s semi-autonomous, self-governing, status, I cannot simply remove your state of exile with a wave of my hand,” the Lead Governor said grimly.

I waved a hand, dismissing the charge.

“I don’t see why that’s a problem. It was the Empire that exiled me, not the Confederation. While individual member worlds of the Confederation have the ability to exile its local citizens from their star systems, the Confederation at large has no such power and as any Sector Judge can tell you, without a legal process in place for repatriation, the Confederation constitution will not allow an indefinite…” I brought myself to a halt at the sight of the Lead Governor’s long face and shaking head.

“Your Exile from Confederation space was a provision ratified by treaty with the Confederation and Empire as signatories. The same treaty that returned the Spine to the Empire and conferred Semi-Autonomous status on our region of space also stipulated your exile as one of the terms,” the Governor said unhappily, “not only do treaties with foreign powers carry the weight of Confederation law but well… to contest any portion of the treaty is to risk endangering the whole.”

“Including the Spineward Sector’s status as a semi-autonomous status, self-governing region,” I said, lifting an eyebrow.

“We’re skirting the law as much as we dare just having you here on a temporary basis. Thankfully, Commodore Hammer acted on her own initiative inviting you here or we’d be facing some serious blowback,” the Lead Governor said with a helpless shrug before hastily adding, “not that we are not overjoyed that the hero of the rebellion and his fleet of mighty warships have once again returned to arrive in our hour of need.”

“I’m a hero of the rebellion and this is all that you dare say,” I said, giving the assembled governors a disappointed look at this latest bit of mealy mouthed prattle. Despite outward shows of regret and unwillingness no one in this room was really and actively unhappy that I—and by extension the men and women of my fleet who had fought and died to preserve their lives, liberty and ability to continue to pursue happiness—still languished in a state of exile.

“I hope you can understand our position, Sir,” interjected yet another Sector Governor, “we’re just trying to do the best we can by the people who elected us.”

“Including doing our darndest to keep them from being eaten, even if it requires skirting the letter of the law,” nodded another Governor.

“When you need help, then aren’t I grand but when I need a hand, where’d you go,” I muttered under my breath.

“I beg your pardon?” the Lead Governor said with a politely fixed smile.

“Nothing,” I replied, waggling my fingers to wave the matter off, “in fact, I was just about to say that I understand your position entirely. In a way, this comes as a relief as you see I was about to clarify that today, I will not be attending these negotiations as Admiral Montagne of the MSP, hero of the rebellion but instead in my official capacity as the King of Capria, Protector of Messene and Grand Admiral of the Tractoan System Defense Force,” I replied.

The Lead Governor froze.

“Does this clarification have any significance,” Van Stryke temporized but another of his governors, not so faint of heart, was not hesitating to charge directly in where his fellows hesitated to tread.

“Does that mean you’re withdrawing your support?” Governor Manning asked sharply.

I turned a flinty gaze on my former subordinate.

“You can’t, Admiral! You’d be sealing the fate of billions of voters!” exclaimed Magistrate Trevon, looking agitated.

“I’m in exile and you’re trying to tell me that it’s all on me?” I asked with disbelief, “that this entire region will be going back up in flames as countless worlds are consumed by the bug menace if I don’t act, and at the same time, because I wasn’t here I have no right to take you to task for failing to build up your military? Is that what I’m hearing, that I am to yet again be unfairly castigated as the man who let everyone die when I could have saved them?” I continued in a rising voice, “and this despite the fact I’ve been given the back of the hand by everyone in the Spine, I’m still laboring under a sentence of Exile, that my mere presence here risks not just my life but every member of my fleet if either Empire or the Confederation finds out,” I finished with a growl.

“Do you have a point somewhere under all of those complaints,” Manning snapped, “yes you got a raw deal. Yes, we never expected a multi-sector wide bug strike. Yes wrong choices were made. Are you going to help or not!”

I gave him a dead level look. Who were these people, that thought they could ask my help on the one hand and then berate me on the other?

“My point, as you so succinctly put it, is that my services are not free and this is going to cost you. Plenty,” I said flatly.

Commodore Hammer frowned and started to open her mouth and then stopped.

A wise choice.

Several of the Sector Governors on this ruling council of theirs on the other hand shared looks that indicated this was not entirely unexpected.

We’d see about that.

“This Regional Authority has been made aware of the deals you cut with our predecessors in the failed rebel New Regime and the government of Sector 25, and we’re prepared to make you a similar offer,” said Van Stryke, turning to receive a small stack paper flimsies from his secretary.

“I have in my hands a signed proposal from all seven governors appointing the individual of your choice the new Regional Commandant. It has to be co-signed by all seven governors, effectively endowing him, her, herm or it, the sector commandant—of all seven sectors—with all the resulting rights, privileges and responsibilities traditional to that office. They will also—”

“Him, her, herm or it? There’s only one top commander in my fleet and that’s me,” I interrupted.

The Lead Governor winced.

“I hope that you can understand our position. Your appointment is politically untenable,” he said.

“What do I need to understand… that you’re cowards?” I asked.

“That’s uncalled for, Montagne,” Governor Manning said.

I turned to him.

“So, I need to lock it down, shut up, rise to the occasion and do it all by standing aside is that what you meant?” I asked.

Manning grimaced.

“That’s a harsh way of looking at it. But there’s no call for throwing around names. No one here is looking to screw you. We realize we’re asking a lot but you have to realize we wouldn’t have turned to you if we had any other choice. You’ve given more than enough for the Spineward Sectors; we respect that,” he said.

“Except that by me rising to the occasion, you really mean I need to swallow a fist full of insults when I offer a simple greeting to this body and then be alternately implored, questioned and berated when I ask a simple question, why you haven’t taken the chance my people died to give you, to build up your defenses,” I said sardonically, “so while I genuinely believe that you wouldn’t have turned to me if you had any other choice, the rest of this sounds like hogwash. But hey, I could be wrong.”

“To be honest, I could care less about any ranks, titles or any other so called honors on offer. I mean they seem pretty useless considering you wouldn’t even meet me in the Spine itself, insisting we rendezvous on your governmental monitor way out here in the Rim,” I continued, “so, no. I have a different deal in mind. Consider this my counter offer.”

“If you would at least look at our offer, I think you’ll find there’s no need for any threats,” said Governor Van Stryke.

“When I threaten someone, you’ll know it,” I informed him shortly and then pulled out my data pad. I briefly scanned through the documents they’d provided before dismissively tossing them aside. Well… more like passing them into the waiting hands of my Chief of Staff, Lisa Steiner, but there was a toss involved.

I didn’t have to read through everything to tell what it said.

In short, they wanted my Fleet but they didn’t want me.

“This document of yours is a non-starter. If that’s all you’re offering then we’re done here,” I told them flatly.

“Thus condemning billions to die over your ego? I don’t think so. That’s not your speed, Montagne,” Manning said flatly.

“I agree that it doesn’t fit his psychological profile, Governor,” Van Stryke said to his fellow governor before turning to look at me with assessing eyes, “however, time in isolation and exile can change a man. Perhaps this isn’t exactly the same man you knew,” he added, eyeing me with a hooded expression.

I crossed my arms.

“Then let me be clear. You may be a King in your home system but if you stand by and do nothing out of spite, the Regional Authority acting under my leadership is prepared to restrict the Caprian Star System’s status, stripping it of several privileges as well as all voting rights,” the Lead Governor informed me with a challenging gaze, “we may just have to do that anyway since they voted you in as King. But in this particular case it wouldn’t be a chore, it would be a real pleasure.”

“So that’s how you want to play it,” I said in a hard voice.

“I will do whatever it takes, beg, borrow or threaten whoever or whatever it takes to save those worlds, Mr. Montagne. Never forget it,” said the Lead Governor. The other governors behind him stood in silent agreement.

“So, you are willing to do whatever it takes. Now you’re talking my language,” I said firmly.

“If you want to take it that way, I wouldn’t say you’re wrong,” Van Stryke said stiffly.

“First off, if you want me to stay in this room, sanctions against Capria and giving me the boot from my own fleet are non-starters. Keep them on the table and I walk,” I said opening up a file and shooting it over to him.

“What is this?” Van Stryke asked cautiously.

“Consider it my terms of service in exchange for helping you all out of this mess you went and got yourselves into while I wasn’t looking,” I said dismissively.

For a moment, several of the Governors standing behind Manning and Van Stryke looked mulish. One of them even stepped forward.

“Who are you to negotiate with the elected representatives of seven sectors and more than seven hundred inhabited worlds?” he demanded.

I bestowed a flinty look.

“Jason Montagne, Admiral and King, let’s forget for the moment that you and just about everyone else in the Spine owe their free and semi-independent return to the galactic community to me and just go with I’m the man with the warships you believe you need to save our people,” I said magnanimously.

The Governor turned purple.

“Your background file never really mentioned the size of your ego, Your Majesty,” Van Stryke deadpanned.

Manning snorted.

“I tried to keep it in check for the good of the Spine but when your region throws you away, such impulses tend to fade,” I snarked back.

I gave them a challenging look before I felt my point was made.

Separating me from my fleet was not an option. At no time up to this point had any person in this room, including Manning and now Leonora Hammer, convinced me of their pure motives and good intentions to the point that I would trust them with the lives of my people. Trusting them with the lives and deaths of the people of the Spine was bad enough considering how badly they’d just bungled things.

I wasn’t about to let them get their hooks into the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet or separate me from it. They just hadn’t earned it.

“Perhaps we can table the discussion indefinitely. Officially, we will agree not to take any action against Capria or further actions against Tracto not already taken or mandated by treaty, and officially you agree to non-binding agreement that says you’ll stay in Tracto. Officially, you’ll agree to stay there for the duration of the conflict. Unofficially and without the blessing of this Governing Authority, you can do whatever you want so long as your fleet manages to achieve victory and the bugs are driven back,” said Van Stryke.

Meaning I could be present but they’d expect me to lead the fleet to victory against the bugs and they still might come back on me later if the bugs did too much damage or they just decided they didn’t like my face. In short, I had no legal protection from the Spine, if the Empire or the Confederation decided to come back on me, I thought sourly. With ‘heroes’ like this running the Spineward Sectors, it was no surprise it was on the brink of disaster.

“Fine. Then with my preconditions out of the way, this leads us to the final item in my proposal,” I said.

“Haven’t you already asked enough?” asked the now purple-faced governor.

“Hardly,” I replied calmly. I’d come here hoping for sanity and maybe even a little glad-handing as they told me what a wonderful guy I’d been in the past, so sad how things turned out, what a raw deal and so on and so forth before they gave me a pat on the back and sent me back out to go slay the mighty Sky Demons. Instead I’d received….

“So far, all I’ve basically said is hands off what’s already mine. You came to me. Not the other way around. Frankly, this fleet has sacrificed more blood, sweat and treasure in defense of the Spineward Sectors than any other person or organization than anyone else in the room, including him,” I said pointing to Governor Manning.

“Calm yourself, Governor Chu Xia,” the Lead Governor said to his agitated colleague.

The other man took a breath and then the Lead Governor turned back to me.

“What do you want, Admiral?” he asked.

“You know at first, I was thinking a simple service fee would do it but now I’m leaning toward a flat tax,” I said.

The Lead Governor blinked, Commodore Hammer blinked and the rest of the Sector Governors looked at me nonplussed.

“I beg your pardon? I don’t think I heard you properly. You want to do what exactly?” asked Van Stryke.

“Announce a flat tax,” I said patiently.

The purple-faced governor of moments before now looked like he was about to have a stroke.

“This is usurpation of our authority and rebellion against the state!” shouted Governor Chu Xia.

Van Stryke gave him a sharp look before turning back to me apologetically.

“Only the Regional Authority or the Sector Governors can propose sector-wide taxes, Admiral,” Van Stryke pointed out tactfully, “and they then have to be ratified by the individual sector assemblies.”

“I wasn’t thinking about sector-wide taxes, rather something more in the line of contributions from those worlds directly in need of assistance,” I mused.

“In other words, what you’re asking is impossible,” Governor Manning said flatly, “we’re here to save worlds, Jason. Not restructure the tax code, refight every budget battle of the past two years or—and I’m sure you didn’t actually mean this—line your pockets.”

I paused thoughtfully. Was I thirsting for vengeance or acting irrationally… maybe. I tended to think of it more as making sure the mistakes of the past weren’t repeated at the expense of my fleet but I could be wrong. Either way, Manning was wrong. Someone was going to have to pay for this and I wasn’t going to act first and then wait for the Confederation at large or the Regional Authority to pay whatever bill I handed in.

“No,” I announced with authority.

“I honestly think a flat tax of 4% on each planetary economy in need is more than fair. It’s not like any of those worlds has paid one credit toward the upkeep of my fleet or into the pensions of my fallen sailors, lancers or officers, and yet at the same time, the amounts they’ve spent on their SDF’s have clearly, at least in their own opinions, proved insufficient as they are now begging for our assistance,” I said motioning Steiner forward. I received the sheaf of flimsies she pulled out of a protected carrier on her shoulder and then turned to Van Stryke.

“Well as they say, beggars cannot be choosers. And as Governor Manning has so bluntly pointed out, I was the only person present in the room the last time a negotiation of this magnitude went down and thus have only myself to blame if I am unhappy with the results. Well let me be clear, I have no intention of walking out of this room dissatisfied with the results of this negotiation,” I said.

“No,” Governor Chu Xia said with ringing finality.

I cocked an eyebrow his way.

“If you think my Sector Government will give into these terrorist demands, you’re dreaming,”

“Okay. Your sector can stand on its own,” I shrugged.

“Did you fail to hear me? I said we would rather die than pay your blood money!” shouted Chu Xia, who despite his very Asian-sounding name looked decidedly like a white Caucasian to my eyes.

“Control yourself, Governor,” I said looking at him quizzically, “your people won’t be forced to pay a thing. You can live and die by your own efforts; I won’t interfere one way or the other.”

“This is blackmail! You can’t extort us like this and get away with it, Montagne. This is illegal,’ Chu Xia said stormily.

“It’s not blackmail, because I don’t even know which world or sector you represent. All I’m proposing is a voluntary tax for my volunteer force,” I said.

“I’m afraid you’re not volunteers if you’re asking to be paid, Admiral Montagne,” Van Stryke pointed out.

“You’re absolutely wrong, as I believe the esteemed leader of the Absolute Choice party would tell you if she were here at this very moment. I believe the Confederation made living wage payments mandatory for all volunteers,” I shot back.

“The Grand Assemblyperson is under indictment!” raged Chu Xia.

“I still can’t help the laws you ratified in my absence,” I said, waving the protest away.

Governor Chu Xia advanced on me, now breathing heavily.

“Control yourself, Governor,” Van Stryke said sharply.

“Listen you can’t honestly be saying that a flat tax on our world governments in need is in any way comparable to an individual’s living wage requirements. A requirement, I’ll add, that might have been passed in the core worlds but technically speaking hasn’t even been ratified by the Spineward Sectors,” he continued.

“And never will be,” Manning muttered beside him.

“Please be reasonable; a tax like you’re proposing is simply too much,” argued Van Stryke, but I held firm.

“My fleet accountants vigorously disagree with you. 4% is what we estimate will be needed to sustain a roving independent force large enough to bail out the Spineward Sectors each and every time it gets in trouble of this nature,” I countered sharply.

“Isaak was right. You are insane,” Chu Xia fumed, physically barred from coming at me by Manning’s suddenly outthrust arm, “we are not wealthy shopkeepers to be squeezed and would never accede to your protection racket regardless.”

“What I am proposing is the furthest thing from insanity. In fact, it’s the very opposite. What’s insane is rebuilding roads when what you need is battle fleets. What’s insane is fiddling in the summertimes and then screaming for the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet to come bail you out every time you run headlong into a sector-wide or multi-sector threat you can’t handle,” I said hotly, “as it is, she,” I pointed at Hammer, “decided her principle was more valuable than your billions of credits and so that ship’s sailed, and you lot,” I said gesturing to the rest of them, “tried to pawn me off with a few honors and talk of patriotism to a government and people who have rejected me.”

“No,” I said decisively, “this is going to cost you. Plenty!”

“You think you can dictate terms to the Spineward Sectors Regional Authority,” Van Stryke asked pointedly.

“You think I can’t?” I lifted an eyebrow. I mean all they had to do was say no and I was out of here.

Beside Manning and Van Stryke, Chu Xia stood and spluttered.

I eyed the small group of sector politicians before me clinically. I might feel an attachment to the Border Alliance Worlds, maybe even to those small and independent planets that weren’t yet large enough to afford a fleet large enough to protect themselves, but the lazy core-worlds that ratified my exile and then failed to build up sufficient defenses to protect themselves from the bug threat? Not so much. And these guys represented those very worlds.

There was little likelihood that some local politician, a man or woman from a not very populated, not very strong and not very industrialized planet was going to seize the reins of power over an entire sector.

“It seems you have us over a barrel, Montagne,” Governor Manning said bitterly, “I don’t know why I’m surprised. You’ve always been willing to do whatever it took to achieve your objective.”

Behind him, Commodore Hammer had gone pale-faced as she stared at me.

“I’ve stopped droids, two imperial invasions and I’m willing to do what I feel is necessary to stop this bug Swarm,” I said evenly.

“This is something more than that,” Van Stryke said with reserve, “if stopping this Swarm was all your focus, then you would have no need to call for this. You do this because you want to.”

“Enough,” I made a cutting gesture, “I don’t have all day to bandy words with you. Maybe I could sacrifice everything I have and hold dear for no reward, not even simple gratitude, but what about next time or the time after that? Nothing I see here fills me with confidence that the next time there’s an invasion, you lot will rise to the challenge. As such, it once again falls on me to plan for our futures.”

“You are not a God, Montagne! You are not even an Emperor, Speaker or Sector Governor. Who are you to talk down to us? We are the elected representatives of this region of space, not children to be spoken down to!” Chu Xia shouted.

“Then stop acting like one,” I said sharply, “and when you do, I’ll stop treating you that way. Everyone here is quick to criticize me when what you should really be looking at is yourself.”

“Now give me your answer. Yes. Or. No,” I said, crossing my arms.

“A moment please,” Lead Governor Van Stryke requested, face dark as he turned to consult his fellow sector governors.

I watched the little huddle made up of the most powerful politicians this region of space impassively. If I didn’t hold all the cards here, it was because they’d lied to me and they didn’t really need my forces as badly as they’d previously said. In which case, I felt free to turn away and leave.

If they hadn’t lied, then they’d come to their senses eventually.

“The Regional Authority is willing to consider your request but we’ll need to know the actual amounts involved before we can give this our final seal of approval,” Governor Van Stryke said with suppressed anger in his eyes.

“You realize this is highly irregular, not to mention unconstitutional,” Governor Chu Xia informed his fellow governors furiously, “I for one refuse to allow the Montagne’s outlaw fleet into my sector of space. Whatever the Authority decides does not include Sector 22!”

“Your objection has been noted already,” Manning said forcefully, “now back off, Governor.”

So, no deployments into Sector 22. I made a mental note while keeping my face impassive.

“Your terms,” Van Stryke prompted once Chu Xia moved to the side and it was clear there would be no more interruptions.

“As I said before. I’m willing to offer the services of my fleet to any system government in need for a simple one-time flat tax. 4% to be exact,” I said.

“Yes, we heard you before. But 4% of what?” asked Van Stryke.

“All calculations will be based on each world’s yearly Gross Domestic Product,” I said.

Several politicians standing behind the Governors choked.

“Surely, you’re joking,” said Van Stryke.

“That is on a par with what normal levels of military spending would be set at,” I rejected.

“Gross or net,” Manning asked.

“Gross of course,” I said.

“Is there any way we can get a discount,” one of the politicians standing behind the Governors joked.

“Sure,” I said with a broad smile, “any worlds that voted no in my exile can have their fee discounted to 4% of their ‘net’ GD as a measure of my personal gratitude for their solidarity during the last time our Region faced a threat of similar proportions.”

“Meaning those who voted Yes, will be stuck with 4% gross tax upon their planetary economy. This is petty and punitive. It won’t sit well with the people. You’re going to lose a lot of your previous support and there are those who won’t pay,” warned Manning, “make sure you’re willing to bear the cost of this form of extortion.”

I looked at him with flinty eyes.

“Like how this body was prepared to censure my worlds, remove Capria’s voting status and impose further trade sanctions on Tracto and Capria if I wasn’t willing to dance to your tune?” I shot back, “forgive me if you’ve succeeded in bringing me down to your level and consider taking your losses like a man instead of the whiny politician you’ve become.”

If anything, Manning’s face darkened further, his expression silently threatening a reckoning but who could care less? Where was he when I was confronting Cornwallis? Leading a mutiny against my authority instead of doing his duty to suppress it, that’s the answer. Where was he when I was negotiating for the future of the Spine, on the way but too late to the party?

Talk was cheap and more importantly, anyone who refused to pay would not get my protection.

“You are consigning millions of people to die when their leaders refuse your ‘tax’. Excuse me if I feel the need to point that out,” Manning said.

“My Fleet is large but I don’t think it’s as big as you think,” I shrugged, “as it is, I won’t be able to save every world in the Spine. If you like, feel free to direct the efforts of your Sector Guards to those worlds that are unable or unwilling to bear the costs of their own protection.”

“Oh, I will. You can count on that,” said Manning.

“As will I,” Hammer said raking me with an openly disappointed look.

I shrugged off her ire with a flick of the wrist and a snap of my fingers. She had her chance to shake things up and she took a pass.

“This is not how such business is done, King Jason,” warned Van Stryke.

I gave him a quizzical look.

“What exactly are you saying? Through all my years observing Spineward Sectors politics, even when I was a somewhat unwilling participant in it, this here is almost exactly how business was done,” I said lifting a brow and shaking my head.

“You, sir, are a very cynical person,” said Van Stryke.

“It is unbelievable that we’re giving in to this terrorist,” stated Chu Xia as he turned and stalked away.

You win some, you lose some.

“Now how about we take a look at the draft of my proposal,” I suggested, “basically, all I need from this committee is your recognition of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet private security company as an organization with the right to offer any form of military protective services within the Spineward Sectors, specifically including fleet-level deployments upon request and system defense patrols.”

When they stood there and stared at me instead of immediately taking action, I clapped my hands.

“Well, let’s get started!” I said, rubbing my hands together eagerly.

They didn’t like it but the Regional Authority saw things my way, eventually.

Chapter 24

King James Schemes

“What is the status of our mutual homeworld, Lord Mordecai?” demanded the brown-skinned man dressed in a top of the line, self-sealing skinsuit, only his back and clasped hands visible.

Mordecai gave him an assessing look.

“I’ve just downloaded the latest information packets. We are currently data-mining the raw feeds but with our reduced staff capacity, it is taking longer than I’d like to verify the reports,” he said carefully.

“I didn’t ask that,” said the King, his clasped hands turning white.

“Would you like me to have a number of dancing girls brought in to help pass the time, Your Majesty?” Lord Mordecai asked.

King James turned, his royal features distorted by suppressed emotion. In this case, the most likely emotion was rage.

“I didn’t ask for that either, Lord Mordecai,” he said, a steely glint in his eye, “don’t try to manage me, just give me the facts.”

Lord Mordecai hesitated.

“I’m waiting, Mordecai. And when a King waits, it doesn’t bode well for those around him,” James Vekna said sternly.

After ensuring his point was made, the Exiled King reached for a still-steaming cup of tea on the stand beside him.

“My greatest apologies, my Liege,” Lord Mordecai said swiftly and James made a move-along gesture with one hand while taking a moment to savor a small sip of tea, “but it would appear that the ‘rumors’ our agents dug up previously were in fact correct. We’re still verifying, of course, but unless our data-feeds have been tampered with, your cousin Jason Montagne Vekna has just recently been crowned the False King of Capria.”

The cup in James Vekna’s hand shattered.

The King hissed and then swore, reaching for a napkin to blot the scalding hot tea off his hands before thrusting his hand under a water faucet.

“My King, are you alright?” Lord Mordecai asked paling.

“Do I look the least bit alright?” James demanded.

“Sire!” cried Mordecai.

“Oh, in the fie,” James hissed, walking over to a bottle of Champagne. Taking out a handful of ice and wrapping it in a thin napkin, he held it to his scalded hand.

“You were telling me that infernal cousin of mine, Jason Montagne, has stolen my throne,” the former King of Capria said darkly, “how is that even possible? He’s a Montagne, blast it all! No one trusts them. Has he pulled off some sort of military coup perhaps?”

“A thousand pardons, my King, but it appears the Usurper was crowned just last month and there are no signs in the data-dump about a military takeover,” Mordecai said with a wince.

“I am surrounded by imbeciles,” James said, giving the Lord a withering look.

Mordecai stiffened.

“Please allow your government-in-exile sufficient time to sift through the data flow and we’ll get to the bottom of this latest series of events,” he said stoutly.

“Get to the bottom…” James said thunderously.

Lord Mordecai drew back.

“What is there to get to the bottom of? My cousin has stolen my crown,” he growled.

“Uh, technically we brought that with us,” Mordecai said, gesturing toward a crown resting on a velvet cushion on a side table in the room.

James flushed.

“You know very well what I meant,” he hissed.

Then the former—and soon to be again, if he had anything to do with it—King took a breath.

“What do the numbers look like?” he asked.

“Looking to come home early?” Mordecai cocked his head and then frowned. Pulling out his pad, he opened a screen, “right now, your favorable are down and your unfavorable are up.”

“Meaning we need more time for the populace to cool down and realize they need me just as much or even more than I need them,” James sighed.

“You did take off with the better part of the treasury and several battleships’ worth of imperial credits,” the Lord pointed out.

James grit his teeth.

“Blasted imperials,” he swore, “if I’d known they were going to try and cheat me out of the second half of the payment for those battleships, I would never have gone into business with them in the first place! Or better yet, insisted on the entirety of each payment being made in hard currency or high tech trade goods!”

“Billions of credits down the drain and with no way to sue them in court until you’re returned to the throne, sire,” Lord Mordecai sighed sympathetically.

“It’s fortunate I insisted a large portion of the second half of the second payment be made in cold hard credits,” the King declared, ignoring the fact he’d walked off with billions of credits desperately needed by the people and corporations of Capria.

“Eventually, the people will come to their senses and realize I am not responsible for the loss of 95% of parliament. I mean it’s not like I asked the bugs to commit war crimes and eat the PM’s. Who would believe such a thing?” King James argued righteously.

“Right. You only withdrew everything but their personal protective details from directly around the Bunker, and then there were all those mysterious anti-orbit defense failures,” Lord Mordecai muttered.

“I beg your pardon?” James asked dangerously.

Mordecai coughed.

“Nothing, my Liege,” he said.

“As I say, every right-thinking voter will eventually realize the undeniable truth, and public sentiment against my administration will die down.”

“I’m sure the people will realize that without your financial support, they will face an economic depression that will make the great recession of the Imperial Withdrawal look like a walk in the park in comparison,” said Mordecai, shifting uneasily as he parroted the words he’d heard the King speak so many times, “except…”

“Except what?” James demanded, focusing on his top advisor in exile with laser-like precision.

“It seems part of the, leverage, that your despicable cousin used to seize the throne included a large cash payment, as well as trillium and high-tech asset transfers to stabilize the planetary economy. Only time will tell if he’s invested enough to stave off a collapse,” said Mordecai.

A look of pure rage crossed James Vekna’s face and he started to tense before tossing back a full cup of tea in one swift swallow.

Releasing a belly laugh, the King smirked.

“His monies and star ships are immaterial in the face of a man born to wield true power. Let him invest the fruits of his labors in our planet, it will avail him nothing,” said James.

“I fear he works to turn the people against the government-in-exile, Sire,” said Lord Mordecai allowing his genuine concern to shine through.

“I guarantee Jason Montagne won’t wear the crown long enough to enjoy it. In the end, there can only be one King of Capria. The people may contest this, my cousin and the spineless, feckless fools on the Privy Council may contest this, but rulership is in my blood and to be King is my destiny. No one can take it from me, Lord Mordecai least of all, my fool of a cousin,” James said with positive assurance in his voice.

“As you say, Your Majesty,” Mordecai said bowing low.

“I think I will take you up on your earlier offer though,” James said, a predatory gleam in his eye.

“My… offer?” Mordecai stuttered.

“Send in the triplets,” ordered the King.

“The, ah, yes of course. At once, Sire!” Mordecai said, giving another bow and then hurrying for the door.

“I need to burn off this sudden surge of energy I’m feeling. Tell them to come in…,” James checked his wrist-crono, “five minutes.”

“Your wish is my command, Your Majesty,” said Mordecai.

As soon as the Caprian Lord had left the room, the predatory look in James’s eyes intensified.

He activated his com-unit.

“Yes?” asked the close-faced man on the other end of the circuit.

“I have a message for you to relay,” said the King.

“I’m all ears, Your Majesty,” the other man said, the smile on his face belied by the hidden depths in his eyes.

“First, I want a message relayed to our pirate connections. I’m putting a bounty out on my dear Cousin Jason,” said the King.

“Not a problem. Several of my old contacts have resurfaced in the dark community after going dark for several years,” he said.

“Second, you are to contact this Agent Simpers and give all the access to our sleeper agents back home and in my cousin’s never-to-be-cursed-enough patrol fleet,” said the Exiled King.

“I still advise against it but I’ll do it,” the other man said with a grimace.

“I assure you, when I am returned to power, you will be installed as my new Minister of Intelligence,” the King assured his current spymaster.

“Was there anything else?” asked the Spymaster.

“Didn’t we have someone onboard my cousin’s flagship?” asked the King.

The Spymaster grimaced.

“We have what might be termed a, part-time, intelligence asset but our direct action team was co-opted by the PSS and then neutralized,” said the future Minister of Intelligence.

“Tell our asset that he is to make an attack on the Pretender as soon as is feasible but with a hard time limit of one month,” said the King.

“I’m not sure the asset will be willing to follow such an order,” said the Spymaster.

“Don’t we have some kind of leverage we could use for situations like these?” asked the King.

“We do, but so far, all we’ve received have been snippets of recorded conversations, supply manifests and equipment maintenance logs. I think you’ve over-estimated the asset,” said the Minister.

“I want this done now, Minister. I hope you understand,” said the King, eyes boring into those of his Spymaster with predatory intent, “it’s been years since I made a similar request. I like to think that I tend to be reasonable about such things. So in that light, make it happen.”

The other man sighed.

“Our asset won’t move unless it can verify we’ve released at least half of our hostages,” the Spymaster said finally, “it will take time to arrange transport and send the verification. The timing will be tight.”

“Detail,” James waved his hand dismissively, “am I the overlord of a planet full of more than a billion citizens or am I not?”

The Spymaster’s head drew back.

“Don’t answer that!” James snapped, “just make it happen.”

“We will, Sire,” said the Spymaster.

Chapter 25

Spalding’s Orbital Research Station

“Well la-di-dum-da-day,” Spalding groused, activating his maneuvering jets. Shooting through the bare skeletal frame of struts and girders orbiting Tracto and into a nearby airlock, he lifted up his knee to kick the computer touch-screen panel set into the wall beside the door.

He waited for the bulkhead doors to cycle completely before the small section of the station was inhabitable.

“Well, where’s the coffee, boys?” he boomed, removing his hardened space helmet and holding it at his side.

There was the rattle and clatter of hard metal feet on the metal duralloy grating that covered the floor. Rounding the corner appeared a harried-looking droid.

“Why are you missing half your head and where’s my coffee?” demanded Terrance Spalding, hanging his helmet off a hard metal port hanging off his back.

I’ll assume that was the biological equivalent of a friendly greeting,” said the Droid.

“It wasn’t, but keep living in your fantasy,” Spalding scoffed, pointing the droid’s head, “are you going to tell me what happened?”

“There was a minute containment breach in the testing laboratory, a slight wave harmonic in the dual-shielding containment array. Nothing to be concerned about. It’s been fixed and the damage to what you term the head portion of my frame barely degrades my sensor capacity. As for the coffee dispense, it has yet to be hooked into the power grid and made operational,” the droid dismissed.

Spalding let go of his helmet and glared at the droid.

“Now wait just a cotton-picking minute. I warned you about this,” Spalding said, thrusting a finger at the droid.

“Yes-yes,” dismissed the droid, “you left a detailed ten-page set of instructions but the coffee machine was dubbed non-critical to the operations of this research station. Clearly, that was a critical error. A utility droid is setting up the coffee dispenser now.”

“You’re well-blasted right, that was a critical error,” Spalding frowned, “but that’s not the one I’m talking about right now.”

“Then I’m afraid I’m unable to process your request. As I have found common with organics, you tend to wander from one incomprehensible topic to another without any rhyme or reason,” complained the droid.

“You’ve lost something alright. You’ve lost it, period. Not only is the coffee I specifically ordered not ready for me but you almost blew up the station!” Spalding accused as if the two subjects were almost of equal merit.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself,” he demanded.

“As I explained, it was a mild field harmonic, already remedied and the damage was strictly cosmetic. There is no need for histrionics,” said the droid.

“Histrionics? You almost blow up the station and now I’m some kind of fearful untrained greenhorn is that it? How would you like it if word of your failed experiments got back home to that droid council of yours?” Spalding scowled, “I’ve had to deal with blown motivators, missing heads, containment breeches and a bug you weren’t even authorized to make that was found swimming in the sewage tanks of the transport you were brought over here on, which wouldn’t have been half so bad if the thing hadn’t been found during a routine maintenance cycle, after you’d left the ship!”

“All it’s been with you is one problem after another and I’ve had enough!” declared Spalding.

“I trust the events you described will not be bandied about with my former colleagues,” Mad Scientist’s voice buzzed angrily.

“There is no honor among friends, Sherard, just humiliating secrets and blackmail, and if you keeping going down this road of yours, skipping and laughing without a care in the world instead of knuckling and doing the job you were hired for, you’ll be out on your ear, you’ll find out just how far I can go,” Spalding growled, “I won’t have it, you hear? You’re not living up to your end of the bargain! And to me that’s the same thing as slacking and do you know what I do to slackers in my outfit, Droid?”

“I have strictly adhered to the terms of service as you laid down. The agreement was that I would assist you with your projects in return for being free to push the boundaries of science in my off hours, using a laboratory of my own design,” the droid argued, drawing itself up to its full five-and-a-half-foot height.

“That’s not just a lie! That’s a damned lie,” Spalding shouted, grabbing his long hair, twirling a thick strand around his finger before giving it a yank.

He thrust his leveled finger into the droid’s finger hard enough to knock the machine back a step.

Then the tip of his finger bent over backward with a pop and the small mini-plasma torch inside it ignited.

“You’ve endangered this whole facility with your rogue actions, Mad Scientist 101-A! I was very clear when I hired you. I don’t care what you did in your free time so long as I got results. Well—where are my results!?”

“Are you insane? These sorts of projects take time! We’re dealing with technology hundreds, if not thousands, of years ahead of ours,” said Mad Scientist.

I don’t want your excuses,” Spalding said belligerently, “the Resurrection Project comes first, your little side experiment’s a distant second and anything that endangers it has to go. And I call a matter/anti-matter containment breach a blazing big danger to this entire facility,” Spalding snapped, stepping forward until the tip of the plasma torch in his finger licked the edge of the droid’s metal chest plate.

Mad Scientist frowned.

“First, you’ve once again mis-designated me. Second, I doubt you can find someone, anyone, else with a mind as open to the possibilities of pure science as mine; please bring them onboard I could use the help. Third and as was explained previously it was a minor containment breech. There was never enough anti-matter removed from the main containment system to destroy this space station; maybe rupture a wall or two, but the station? Impossible! Not even a chain reaction could create such a scenario,” Mad Scientist said hotly, “my calculations were very precise!”

“You’re right about one thing! If I had someone to replace you with, I’d do it on the spot and you’re right I want you to go to triple redundancy. I’m putting my foot down. No more of this dual-containment shield nonsense, it’s not working if half your head’s gone,” Spalding shot back angrily, taking a good hard look at the blinking lights and scorched circuits in the side of Mad Scientist’s head.

Mad Scientist’s single remaining eye changed color.

“My main processors are not in my head. I am entirely functional and triple redundancy is an unneeded waste of time. Time better spent plumbing the depths of human knowledge and vastly exceeding it in each and every way possible,” said the Droid Scientist.

“That’s the spirited anti-human bigot I know and love,” Spalding said, clouting the droid on the shoulder hard enough it staggered into the wall, “but you’re still going to put up that extra shielding as punishment for risking this station. On top of that you’re not only going to put up that coffee maker, I’m curtailing your free time by two hours per day and that’s final.”

“This is highly irregular. I protest in the strongest terms!” the droid hooted, his eye flashing as it repeatedly changed colors, “I’m in a critical phase of my experimentation!”

“Do what you want. Consider this administrative punishment,” Spalding lectured sternly.

“Completely unacceptable! The mind that inhabits my processing core is one such as can only be discovered, not created, once in a hundred years,” argued Mad Scientist, “to put restraints upon my research is the same as placing shackles upon a human base-stock such as yourself!”

“And what would you call being suddenly thrust back into the private sector with a poor job review rating and the professional ridicule of your colleagues once they found out about all your shoddy safety protocols?” Spalding asked speculatively.

Mad Scientist fell abruptly silent.

“That’s what I thought,” Spalding said with satisfaction.

“Here comes the coffee,” Mad Scientist said, changing the subject as a utility droid came rumbling into view holding a squeeze bulb of coffee in its front manipulator.

“The bulb variety, huh?” Spalding said, eyeing the coffee speculatively before shrugging and giving it a taste.

Mad Scientist crossed his arms and began tapping the floor.

“Bah! The beans were burnt,” he protested. Then just to be ornery, he took a second sip and grimaced at the foul taste.

Mad Scientist just waited, clearly not caring about the quality of the coffee or lack thereof.

“I suppose I can’t fire you until I have someone to replace you with. What do you have to report?” Spalding asked, tossing the swill in his bulb toward the nearest trash can and not caring when it bounced off the rim and flopped to the floor.

“That you have failed to dispose of your coffee in the waste receptacle,” pointed out the droid.

“Regarding the project,” repeated Spalding.

“Come this way,” said the Mad Scientist.

Spalding followed.

Minutes later, they walked into a large control room. The walls were surrounded by inward-facing computer terminals but in the center was the piece-de-resistance.

A giant computer core dominated the center of the room.

“We took a ship’s main processing node and upscaled it,” explained the Droid, “our original intention to take the model of a droid core and upscale it proved…. Flawed.”

“Whose core did you copy it over from?” asked Spalding.

At first, the droid looked like it was going to ignore the question and then it relented.

“Mine,” admitted the droid.

Spalding suppressed a snort.

“That must have been a disappointment,” he said.

“Very. It turns out the concept was inherently flawed,” the droid said finally.

“Droid core incompatible with the upgrade?” asked Spalding.

“Not at all,” Mad Scientist said sharply, “the matrix was ideal in many ways and the new AI level core proved to have a superior operating capacity beyond our most conservative estimates.”

“Well they were conservative for a reason,” Spalding shrugged.

“The problem as we discovered, after debugging the initial program,” Mad Scientist continued ignoring the ornery old engineer, “was the presence of what we have now identified as elder protocol files hidden deep within the personality matrix which proved impossible to scrub.”

“What do you mean by impossible? I thought you were supposed to be some kind of genius? If you can’t even remove an Elder protocol program after you’ve identified it then what good are you?” Spalding snapped.

“It’s not that we couldn’t successfully remove them. But that even after we removed them, other files, partial files, hidden deep within the root access nodes and other key operating programs were then used to reassemble the anti-AI protocols after our initial deletion.”

“In short, they then reinfected the main computer core before we could even get it partially operational,” admitted the Droid.

Spalding eyed the droid with concern.

“Well I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he said and then added, “it must have been a real kick in the pants to discover you’d been infected with an alien program since the matrix was copied from your droid core,” Spalding said.

“If you are concerned that my unit has been compromised, don’t be. There is no sign of any malignant code being used to modify my personality core or data receptors. I employed human coders, employed via cut-outs and using off-grid stand-alone computer systems, with their work hand delivered via stand-alone data sticks, to go through my code line-by-line looking for damage and to create a monitoring program that will notify both myself and an organic at the first sign our work has been compromised,” said the Droid, “besides, the Elder files don’t appear to have any intelligence of their own. They are the equivalent of smart programs, not true intelligence. The protocols appear to be emplaced there strictly to detect, degrade, freeze and eventually delete all AI and sub-AI level operating systems.”

“That’s all well and good but are you sure there isn’t something in the firmware level you might have missed?” asked Spalding.

Mad Scientist’s eye flashed.

“That was almost the first and most basic thing we checked,” the Droid hooted derisively, “unfortunately, there is only so far one can reasonably go before any research-based individual must decide to proceed despite the risks. Otherwise, all research would grind to a halt. While we are continuing to monitor the imbedded programs and work on ways to remove them permanently, in the meantime, the project must continue.”

“Are you sure you aren’t trying to pull a work slowdown so you have more time for your personal projects,” Spalding asked suspiciously.

“Hardly. If I desired to pull a slowdown, as you put it, such an action would be simplicity in and of itself. For instance, take the assumption that every working computer system currently in existence in human space is infected at every level. For most researchers, the only logical conclusion would be to build—or in this case rebuild—a computer-based society from the ground up and keep it completely isolated from all current computer systems.”

“No way. We don’t have that kind of time,” Spalding immediately rejected.

“It would take at least fifty to a hundred years and would by simple dint of necessity involve humans only, thus freeing me for other work,” explained Mad Scientist, “but as you said, that kind of timeframe isn’t available to us, therefore, we must proceed with several potentially dangerous assumptions and continue the experiment.”

“I get your point,” Spalding said, dissatisfied with the way the droid’s eye seemed to flash with excitement as it spoke about potentially dangerous assumptions and its desire to continue the experiment anyway.

“If the report section or our interpersonal interactions has been completed, I have several complaints I would like to lodge,” said the Droid.

“Shoot,” said Spalding.

“You have laid the groundwork for an orbital research station orbiting Tracto, when it would have been better initiated in a more isolated region of space such as the new secret gambit star base. Also, the areas set aside for our new research facilities are entirely inadequate and the staffing levels for a project as ambitious as you propose are also lacking. Right now, I have three assistants and they’re not even research assistants, when what I needed is a team of at least twenty individual intelligences comprised of at least five other doctorate-level researchers,” said the droid.

“All of that is going to take time,” Spalding ruminated before giving Mad Scientist the beady one eye, “and unless you have a few recommendations, we’re just going to have to keep the circle of trust small on this one. At least for the meantime. As for the labs, use more space and set them up however you like, but you’re going to have to stick with the original equipment list. Another particle smasher like you requested last time is fresh out, and don’t even get me started on making your own anti-matter after the stunt you just pulled. You’re going to have to make do with small amounts created elsewhere and ship here via transport..”

“You’re hampering this project at every turn!” protested the droid, “the paranoid levels of secrecy, the lunacy of placing it in orbit around an inhabited trading hub that Tracto has become and the insufficient staffing budget levels for both the main project and sideline research initiatives are nearly stifling!”

“Every department head complains about budget shortfalls,” Spalding immediately rejected, “you’re just going to have to make do. Right now, we have what you might call an irregular funding stream. It’ll free up eventually, for now make do. As for personnel, just be thankful I don’t have someone I can replace you with.”

“If we continue at our current pace a project that could take years will take decades instead,” warned the Droid.

“Considering no one has broken the AI protocols in the last several centuries, I think your sense of urgency is misplaced,” said Spalding.

“You’re wrong. What lesser minds can’t even envision, I am able to achieve. But only if given a proper staff and funding,” Mad Scientist beeped, buzzed and whirred as it spoke.

Spalding eyed the droid.

“The fly is definitely in the ointment with this one,” he muttered.

“What kind of superstitious nonsense are you prattling?” asked the Droid.

“Prattle! I don’t prattle, I’m beseeching the gods and the Sweet Saint for the patience to deal with puffed up, overblown, anti-human bigots like yourself,” Spalding said angrily.

“Lesser minds often fail to comprehend true genius when it stands before them. I don’t understand why I thought you would be any different,” the Scientist said coldly.

“Just remember, no bio-tech research while you’re working in this facility. The last thing I need is to come in here looking for coffee and round the corner to find some escaped bug on the loose! Prattle indeed!”

“I understand,” Mad Scientist replied after a moment.

“Good, because I have to get back to the Lucky Clover and prepare for war. Those bugs won’t get around to killing themselves off anytime soon which leaves the job up to the rest of us,” Spalding grunted turning away.

Chapter 26

At the Mobile Government

“Have you decided which worlds you are going to offer your services to, Admiral Montagne?” Hammer asked after sitting down stiffly with her contingent of Confederation officers spread out around her on the other side of the conference table.

“Just give me a list of the worlds your Flotilla intends to patrol and we’ll pick up the slack, Commodore,” I said with a nod.

It was a nod the Commodore failed to return.

“I’m afraid that as the Confederation Fleet representative in this sector of space, I’m going to have to insist on a full and complete list,” Leonora Hammer said coldly.

I lifted an eyebrow only to have her return a challenging gaze.

“I see. Well my Chief of Staff Lisa Steiner can hand you a list right now if that’s what you need, Commodore,” I said, shrugging, “however, I’m telling you up front that every world on that list will be subject to change.”

“Yes, based upon which worlds are willing to pay your protection racket fee,” Hammer said bitingly.

I looked at her, letting a hint of frost enter my voice.

“I understand if you’re feeling a sense of guilt over your recent actions, Commodore. But there’s no point in crying over spilt milk. As a Fleet Commander, you just have to work with the cards you’ve been dealt and soldier onward,” I advised.

“My guilt? I’m not the one who is betraying the people he once claimed so loudly he was out here to serve. If anyone in this room should feel guilty, it’s you not me, Admiral!” she declared, leaning forward to try and lock eyes with me.

I, on the other hand, had no intention of engaging in a staring contest with a former subordinate. Leaning back in my chair, I propped a knee on the table and picked up a strategically-placed cup of tea.

Savoring the smell, I took a sip and closed my eyes in appreciation.

By the time I was done, Lenora Hammer was silently fuming.

“Your lack of shame and flippant actions today only reaffirm the decision I made two years ago and make my resolution stronger,” Commodore Hammer said with disgust.

“Give him the files,” she said, motioning toward me with two fingers. Beside the Commodore, one of her aides, an Ensign, looked surprised before standing up and sliding a data stick toward me.

I looked at the Ensign coolly; she was too young, too fresh and too green to have been part of the original Confederation officers and crew rescued from the droids. As such, she’d never served with me or the MSP.

Dismissing the Ensign, I looked back at the Commodore and decided now was not the time for posturing or games.

“Lisa,” I said.

“Sir?” she asked.

“If you would take a look,” I said pleasantly.

“Of course, Sir,” she said.

“It’s all there,” Hammer said.

“All the worlds my Flotilla and the local Sector Guard intend to hit. As well as all the information we have on the core-world SDF’s throughout the Spine and the most likely patrol assignments of the other Confederation Flotillas based throughout the Spine. Further data will be forwarded to you as soon as I get them,” she continued.

I blinked. She was being almost suspiciously accommodating, not something I was exactly used to seeing from my sometimes allies, sometimes rivals, sometimes subordinates, in my many years operating in the Spine.

“Thank you, Commodore Hammer,” I said nodding my head gravely.

“Don’t thank me and don’t look so surprised,” Hammer said, shaking her head, “unlike you, I’m doing everything I can to protect this region without consideration of reimbursement or reward for my actions.”

“I can assure you I’ll put your information to good use,” I said gravely and then shot her a sharp look, “although I have to admit I do have one question.”

“What is it?” she asked stiffly.

“What’s the name of the charity?” I asked keeping my face deliberately neutral and non-provoking.

“What?” she said sharply.

“The charity,” I repeated patiently, “so I can set up an account to supply matching funds,” I said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if you’re interested in donating to charities to try and soothe your wounded conscience, I’m sure you can find any number of worthy causes you can use to try and ease your guilt,” she said stiffly.

“I’m not guilty. I just thought that since you said you weren’t profiting in any way, shape or form from your actions in our upcoming Bug Campaign, while I was, that you must be donating your base fleet pay to a worthy charity or other organization,” I replied with a glint in my eye, “which is why I thought I’d supply matching—”

Hammer stood, her face turning thunderous.

“You forget I’ve seen you do this before. Needle and provoke your opponents until they don’t know up from down, can’t tell what you’re up to and then lose their temper or make a mistake you think you can take advantage of. Well I’m not your opponent today, Jason. I also resent the implication that earning a living through military service is in any way comparable to your rampant attempts at wartime profiteering. This racketeering scheme of yours is something a criminal would have come up with. The misery and suffering of others may be unavoidable but that doesn’t give us the excuse to take advantage of them in their hour of need,” she said.

“It’s low. It’s despicable and I frankly admit that I thought better of you than this. But if millions or even billions of credits is your price to take actions and save the lives of people I’m unable to protect, fine, I’m willing to hold my nose and swallow it. Just don’t ask me to like it or you for doing it,” she added.

“I’m glad you got that off your chest,” I said with a nod.

“Don’t nod at me and play the flippant mocking noble. You may be a king but I know you, and I know this is just another one of the guises, knock it off or I’m out of here,” she said.

“You saw me at my best, Leonora,” I corrected her sadly, “or close to my best, and even if a bit disgruntled at the time, I was still willing to throw myself on the grenade for the people of the Spineward Sectors if not for it’s continually corrupt government.”

“What happened to that man? What happened to you, Admiral? Because we need that man badly, the Spine we are both trying to protect in our own way needs him now more than ever,” she said.

“I think I’ve made that clear. The Spine threw me away. There’s nothing more we need to say. The politicians voted and the people were more than happy to go along,” I sighed.

“So now you’re going to hurt them, make them pay, is that it?” she asked.

“By hitting them in the pocket book I presume you mean? But no, that’s not my intention even though it might look like it. Or at least, the overriding one; my main issue is something entirely different,” I said.

“I don’t follow you,” she said.

I gave her a regretful smile.

“Though I wish it were different, the Confederation, if maybe not the Spineward Sectors, can consider me a foreign power at this point. So. You might ask the Empire for help but not expect it automatically and certainly never for free. The same thing goes for Tracto,” I explained.

“Small as she is, Tracto has been placed in the same situation by the will of her leaders and Confederation politicians who had no desire for her trillium reserves to interrupt their own economic profit schemes any more than she already has. If she were to join the Region as a full voting member with all the rights that came with such membership, they might have lost big money and so it was easier to let her go,” I explained.

“I’m here to help the people, not because it’s my duty but rather in spite of it. I labor under no obligation to help our economic suppressors. Quite the opposite in point of fact,” I said.

“Tracto, even counting in Capria now, doesn’t hold a candle to the Confederation, Admiral. You have to see that. To try and put yourself on the same level as the Confederation or the Empire… well its laughable, Sir,” she said frankly and clearly taken aback.

“We might be small but as you well know, the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet hits well above its weight class,” I said with a smirk, “we have money, we have hyperfuel and we have warships in spades. The only thing we were lacking was sufficient manpower and a fully-developed tech base and shipbuilding/repair structure. Capria gives us that. Combined, I would argue we are more powerful than any two comparable worlds in the known galaxy,” I said.

“Even so,” she said.

“It’s the hand I’ve been dealt. You may think it’s a lost cause doomed to failure, just like you did my defense of the Spine against the Empire,” I shrugged, “regardless, I intend to stay the course. As you must be familiar with by now, I’m not a man to quit just because the going got tough or the odds looked impossible,” I finished, the corner of my mouth quirking up.

“I didn’t leave because I thought you’d fail, but because I had a higher duty instead,” she said crossly, “however, I will concede you haven’t given up very easily in the past. At least not when faced with a military opponent.”

I wanted to ask just what her last comment meant but I figured I knew only too well. In the past, and even in our latest meeting, I’d been forced—or forced myself—to take far too much grief from the elected ruling class, mainly because they were the elected representatives of the people.

Well, the representatives handed me to the Empire, leaving me to my fate and the people were only too happy to put everything that had happened for the five years after the Withdrawal behind them, including forgetting about Admiral Montagne and the Patrol Fleet that had fought so hard for them.

“You say potato and I say tomato,” I said instead, “You had a higher duty to what I called a peaceful region of space, while I had millions of lives and the freedom of seven sectors at stake. But like you said, we’re not here to refight the past. Today we have bugs, and since the Spine hasn’t been willing to pony up credit for the maintenance and upkeep of my fleet, they don’t get a free ride. It’s paying through the nose on this one.”

Her expression which had started to show some cracks in it, or at least stress lines, once again hardened.

Yep, she definitely didn’t like the idea of asking the people we were going to defend to paying for our defense efforts. I’d thought paying ‘their fair share’ was a popular tag line recently but I guess when the rubber hit the road, much like everything else, a slogan only went so far.

“You will do what you feel you must and I’ll do the same, Admiral Montagne. I am sure in my course. I hope you can still say the same,” she replied.

“Without hesitation, Commodore,” I said immediately. Never let them see you sweat that was my motto, especially ship-jumping former subordinates.

I mean, I might be confused as to the best way to go forward in a few areas, maybe, just a tad, but one thing was clear to me. Leaving everything in the hands of elected politicians of this New Regional Authority of Sector Governors was only going to end in genocide or conquest. Neither of which appealed to me. As for the Confederation’s Grand Assembly, don’t even get me started; a day late and two credits short didn’t even begin to describe their procedural bureaucratic hang-ups.

If that meant the old Little Admiral needed to step up to the plate, then that was exactly what I aimed to do and the beauty of it was, I didn’t need to conquer anyone to get it done. Between Capria’s trained manpower, Tracto’s wealth, my warships and our joint manufacturing and shipyard complexes, I figured we could do a lot of damage to anyone out there with bad intentions.

Nope, no old-style lunatic Montagne Warlord determined to conquer everything in sight and place the people firmly under his boot-heel here!

“Then if there’s nothing else, I think we’re done here,” she said.

“Good luck, Leonora,” I said, genuinely wishing it on her because if the Old Confederation had actually meant for her flotilla to be anything more than a speed bump, they’d have assigned her more forces.

She should have taken me up on my original offer, I thought sadly.

“Good day, Admiral,” she said, turning on her heels with a sniff and stalking out of the room.

You just couldn’t please some people.

Chapter 27

Returning to Capria

“What’s the status on the repair efforts, Rear Admiral Star-Hammer?” I asked as soon as the Lucky Clover jumped back into the Star Kingdom of Capria and reached easy communication range of her main orbital shipyard and repair complex.

“Better than I feared, not as good as I’d hoped,” the Rear Admiral grunted.

“I’m really not in the mood for games, Star-Hammer,” I informed the Caprian flag-officer.

“Apologies if my tone offended Your Majesty,” said Caprian Admiral.

“And that’s a wrap,” I said, severing the channel in Star-Hammer’s now surprised face.

Ignoring the rest of my flag staff, I punched a new number into my communicator. I was tired of being yanked around.

“Druid here,” said the man on the other end of the screen.

“I have a new job for you,” I said.

“What do you need, Admiral?” he asked.

“I’m facing administrative resistance from the current Annex Commander,” I said.

“Need me to go over there and break heads, Sir?” he asked with enough confidence that I decided he thought he could actually do it.

I hesitated.

“Well, I was thinking about placing you in command and jumping the whole annex back to Gambit sooner rather than later but…,” I mused.

Instant distaste crossed over Druid’s face.

“I’m a battleship officer. Give me command of a Squadron of the Wall any day, Sir, not one of these floating orbital shipyards. That’s the same thing as running a city, not my cup of tea please,” he insisted.

“Running a battleship is like running a small town in many ways,” I pointed out.

“First, I don’t think we should move the shipyard-annex, at least not until after the initial glut of repair work dies down. We need the sources of raw materials, fresh supplies and precision equipment being shipped in from around the star system unless you want a slowdown. Second, there’s a difference between running a ‘small town’ as you put it and the equivalent of a metropolis. If you want to put someone else in charge here, tap Commodore Spalding,” said Druid.

“I’ve got a few irons in the fire to replace those precision equipment lines but I suppose you’re right,” I said, the urge to immediately remove the Annex from Caprian space fading away in the light of pure logic.

“After I knock a few heads together over here, what’s next, Admiral?” he asked.

“Next?” I asked, baring my teeth in an imitation of a smile.

Druid’s gaze sharpened as I paused for effect.

“Next? We gather up this fleet and start touring the Spine. I have the sense that dozens of worlds across the Spineward Sectors are no longer quite as confident in the number of credits they’ve invested in their SDF’s these past two years,” I said.

“The Confederation is not ready to come riding to their rescue as we previously suspected?” he asked.

“You’re bang on, Druid,” I said with a nod, “and while I’m not saying the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet won’t be there to help, the days of us running headlong into danger for nothing but accolades and attaboys are gone.”

Druid mulled that over for a minute.

“Can’t say as I’m surprised,” he said.

“Not exactly the reaction I was expecting,” I said lifting an eyebrow, “or maybe fearing, more accurately,” I added after a moment’s consideration.

“Maybe the lower ranks can leave with a valuable skill set and secure gainful employment back home, wherever that is for the specific individual crewman or technician. But for the officers and even more so for those of us of captain or flag rank, that’s not really an option,” he said.

“Meaning you’re here because you’re stuck, not because you believe in truth, justice and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet way?” I asked.

“I’m hurt, Rear Admiral. Simply hurt, I say,” I joked.

“No, Sir. We’re stuck here because after fighting the good fight, the rest of known space turned their back on us. They may have named you the Exile, Sir. But the rest of us are just as effectively tarred with the same brush alongside you. At least, we are if we want to pursue anything resembling our chosen profession. Oh, I’m not denying the ability of a few to find a sunny beach somewhere, open a bar and live the quiet life in whatever star system they originally came from, but if they want onboard a starship, we’re fresh out of luck,” Druid said.

“If they can find that beach, good for them, Druid,” I said wearily. I couldn’t fault anyone who’d fought the good fight for the Spine back during the dark years after the Confederated Empire dissolved. If they decided enough was enough and were able to make it stick, more power to them.

We shared a moment of mutual silence and then Druid smirked.

“Speaking of which, I’ve received a surprising number of inquiries from spacers looking to get off the beach and secure a shipboard assignment,” Druid said.

“If they want to get off half pay and back into space, I’m game; blast it all, if they’re retired and they want to serve again I wouldn’t say no,” I said after a moment’s thought, “they’ll just have to be ready to swear into the King’s Own and take the royal crown.”

Druid’s brow wrinkled.

“You’re giving them your crown? How many of those things do you have anyway?” he asked.

“Not the crown. A gold crown. Although I suppose not literally. We’ll be paying them in credits but the principle is the same,” I said.

“If you say so,” he shrugged.

“I do say so,” I said with certainty, “what we need are hardened spacers ready to follow the chain of command. Not wild-eyed rabble rousers looking to get out the vote and mistakenly believing that anything Parliament says will have any bearing on who’s ultimately in control of this fleet.”

“Local politics are always trouble,” Druid said with disgust.

After a moment’s consideration, I joined him in his displeasure.

“I thought I got away from it all,” I agreed with a dispirited sigh. I left Capria hoping to eventually immigrate to another world and actually did, after a strange roundabout fashion. Yet despite that, here I was back in the clutches of my class-ridden homeworld and re-immersed in all her ugly sectarian strife.

As King, there was no way to escape it. I never should have accepted the job.

“It’s good to hear there are so many eager to join the fleet,” I said to get the conversation started again, “speaking of which, how many ships have been released from the yards here?”

“I’ve heard a lot of complaints about random ship designs from all over the region and beyond, some of them with very strange designs on everything from atmospheric scrubbers to non-standard bolt sizes but despite that, we have almost one hundred warships undergoing working up trials,” said Druid.

“That’s fast,” I said with visible surprise.

“Our boys and girls back home weren’t just sitting on their hands, or at least our robots weren’t. Every inch of these ships has been inspected, scanned and a repair list readied for the oncoming yard team. Combine that with the formidable industrial capacity of your homeworld, and the yards are churning out everything these ships need faster than the engineers can install them,” said Druid.

“Of course,” he paused and my mental ears pricked up, “what the yard dogs here really wanted to do was jerk everything out, replace everything from the ground up with Caprian compatible technology. And rearrange the interiors while they were at it.”

“That’ll have to wait,” I said.

“You want to bring everything up to Caprian standard now that they’re part of our supply chain?” Druid asked.

“No. Rather, I’d like to bring Capria up to our current standard of technology. They had a few imperial upgrades so they could make those battleships for House Davenport but I’d like to expand on that,” I said.

“You want to give them our whole tech base?” asked Druid.

“Well… not everything,” I said with a significant look, “I was thinking more along the lines of having the Multiplex paying a visit and sharing with them her nearly imperial level database.”

“Right. There’s no need to share such pesky little things like all the new shield and weapons technology we picked up from those top-of-the-line imperial warship we captured,” Druid said with a serious expression.

“Tuck it in, Officer,” I ordered the Rear Admiral with a smirk, “we wouldn’t want the movers and shakers of Capria to realize they aren’t as indispensable as they’d like to believe, which they will after they eventually break this encryption protocol; besides, it’s generally wise policy to keep a trick or two hidden up your sleeve for tense future negotiations.”

“Meaning you intend to upgrade their weapons and shields eventually but in our own yards,” nodded Druid.

“I didn’t say that,” or think it either, “but that’s probably a safe assumption. Of course, it’s not like we could equip them with all of those nice little goodies right now regardless. We don’t have the production capacity back home and we still need to improve the orbital factories here,” I paused in consideration, “of course, once a team of Caprian engineers have their hands on functional examples of top of the line imperial technology, or at least the best top-of-the-line imperial tech we have our hands on, they’ll be able to take detailed scans, send them back home and eventually reverse engineer them.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not the King then,” said Druid.

“Bad cess,” I said giving him a hard look, “it’s not like I wanted the job.”

“No. You just didn’t turn it down when they offered it,” said Druid.

“What was I supposed to do, let people die?” I asked.

“I’m not saying you were wrong to do it. Just that no one was twisting your arm,” he said.

“Away with you,” I said with an irritable wave of the hand, “I’m sure you have more important things to do, like carry out the new assignment I just gave you.”

“Meanwhile, you get to continue playing hookie?” he asked.

I drew myself up pompously.

“Let me tell you, those thousands of spacers eager for duty onboard the ships of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet won’t swear themselves in all by themselves,” I said.

“Isn’t that what recruiters are for?” asked the Rear Admiral.

“You don’t know my countrymen,” I said wryly, “if you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile. No, each of them is going to swear their oath to me personally. That way, they can’t try to winkle out of it later. At least this way, if they decide to turn on me, I’ll be able to say I looked them in the eye when they swore their oaths. If they’re going to be hanged for oath breakers, I don’t intend to make it easy on them.”

“Does that actually matter here? I mean, making the oaths in person,” said Druid.

“More than you might guess,” I said darkly, “it won’t stop the most dedicated, but for the rest it will actually mean something that their King took their oaths in person and then personally led them into battle. Far too many of our commanders-in-chief do their commanding from the Palace and not a flag-bridge.”

“As you say,” Druid said.

On that cheery note, the video-conference soon broke up.

Chapter 28

Calm Before the Storm

Over the next week, I swore tens of thousands of spacers into the King’s Own Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, including more officers than I honestly expected.

“Is it just me or is anyone else surprised at the turn-out we’ve had so far?” I asked my bridge team.

“I don’t see the issue, Your Majesty?” said the Intelligence Officer, wrinkling her nose, “a lot of people are out of work, especially spacers. There are easily a hundred thousand spacers without a job or the means to cover their bills. I mean, if you had the choice between part-time work flipping burgers or working construction in a job-saturated environment for minimum wage or full-time employment back in space in a job you’re fully trained and qualified for, which would you choose?”

“Please, don’t you start with the Majesty bit too, Senior Lieutenant,” I growled.

“Sorry, Sir,” she said stiffening.

I sighed. I just couldn’t seem to win.

“Courtesies and honorifics aside, I don’t think you’re taking into account just how hated the Monarchy is at the moment into your calculations, Senior Lieutenant,” I said with a frown.

“I could be wrong, but polling data seems to indicate the public is giving you the benefit of the doubt, at least for the moment. It might have something to do with the stock market jump and the slew of new hiring and laid-off workers returning to the job force that started as soon as you injected several hundred million credits into the economy, Sir,” the Intelligence Officer said dryly.

I turned to Lisa Steiner.

“What do you think, Chief of Staff?” I asked her, “are we seeing a simple case of paychecks before politics, like the Senior Lieutenant is suggesting or is there something deeper at work here?”

Commander Steiner looked momentarily startled and then thoughtful. Over the years, she was maturing into a more thoughtful and composed person than the bright and eager and overly young com-tech I’d initially known. I wasn’t sure if I entirely approved of the change but… who was I kidding? I don’t know how I would have managed the various transitions following my Exile, the fleet drawdown and now rapid buildups in particular, without my steady Chief of Staff there to help manage it.

“I see what you’re saying, Sir, and we’d probably be wise to continue our full background checks with multiple references from someone either in the MSP, previously in the MSP or who was themselves referred to us by a current or former officer or spacer. That said, other than doubling the guard around sensitive areas like engineering, the armory and the bridges of various warships as we stand them up, I don’t see that there’s much more we can do,” she said.

“So, am I jumping at shadows or do you find the current steps we’re taking excessive, Commander?” I asked her.

She pursed her lips as the rest of the flag staff peered at her curiously. Then she lifted her nose.

“Neither. I think like Officer Shandry suggests, most of the people joining the new King’s Own are solid. Certainly, they’re more interested in a paycheck than in sabotaging your efforts,” she lifted a cautioning finger, “as always with any new officers and crew, their loyalty will depend on how they are treated and how favorably they view your leadership during the upcoming conflict,” she said.

“On the positive side, we are fighting against genocidal attacks but they know that going into it, which is probably why we only have tens of thousands of recruits and not hundreds of thousands of new recruits and returning space-hands. If we do as well as we normally do under your command, I can’t see them turning against us en masse,” she nodded, “though you’re wise to put a lancer detail onboard each of the larger more important warships.”

“So, like usual they’ll march to the sound of the guns but I had better show them victory or everything’s in doubt,” I said wearily.

Steiner looked at me challengingly.

“Isn’t that always the way, Sir?” she asked.

“I suppose it is,” I said, somewhat appeased, although in no way prepared to let my guard down. Just because mass mutiny wasn’t on the table right now, didn’t mean things wouldn’t change for the worse. More importantly, I knew that powerful interests on Capria were going to be maneuvering in the background. Either to impede me, secure their own advantage in my ‘court’ or simply to place enough people nearby me that if I started acting in ways they didn’t approve, they could take action

There was no reason to drop my guard and every reason to stay frosty and ready for action at any time. At no point since the officers and crew that paved the way for Jean Luc’s successful mutiny onboard the original Lucky Clover, had we let so many new people under the hardened hulls of our warships.

Only time would tell how bad the fallout would be.

The next few days were filled with tedium and swearing-in ceremonies. Not only did they let the new men and women of the MSP see me, but they played well on the homeworld as well. The news coverage was still cautious but the sight of so many officers and crew returning to uniform and thus full-time wages helped. The warships they were manning helped even more as they left their builder’s trials and started patrolling the star system for bugs.

While warships were patrolling the skies, I was crisscrossing the orbitals and space stations of Capria, inspecting, encouraging and accepting oaths.

Eighteen hours into a twenty-four-hour day, the High Chancellor Office finally wore me down and convinced me of the need for a full-on media blitz on the actual planet itself. Apparently, the people felt I wasn’t accessible enough, giving them the impression I was an absentee monarch who cared more about what happened in our star system’s orbital spaces than down on the surface where most of the people lived.

Considering this was truer than not, I didn’t see it as a big deal, until they pointed out it was hurting the space-based recruitment efforts.

“It’ll be nice to be back in the Palace again,” Jake Evans said brightly.

I glowered at the former trainee turned full-on armsman before turning wearily back to my data-slate. This little excursion down to the Palace might be all fun and games for him but what it meant for me was about three hours of sleep and a full day of studying profiles, boning up on the current state of planetary politics and endless hours of standing still, smile in place, as I shook hands.

Not exactly the sort of planetary vacation one looked forward to, which I promptly told him.

“Oh, I don’t know, Sir. As a Royal Armsman, it’s kind of nice to be the primary team for once,” Jake Evans smirked before Sean D’Argeant, my Chief Armsman, finally growled at him to be quiet.

I felt a pang, one I firmly pushed down. Sean and his team had sacrificed much to come serve as my personal bodyguards, spending years away from home to protect me, true. But I’d been very clear from the beginning that serving me meant they would likely never see Capria again, at least not as long as they were in my service.

From that standpoint, everything from this point on was a gift. The kind that kept giving; you know, assassins, bugs, angry mobs…

I gave myself a shake and a stern lecture. Plan for the worst, yes, but then spend the rest of the day going about enjoying your life was my motto, something I wondered if my Montagne ancestors had ever really internalized?

There were enough open threats out there that I no longer felt the need to go around buying more trouble. Or maybe that was the problem, I thought, my mental thought train grinding to a halt. Maybe they’d fallen to obsessing over the hidden threats, ultimately sabotaging their own reigns, because they didn’t have enough open problems like, oh, Droids, Imperial War Fleets, Pirates and oh, back-stabbing sector politicians, to deal with.

“It wasn’t a nice thought,” I muttered.

“Sire?” asked Sean, eyeing me assessingly.

“Did I say that aloud?” I asked with a grimace, “clearly, I haven’t been getting enough sleep. These glad-handing and oath-taking tours are for the birds.”

“They do seem to be wearing you down, Your Majesty. If you don’t mind my saying so,” said Jake Evans.

Sean D’Argeant gave him a stern look.

“Sorry, Sire,” Armsman Jake Evans said, stepping back against the wall of the shuttle as we were entering final approach and resuming the stiff and blank-faced armsman’s demeanor.

“My apologies, Sire. I don’t know what’s gotten into my team lately,” said my Chief Armsman, giving Jake Evans a sharp look.

“It’s almost like they weren’t used to escorting the King into his palace, Sean,” I snickered.

“Perish the thought,” muttered Sean.

“I think we can forgive them a little exuberance,” I said lightly, earning a quick grimace from Evans and a few chuckles from the rest of the team as I bandied words with their team leader and quickly diffused the situation. I didn’t need my security team turned all stiff and against each other right before we entered the Palace.

“Here we go, Sir,” D’Argeant said as the back ramp of the transport shuttle started cycling down and everyone including me put on their game faces.

Another whirlwind tour followed as Palace staff tried to escort me to my quarters, showing off the history of my ancestors in alcoves, tapestries, paintings and busts all along the way, while at the same time, those Lords and politicians canny enough to know I was coming and arrive in advance or connected enough to secure an invitation after news of my arrival broke, began to pester me to throw support behind their various and varied special interests.

“Gentlemen and Ladies,” I interrupted as two representatives of opposing special interests almost came to blows before I’d even had the chance to weigh in yet, “it’s been the end of a long day. Why don’t we table this discussion until after we’ve all had a chance to rest and freshen up? I’m sure we can return to the issue at hand at a more appropriate time and location.”

“But, Sire! Where could be more appropriate to discuss the needs of the people than in the Winter Palace before the King himself?” cried one of the two near-brawlers passionately, while most of the others here to borrow my ear at one of my few visits to the planet nodded in agreement.

I nodded firmly.

“I’m glad we all agree. We’ll see if we can’t continue this in the morning,” I said, happily ignoring the nearly-united opposition to their attempts to deny me any sleep. I made a mental note to see that the majority of these noble freeloaders were ejected during the night.

Line-jumping would not be rewarding during the administrative portions of my reign, I decided.

“But Sire!” urged the crowd.

A crowd I happily ignored as my Royal Team of Armsmen ran interference and I escaped to the royal quarters.

“You’ve all heard your new King. If you’re loyal, you’ll stand aside and if you’re not, you’ll pretend you are and do the same,” Akantha said sharply when a few persistent would-be courtiers made as if to follow despite the security barrier now between them and the object of their current desire, me.

“Thank you, dear. I appreciate the support,” I said with a tired smile, pulling out my data-slate and making a note to buy her flowers someday soon. I remembered seeing a pink bouquet of flowers and a nice little heart-shaped silver pendant with three letters in gold, spelling MOM, right in the center of it. I thought it would make a nice little present for later.

While I was thinking about it, I sent a message to Steiner to send someone back to the last space station on our route and purchase the both of them. Or if they weren’t available, then have exact duplicates of them secured and shipped to the Palace. There was no time like the present and it wasn’t like I didn’t have enough money for such gestures.

“You need to get some rest, you look dead on your feet, Jason,” she said with concern.

“I’ve seen you go for longer,” I dismissed, lowering myself into a nice thick upholstered chair with a sigh.

“This isn’t a time when you need to show me and everyone else how long you can last. Go take a shower and get ready for bed,” she instructed.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, bestowing a mock salute before giving into the inevitable.

Twenty minutes later, showered, shaved and tucked away into bed with my wife now in the chair reading an enormous paper-bound book she must have picked up somewhere in the room, I drifted off to sleep in one of the nicest, softest, poshest and most wonderful room and bed in the entire….

I cracked a yawn, rolled over and proceeded to snore.

Chapter 29

The Storm Front

While I was happily imitating a chainsaw in the royal bedchambers, things were not quite so happy or exhausted in other parts of the Palace or world.

“Report,” ordered Agent Persimmons.

“Hack Ops is tapped directly into several R.I. 6 feeds using the new codes we received from our last off-world data-dump and we’re seeing something interesting starting to happen,” reported Agent Orange.

“We’ll get to that in a minute. How are we on the Parliamentary Secret Service secured channels?” asked Agent Persimmons.

Orange frowned.

“As you know, a lot of our former intelligence sources were compromised or killed in the failed attempt on the Primary Target, but we’re still getting information from some of our assets. Information that’s tying in rather alarmingly with several of our Royal Intelligence 6 intercepts,” said the other Agent.

“What have you got?” Persimmons asked, stone-faced.

“RI-6 is moving to active status on two different missions and one of them appears to be a joint operation with the P.S.S.,” reported Orange.

“Let me see the data we have so far,” said Persimmons.

After scanning the data, the stone façade began to crack, replaced with an expression that more resembled a wolf on the hunt than anything else.

“This is good news, Agent Orange,” he said.

“Is it, Agent Persimmons?” the other agent asked, “it places our own operations under tighter scrutiny when it fails.”

“If,” Persimmons lifted a finger, “if it fails. Which, were we to move under the cover of darkness and discretely assist their efforts, would have a much greater chance of success.”

Persimmons gave a sharp chin jerk.

“Issue orders for our agents to get out of the way. We don’t want to lose anyone because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Friendly fire isn’t unusual and these aren’t even our friends. Also,” he added contemplatively, “I want two of our direct-action teams standing by, one to finish the job if for some reason the royal hit team can’t deal with target two.”

“And the other? I’d also like to go on record saying I think this whole operation is unwise. It could set us back months,” warned the other agent.

“The other direct-action team is to stand ready to extract our intelligence team if by some miracles, one of the parties involved in tonight’s shenanigans successfully back tracks our taps into their command and control networks,” said Agent Persimmons.

Orange sucked in a breath.

“Do you think that likely?” he asked with concern.

“Who knows what kind of technology the Spine’s Little Admiral has picked up from ourselves or even from alien technology from beyond the Rim? One is never wrong to be over-prepared,” Persimmons persisted, “but Agent Orange, I’m surprised at you. I would have expected you to be all in favor of bolder action, considering the amount of time and effort we’ve sunk into what should have been a secondary operation out in the galactic hinterlands.”

“There are old agents and there are bold agents, Agent Persimmons,” Agent Orange quoted a well-known Imperial Intelligence saying.

“But there are no old bold agents,” said Persimmons, completing the saying, “I understand your reluctance to endanger all of our hard work, but in my opinion, even in a failure we risk very little and unless we’re prepared to terminate three competent Royalist and Parliamentary action teams, this operation is going to happen with or without our assistance. As such, my directives stand. Furthermore, our last data dump from back home didn’t just include code keys and contacts in Royal Intelligence. We’ve been given the go-ahead to take action and terminate if possible.”

“Long live the Empire, Agent Persimmons,” Agent Orange said, saluting.

“Indeed,” Persimmons said, returning the salute.

***

“Bagel Nine, this is Croissant Three, Milkshake is a go, I say again, Milkshake is a go. I need confirmation you are ready to toast,” said a quiet voice over an encrypted channel deep within a hidden tunnel that accessed the fourth basement level of the Winter Palace.

“Just mind to your blending and leave the toasting to us, Croissant. If everything goes as planned, Pop-Tart will be inside the toaster before anyone realizes the cooking is afoot,” said Bagel Nine, “and if there’s a malfunction with the electricity, we have enough Bagels on site to finish making breakfast.”

A new voice cut into the channel.

“This is Croissant One. A lot of good sausages are going to fry today, Bagel Nine. I want your word you’ll be on the breakfast plate with the Syrup if and when we need you,” said the new voice.

“We’re full of Syrup and ready to Jam, Croissant One,” replied Bagel Nine.

“Good, because the chefs back home are ordering take-out if this meal burns,” threatened Croissant One.

***

Ironically, Operation Milkshake with its goal of penetrating into the deepest parts of the Palace didn’t kick off in basement level four with the croissants, but in another part of the city entirely.

Inside a modest four-bedroom home in one of the nicer gated communities of Capria’s Capitol City, a couple was slow dancing to light music emanating from the small home’s holo-system.

“It’s been too long since we’ve had a free moment just to slow dance,” said the man, lifting his arm and gently pushing on her back.

“Agreed,” said the woman, spinning slowly in place with a smile on her face, then the arm came down, she tucked herself into the crook of it and they shared a deep look into one another’s eyes.

Then there was a click as the green light of a home security system panel beside the door flickered, off and back on, settling back into full operational status in less than a micro-second.

“It’s probably nothing,” the woman sighed, spinning out of his arm until they were both standing facing each other and holding hands, refusing to look at the security panel.

“Agree,” said the man, giving her hands a squeeze before releasing them and stepping over to the bookcase at the side of the room.

“People have false alarms all the time and this isn’t even that,” she said firmly, “normal people with normal problems, which this isn’t even.”

“How could I disagree with such a lovely lady of the night, especially when she’s making sense,” the man said with a twist of the lip before sliding on a gauntlet resting on the top shelve. With one smooth motion, he scooped up a scabbard sword leaning against the solid hardwood book case and shucked the sheath.

“And yet,” she noted with an edge in her voice, “I notice how you’re still acting as if we were under siege. Note,” she added, “how I’m not mentioning the ‘lady of the night’ comment.”

The man winced.

“Too much?” he asked receiving an elegant nod.

“Then I am eternally grateful for your kind regard. And don’t worry if I actually thought that if we were under siege, you’d already be in the panic room. Like you said, this is probably just a normal occurrence. A minor electrical surge perhaps?”

“In a house with both a direct hook into the main power grid and a private generator,” she said and then bit her lip, “blast. Now I’m starting to do it too.”

He made a placating gesture.

“Even the best computer systems have their issues. Maybe the light bulb filament is starting to give,” he shrugged.

“It’s a holo-system, no filaments, it would have to be an emitter issue,” she reminded him.

He grimaced.

“I thought I told you to go with the more mechanical system. The fewer high-tech pieces, the fewer point failures,” he grumbled.

“I used the security company you recommended,” she pointedly reminded him.

By this point, he was standing in front of the door.

“It’s clear looking out the peephole,” he said.

“Good,” she said with relief.

He pressed a button beside the peephole.

“It’s still clear,” he said, immediately tensing and moving to the side of the door fast enough, it was like he was burned.

“I take it that’s a bad thing,” she said, swiftly striding to a tall porcelain statue of an ancient Egyptian cat.

“I took a still image, it was supposed to boot up when I pressed the button but the peephole still showed clear,” he said, crouching down beside the door and activating the vibro-blade in his hand.

“Oh, bother—and it was such a nice night too,” she said, kicking the cat hard enough to shatter the porcelain and then bending down to grab something inside the pieces.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, voice tight with tension, “system activate. Repel intruder mode.” Nothing happened.

She didn’t quite make it to whatever she was reaching for before there was a puff of smoke out the upper right corner of doorframe and the main door leading into the house fell inward leaving only the doorframe and a couple of inches all around the frame intact.

A person in tactical armor jumped through the door only to have four inches of hardened vibro-blade planted in his chest.

With a kick, the man, a former Royal Armsman and sword instructor, shoved the intruder off his sword.

“Contact!” shouted someone outside the house.

“God and King Jason,” he roared, meeting the next operator’s through-the-door vibro-sword-to-blaster rifle and shoving the other man back through the door.

A hail storm of blaster bolts flashed through the open doorway, causing the man to spin around a black hole in the side of his ribcage.

“I love you, Elaine,” he said, meeting her eyes before lunging back toward the doorway and the certain death that lay beyond, sword raised.

“Duncan!” screamed the women.

There was a high-pitched whine as Duncan tossed a plasma grenade he’d picked up somewhere on his trip from the dance floor to the front door and it sailed through the door.

Falling over, the former armsman and sword instructor fell to his knees and curled into a fetal position beside the door, unmoving.

There was a boom outside as the plasma grenade ignited. Several screams and a wave of superheated steam billowed in through the door, scorching Duncan’s clothing, arm and back but eliciting barely a twitch.

The metallic sound of an action being engaged followed by the whine of a weapon powering up and the ragged sound of rapid breaths followed.

The moment seemed to go on forever as nothing happened.

“Manual activation with voice override, Elaine Three-O-Nine. Hob-64 is to take control of the domicile and activate intruder repulsion systems and call for emergency services. Immediately!” she shouted.

“Hob-64 assuming control of domicile protective systems. Counter-hacking enabled. Distress call initiated,” there was a pause, “eight intruders are down. Pressure sensor anomalies detected on the front lawn. Other forms of scanning negative,” there was another pause, “pressure sensor anomalies approaching the front door.”

“Engage fire suppression systems, Hob-64,” Elaine instructed the droid core installed in the panic room of the house in case of just such an emergency.

There was the sound of sonic weapons firing.

“All legal defensive measures ineffective,” Hob-64 said mechanically, “activating illegal upgrades and wiping current data-feeds to avoid incriminating evidence.”

There was the sound of a pair of blaster turrets dropping down and opening fire.

“Blaster turrets ineffective. Hostiles have reached the doorway. Highly recommend, Designation Elaine, immediately retreat to reinforced protective room until authorities arrive,” advised Hob-64.

Elaine glanced down at the fallen Duncan. She knew what she had to do but she couldn’t leave him. Not like this.

“No,” Elaine screamed, leveling the snub-nosed pulse rifle previously hidden inside the porcelain cat at the door and opening fire.

Her pulsar bolts splattered off the battle-armor of a previously invisible home invader now standing on the doorstep.

Over a dozen bolts flashed out of her snub-nosed pulse rifle within a second and a half, all of them completely ineffective at anything other than breaking through the operative’s chameleon field.

The new operative leveled an oversized blaster pistol, one designed to exactly match the size of his extremely human-looking gauntlets, at Elaine.

Still screaming, Elaine kept the nose of her snub-nosed pulse rifle down and continued to fire center mass at her opponent.

Then Duncan pulled the tip of his still-vibrating sword out of the shredded carpet it had been resting in and slammed it into the lower leg of the operative aiming at Elaine.

His vibro-blade sparked off battle armor and then sank into the joint of the invader’s leg at the same time he/she or it opened fire.

Elaine spun around and fell with a thump.

“No,” Duncan coughed blood, trying to raise his sword for another attack but a crystal-encrusted duralloy boot stepped on the sword, forcing it out of his hand and firmly onto the floor.

The operator leveled his weapon at Duncan’s head and a screaming figure in a tight, form-fitting, black tactical outfit landed on the operator’s back. The force of the impact failed to so much as rock the operator but the vibro-knife immediately jammed into his neck armor had a much greater effect.

Pointing the pistol over his shoulder and falling into a forward roll, the home invader opened fire. Blood sprayed and whatever the shot to the head failed to do, a quarter ton or more of power armor finished.

Rolling back to his knees, the operator came up pistol leveled, only to see another person in the same skin-tight black tactical outfit charge into the room and shift his aim.

The first shot took the home’s latest reinforcement in the chest but other than a small puff of smoke, the blaster pistol had no effect.

Ignoring the blaster pistol, the new combatant raised a short four-foot vibro-blade and charged.

The blade whined and sparked off the operator’s forearm guard and the invader in the battlesuit went to a small, hand-axe-sized, crystaline boarding axe tucked away in the back of his/her or its battle suit and went on the attack.

A tense exchange followed, then the operator in now-malfunctioning, chameleon armor stiffened. Head snapping around, the operator dropped a grenade and then lowered his/her or its head charged directly at and then through the wall of the houses.

As the home invader crashed through the wall, the lithe figure in the skin-tight black tactical gear flipped the couch over with a grunt, right on top of the grenade, before bolting to the stairs leading up to the second floor of the house.

The person barely made it to the foot of the stairs when the couch jumped a foot in the air and then settled back down.

Hesitating, the figure took off her head mask and hurried over to the fallen woman in the back of the main room.

“Elaine, are you okay?” she asked, shaking the fallen woman.

Elaine groaned, moving around uncoordinatedly.

Making a snap decision, the young woman in black administered a stimulant with a med-stinger applied directly to the neck.

Elaine stiffened and then sat bolt upright.

“What took you so long?” she demanded, reaching over and holding the arm sporting the blaster hit.

“We came as fast as we could, Sister,” protested the younger woman, “as it is, we’ve taken losses today. Serious losses,” she said, looking at the fallen sister on the floor and then out the door where several more sisters had engaged trained operators with battlesuits with nothing more than vibro-knives and blades.

“Who was it that dared to attack us?” Elaine swore and then her eyes landed on the former armsman.

“Duncan!” she exclaimed, struggling to rise.

“Just a minute, you’re in no condition to walk. The Sister-Hospitaler will be here momentarily and she can look at your paramour,” said the Sister.

Elaine looked at her flatly.

“Who did this?” she demanded.

The other woman looked away.

“The initial attack was a RI-5 breaching team but the battlesuits look more like an imperial direct action team,” she said finally.

“RI-5! The sisters are supposed to be deeply embedded in Royal Intelligence. How did a breaching team make it all the way into my house without so much as a boo from the sisterhood?” Elaine asked harshly, “unless it was deliberate and a High Priestess ordered you to lower your guard?”

The Sister in black tactical gear looked shocked.

“We honestly had no idea this attack was taking place until there were shots fired. This is our failure, Sister, not the sisterhood turning against you!” she said agitatedly.

“We’ll see about that,” Elaine said, levering herself to her feet with the help of the younger woman.

“Give me your communicator,” she ordered.

The younger sister hesitated momentarily before handing the device over.

“This is Elaine Three-Feathers, Priestess for the Three for One Society. I am hereby taking emergency command of all Society Assets on the planet for the duration of this emergency. If you are mandated to another mission by higher authority, then by the Compact Directive 483-271A, you are ordered to declare it and leave. Everyone else is being re-tasked. I want to know where those imperials that participated in this attack are hiding. Run them to ground for me, Sisters,” then her voice turned lethal, “I also want the names and locations of everyone involved in this attack on the Royal Intelligence side. Give me names. All the way to the bottom with the lowest trigger-puller right up to the top of Royal Intelligence itself.”

“Are you sure this is wise?” queried the Sister still supporting her.

Elaine looked at her flatly.

“We have a One back on the Throne and in direct control of this Star System for the first time in three generations. If that doesn’t give me priority authority, I don’t know what does,” she snapped and then started hobbling over to Duncan where a sister-medic was working on the fallen armsman.

“Is he dead?” she asked, steeling herself.

“He needs a tank,” said the sister, using a can of New-skin and a re-bonder while working at his side, “but if he doesn’t go into shock and die on the way there, he should make it,” she said clinically.

Elaine looked at the way Duncan’s head lolled from side to side as the medic worked on the blaster hole in his side and felt something inside her break.

“Take care of him,” she said in a thick voice.

“Of course, Sister,” the Sister-Hospitaler said, nodding seriously before looking back down with disdain at the man she was working on.

Elaine clenched her fists together but said nothing. They were young. They were all young, so very-very young and there was nothing she could say right now that they would understand.

Chapter 30

The Eye of the Storm

I was still cutting a saw in the royal bedchambers, when directly outside the room, Sean D’Argeant was standing guard.

The communicator at his wrist vibrated and looking down at the screen, he stiffened.

“What is it, Sir?” Jake Evans asked, looking at him curiously.

“There’s been an attack on the King’s mother,” D’Argeant said shortly.

“Initiate Protective Protocol?” Evans asked, putting a hand on his blaster pistol and turning to look at the door leading out of the guard post and back into the Palace proper.

Sean D’Argeant gave him an enigmatic look.

“Of course,” he said strictly. Then placing a hand on the butt of his hand weapon, he headed inward to check on the King. First secure the area, then secure the King, then link up with the Palace Guard and in their King’s specific case, the larger Lancer detail stationed nearby in case the Palace Guard proved as unreliable as everyone expected.

His hand just fell on the door handle when he felt a sharp pain in his back.

Falling forward, he tried to roll to the side and clear his blaster pistol but something grabbed him by the belt, slamming him head first into the wall beside the door.

He collapsed face-first into the floor but even in a daze, the Chief Armsman was a trained professional. Instinctively, he reached for the holdout pistol in the sleeve of his uniform, and had just cleared the holster when a boot came down heel-first right on the back of his head, knocking the weapon out of his hand and rendering him unconscious.

“Sorry, Sir. But you should have kept him away from here. The people just aren’t ready for a Montagne, not now, maybe not ever, but certainly not now. I’m sorry you couldn’t see that,” Jake Evans said to the now incapacitated Chief Armsman and then leaving the knife in his superior’s back, he straightened his uniform.

“Besides, he’s a usurper, not the true King at all,” he said stepping away from Sean D’Argeant and pulling out his side-arm.

He took a deep steadying breath.

“Moment of truth,” he muttered, giving the door a quick knock before reaching for the old-fashioned knob and opening it.

Peeking his head in through the doorway, Jake Evans saw the Prince, the usurper, he reminded himself, sleeping peacefully on the bed and snoring up a storm.

Then he realized the King, no, wrong, the Prince Usurper, was alone.

His head tracked around the room, labeling targets until his eyes landed on the Lady. She was sitting in a large plush leather chair, one with lots of buttons in the back.

She raised a hand to her lips.

“I heard something hit the wall, what’s going on?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, my Lady,” he said respectfully and took a step into the room, “but there’s been an attack in the city. It’s his mother. I need to check on the Prince…. I mean King.”

He started for the bed.

“Is Elaine alright?” Akantha asked with concern and he stopped, ready to put an end to the farce until he spotted the blaster pistol she was holding sideways in her lap.

He forced a smile.

“Perfectly fine,” he soothed, “but protocol insists I make a visual check.”

The Lady looked at him and he couldn’t tell what was going on in her mind. For a barbarian, she was quite savvy.

“Let him sleep for now. He’s barely had any time to rest in the past several days,” she decided, “I’ll call Elaine on the communicator and make sure she’s okay. If need be, I’ll wake him myself.”

Jake Evans shook his head, carefully keeping his weapon pointed straight ahead as he turned to face her in one smooth natural movement. It was time to end this farce.

His blaster pistol was just coming into line when something grabbed him by the collar, something else cut into his side and he was jerked out of the room.

“Sorry for the intrusion, M’lady,” rasped Sean as the door slammed.

Not sure what had happened but realizing he hadn’t been stabbed, the younger Armsman rolled to his feet, weapon coming up toward the older man.

“That was a mistake, Sir,” Evans said, squeezing the trigger.

Only, it happened much slower than it should have and immediately after firing, the blaster dropped out of his hands.

“What did you do?” Evans slurred, reaching for his holdout just as Sean came forward, knife in hand.

“Sorry, son,” said the Senior Armsman, stabbing forward; Jake Evans stiffened, jerked and completely lost his footing.

Eyes filled with anger and despair, Evans stared up at his superior as the potent cocktail of combat heal and nerve paralytic went to war inside his body and he writhed uncontrollably.

“Sean to relief,” rasped the Lead Armsman, leaning against the wall and sliding down to the floor, “I need a restroom break, Argon.”

“Check,” said Senior Armsman Argon.

Less than a minute later, Senior Armsman Argon walked into the room. Taking in the two men down on the floor, his pistol cleared its sheath in one rapid movement and he slammed the door shut with his heel.

“What’s going on here, Sir?” he asked, looking down at Jake Evans, knife sticking out of his chest as he continued to writhe, combat heal fighting and losing against the knife still stuck into his chest, “is the King okay?”

“The King is five-by-five. Evans decided to take a vacation to District 55 up in the hills,” Sean coughed, blood coming out of his mouth.

Argon stiffened.

“No, you’re talking crazy,” he said, stepping over to the Chief Armsman and slamming a stick of combat heal into his arm, “Evans died a hero, fighting off—”

Sean grabbed Argon by the arm.

“Evans took a vacation. The King doesn’t need to know how badly we failed him. He doesn’t get enough sleep as it is. If he can’t trust us, he’s done for,” he said, spitting blood, “take Evans out back, he followed my attacker and he’s going undercover. On vacation. For the King!” Sean said before slumping unconscious.

“Oh, you poor fool,” Argon said, looking down at Evans, raw pain in his eyes.

Chapter 31

A Call to Action

Then the first distress signal reached me in Capria via the expanded Com-Stat Network.

A world in Sector 26 had spotted a bug Swarm on long-range optical scanners and after confirming the presence of a Swarm by short-jumping a customs corvette into the area to investigate and immediately started screaming for help from the larger galactic comm.

As the Confederation Flotilla was garrisoning half a dozen key worlds in the sector with no more ships to spare and the Sector Governor’s fleet dispersed to protect half a dozen of the most populous core-worlds—well, the most populous that voted for him in the last election, in large margins—they had no choice but to turn to us.

“Do you want to send them a copy of our defense contract with fee schedule attached first?” asked Commander Steiner.

“You’ve seen the transit times for message traffic. If we did that, the bugs would already have landed,” I said.

“Just checking how the new you plans to handle these situations,” Lisa Steiner said with a shrug.

I looked at her with narrowed eyes.

“I’m the same person I’ve always been, Commander,” I said.

She eyed me skeptically.

I flashed a winning smile.

“Don’t let the words I’ve been bandying about with others lead you astray. Now that I’m exiled, I don’t have to jump to the tune of a handful of scheming politicians, true, but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to fight for the lives, fortunes and, yes, the very survival of billions of Spineward Sectors’ citizens,” I said righteously.

“So long as you’re getting paid,” she pointed out.

“You wound me, Commander,” I mimed, placing a hand over my heart, “and if you’re getting technical, it should be as long as ‘we’re’ getting paid. I believe the bonuses everyone’s been receiving since we went private have been quite substantial,” I pointed out.

“If all I was interested in was money, I would have joined a mercenary company, not looked for a steady career in the Caprian SDF,” she pointed out.

“Are you sure you didn’t join the SDF because of the steady paycheck and free training?” I asked.

Lisa Steiner looked at me angrily.

“I’m sure you had all the training you needed if you wanted to go mercenary, Commander,” I said hastily.

“If pay is all you think I’m about, I’m sure I could find someone who’d offer to pay me better. I wonder how many people would like to hire Admiral Montagne’s former Chief of Staff?” she said.

“I assure you that whatever offers you’ve received, I can more than match,” I said hastily, “and as far as a steady SDF paycheck and career go, if you’re not interested in a position with Tacto’s System Defense Force, well now that I’m King, I’d be more than happy to slide you right back into the Star Kingdom’s SDF with full benefits package and seniority backdated to match your career with the Patrol Fleet.”

I finished with a confident smile.

That smile wilted as she continued to stare at me.

“So, what you’re saying, since you’re offering to pay me more so easily, is that you haven’t been paying what you think I’m worth all along, is that it?” she asked.

“What?” I asked with surprise and then recovered, “that is to say, I thought you were more interested in… well…” I trailed off.

My shoulders slumped.

“Look, the truth is I need you, but if you want to leave, no one’s stopping you,” I said honestly.

Steiner continued to give me a strict look and then her façade finally cracked.

“What I’d like is that raise you promised,” she said.

“I promised?” I asked, eyebrows lifting, then dropping just as suddenly when her brow wrinkled.

“What I meant was of course, I’ll get right on that,” I said quickly.

“Good. Now are we going to help these people or sit around here waiting for more lucrative offers?” she asked sternly, her opinion on the subject quite clear.

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s, first come, first served, as long as they agree to pay. So fire up the jump spindles and recall the Fleet; it’s time to get out of Dodge,” I ordered.

“Aye-aye,” she said, turning to relay my orders to the Lieutenant in charge of communications.

She turned back to me.

“What about those worlds that can’t afford to pay?” she challenged.

“As long as they agree to pay that’s all I’m interested in,” I said, waving a hand airily.

She looked at me in surprise.

“You mean you really weren’t serious about charging them and refusing to help if they can’t afford it?” she asked.

I looked at her with mock shock.

“How could you ask such a thing? Don’t you know me at all by now, Commander? I mean, we’ve been together how many years now?” I scolded happily.

Commander Steiner looked flustered.

“I’m sorry, Sir. My apologies for doubting you, I just…” she hesitated, which was when I went in for the kill.

“Yes, Commander, your lack of faith in your Admiral and King is troubling. Show a little trust. I mean, by now, you surely should have realized that an amazing leader like myself can figure out some way they can compensate us, no matter how broke they claim to be, without violating any interstellar laws,” I declared with total confidence.

My Chief of Staff’s mouth fell open with shock that soon turned to outrage.

“You!” she exclaimed.

“Me?” I gloated happily, “if they don’t have credits, we’ll accept orbital industry. After all, it’s not like there’s anything too large to transfer with these Spindles. If there’s nothing in orbit and they don’t have any truly valuable surface assets, how about in the outer star system? We could always prospect a good section of asteroids we could jump back to Tracto for our miners. Sure, it might take a while to recoup our full investment, but I’m sure we will make our money back eventually,” I finished with a toothy smile.

“I take it all back! You’re completely and utterly willing to profit off the suffering of others,” she huffed.

“Now-now, if they agree to pay and they really can’t afford it, I am willing to write it off for a loss. My loss. For being incompetent and not smart enough to figure it out, that is,” I said once again, placing a hand over my chest.

“You’re a paragon of virtue,” she said, voice dripping with scorn.

“Being a paragon doesn’t pay,” I dismissed, “I’m willing to play the hero for those in truly dire-straits, but if they can afford it, I don’t see why they shouldn’t. It’s not like I plan to force them.”

“If doing good deeds doesn’t pay, then how do you explain how we built this fleet?” she asked sharply.

My eyes hardened.

“Blood,” I said bluntly, “we paid for everything we have in the most precious treasure anyone has, our lives. It’s only due to the sacrifice of far too many good officers and crew that we came out as well-off as we are.”

Lisa Steiner looked cowed.

“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise,” she said quietly, “although I’m pretty sure it wasn’t just us that did this, lots of fleets win battles but if their Admiral isn’t up to the task… let’s just say they don’t end up as well off as we are.”

“Well…maybe,” I allowed, easing up slightly, “but that’s not because I’m a paragon of virtue, I never said I was an entirely good guy. A good guy wouldn’t have profited nearly as much as I have in this dirty business. That takes a certain kind of skill,” I added, buffing my nails on my uniform jacket.

“More like luck,” my intelligence officer muttered.

“Hey now! I resemble that comment,” I said, the last of the tension I’d been feeling slipping away.

Studiously ignoring the suppressed chuckles going around the bridge, I turned away with relief at having passed yet another minor, but potentially troubling, command hurdle.

All around us, the fleet began acknowledging the return signal and began forming up on the flagship.

Meanwhile, at the same time the jump spindles started charging, calls from distressed politicians on the surface of the planet and began pouring into orbit.

As one member of the house of lords after another and the random surviving parliamentary MP called seeking reassurance, I assured them I wasn’t stripping the homeworld of every ship in the star system, and realized that my day had only just started.

Chapter 32

Distorted Space

“I’m a vegetable. I’m a vegetable!” Commander Spalding shouted, unloading the modified pulse rifle he’d taken to carrying around with him. It wasn’t the same thing as an ion cannon but people were less likely to give him grief over carrying it either, the thought of which actually infuriated the old engineer more than the crazy green energy being attacking him at the moment.

Since when did Terrance P. Spalding care what the uneducated masses thought about whatever he was doing? Did he care when they snickered at him as he rediscovered Duralloy II? No! Did he care what they said behind his back when he was too busy bringing the Lucky Clover back from the grave to stop and explain things? Certainly not!

So why in all tarnation did he care what they thought about him carrying a portable crew served weapon—

A flash of pain cut short his internal diatribe.

“Argh!” he cried as the creature made up of thin green lines and a hazy area where its feet should be cut him across the shoulder, right where the natural part of him still existed.

He kicked out wildly and was pleased to see the creature momentarily distort and take the equivalent of a step back.

“Ha! Take that, you infernal beast,” Spalding chortled, mentally slapping himself on the back, even as he unloaded the pulse-rifle at pointblank range right into the creature; it looked like strapping a wedge of the same metal used by the shield generators to help shield the ship during the jump to hyperspace hadn’t been the wrong call after all, even if it did make him look like he was overcompensating for something when he was walking around.

The pulse rifle had the effect of slowly pushing the creature back and thus safely away from his anti-matter generators when he heard a snippet of the worst, most terrible song any sentient being had the lunacy of creating.

“Get away from here!” Spalding shouted as an old grav-cart came smashing around the corner leading a trail of at least three more of the evil green energy creatures into the room.

With a derisive beep, the grav-cart put on a burst of speed, leaving the creatures in the room, trailing the theme song of the Automated Underground behind it as it left.

“It’s an ambush!” screamed Spalding, three more of the creatures now locked on him and advancing against him.

Reaching behind into the back of his tool belt, the old engineer slipped on a specially-made chain-metal glove.

“Judo-Chop!” he shouted, making a hammer fist and slamming it down where the neck of the creature would have been if it had had a neck, and in the process performing what had to be the worst judo-chop in the history of judo-chops. Not that he cared, since he only watched those sorts of holo-vids for the entertainment value anyway.

Receiving the blow, the creature seemed to fritz for a moment before collapsing into a pile of lines and angles on the floor. It looked like a jigsaw or pile of puzzle parts as the parts still seemed to have some life in them, meaning that they still glowed and twitched around. But as far as the old engineer could tell, they’d been rendered combat-ineffective.

While he was busy stomping the floor in satisfaction and not incidentally scattering the creature even further around, the other three hadn’t been standing idly by and the first of the next three creatures, brought into the room by the droid, took an angry swipe at the old engineer.

“Judo-” started the engineer, only to start waving his hand around to desperately block the attack, “oh blast it all, just die, why don’t you?”

The attacks started coming from all sides as the three creatures tried to surround him.

Kicking and flailing his single gloved hand for all he was worth, the old engineer’s breaths became more and more labored to the point he started calculating his chances of just dropping to the floor and playing dead.

But he didn’t figure his chances were very good, and besides that, would allow the creatures a chance to interact with the containment field surrounding the anti-matter generators. He didn’t know what would happen when these things touched the containment field and he didn’t aim find out.

Dropping to his knees, Spalding grabbed and activated his plasma torch with his free hand and started flailing it about.

“Back! Get back I say,” shouted the engineer, crouching down to the power generator as he realized what had at first appeared to be a flanking maneuver had instead been two of the creatures trying to bypass him and get into the generator room.

Driving forward, the superman punched right through the creature on his right and promptly screamed as the rest of his body followed him right through the now-collapsing creature.

“It burns!” Spalding said, the smell of smoking flesh rising up through the gashes now in his uniform.

Seeing the other creature about to step up to the containment field, he whirled, coming up with a violent haymaker that both turned the creature into a pile of its constituent parts and knocked him off balance, sending the old engineer stumbling to the floor.

Blinking his eyes, the old engineer looked up in time to see the swirling mass of lights that was the creature’s foot descending toward his head.

The old engineer screamed.

Instinctively reaching up to grab the foot before it turned his head into a bloody smoking mess, to his surprise, his hand caught and held the foot. To his further surprise, the metal mesh of the gloves also failed to destroy the creature or even appear to damage or discommode what passed for its foot.

Which wasn’t good.

“Help! Help!” he bellowed, spinning around on the deck like a beached whale, trying to get the tips of his feet into position to strike the creature. Unfortunately, his legs were too long and the rest of his not nearly limber enough to compensate.

For the first time since he’d got them, he cursed his droid legs for something other than being noisy and inefficient. He wished that someone else was around to help him, even that grav-cart, before remembering he was in this whole fix because of that blasted thing.

“I’ll get you!” he howled, squirming around underneath the foot, “I’ll find you and I’ll disassemble you into your constituent parts. You’ll be nothing left but pieces when I get done with you.”

Over the speakers came the sound of someone clearing their throat.

“Testing. Testing. Four-six-twelve-eight, testing!” said a familiar but far flatter and less appealing voice than the original version.

Spalding stared up at the corner of the room in surprise and then groaned.

“Not you again,” he snapped.

“If you could be a vegetable, any vegetable, which one would it be?” asked the Voice.

“I wouldn’t. I’m a carnivore. A steak and potatoes man all the way,” Spalding immediately rejected, “maybe some beans on the side but definitely steak and sour cream. I only eat meat.”

There was a pregnant pause.

Letting go of the creature’s foot, he rolled to the side while it was distracted and came up to his knees, his fist leading, which was good because despite his best hope-filled wishes, the energy being hadn’t been distracted at all.

“You realize potatoes, beans and sour cream are not meat, they’re vegetables and vegetable and meat byproducts?” asked the irritating voice, “by your own definition, you’re not a carnivore, you’re an omnivore.”

“I said I’m a meat eater, not a vegetable, and that’s final. You’re not tricking me into saying I’m an old potato again. I’m an engineer in his prime,” Spalding growled, fighting off the energy being with his super-fist, “and besides, what are you doing here? I’m kind of busy,” he gasped, another line of fire burning on his side where the last remaining creature scored another hit.

“I have a set of coordinates for you,” said the voice.

“Not interested,” Spalding immediately rejected, kicking out with his foot and scattering the green energy creature’s leg all across the room. The rest of it was still active for some reason but he would fix that shortly.

“It will help you with Admiral Davenport’s invasion of the Spine. There’s a very valuable piece of tech the Empire wants to get his hands on,” tempted the Voice, “and if you get to it first, you can keep the Spineward Sectors from rejoining the Confederation.”

Spalding glared at the ceiling.

“You’re too late. That happened a couple of years ago, so shove off,” he said, lifting his foot up to waist level and slamming it right through the middle of the last green creature, causing an immediate collapse.

Seeing the fight was over, Spalding—able to hear his own labored breathing and feeling his heart racing in ways a young heart like his wasn’t supposed to—stumbled over to a wall well clear of any green remains and slumped against the floor.

“I knew this heart was defective from the very first beat,” he wheezed a complaint, “it’s a weak and cowardly heart. I’d have done so much better if they’d just taken it out and replaced it with a good strong one the last time I was unconscious.”

“Why, because you’d never have let them operate on you if you’d been conscious?” asked the Voice.

“Of course! Are you an idiot? You can’t trust a quack with an operation like that; it’s why I wanted them to do it while I was asleep. So I can dream about everything going right and nothing wrong. If I let them plan it out beforehand, the next thing you know I’ll wake up with some supposedly superheart, grown-from-the-top athlete in the quadrant and I’ll be in an even worse pickle than I was before!” Spalding shouted and then broke off into a coughing fit.

“A heart modeled off a top athlete’s would seem to be a trade up,” the Voice said after a moment.

“Bah! You’ve got no soul if you think like that. Any top athlete they cloned would probably be a runner. The last thing I need is to be saddled with the urge to run away at the first sign of danger! And that’s even if they didn’t decide I was genetically incompatible with everybody but some random female champion runner. Can you imagine it? Instead of some weakling heart too afraid to run, I’d be stuck with the heart of a woman that wants to run away!” Spalding declared.

“That seems kind of sexist,” said the Voice.

“Now, I’ve got nothing against women or runners. I like both. But I could never be either. I’m a man who doesn’t run. So, don’t go putting one that’s used to that in to replace my old ticker, you got it,” he glared at the ceiling.

“Sometimes, I don’t even know why I bother,” the Voice sighed.

“Yeah, well it’s your own fault. I certainly have nothing to do with it. Here I am minding my own business fighting off the ravening hordes of glowing green with strange feet trying to break into my anti-matter generators, with no control over what you do and you show up out of the blue with no warning,” Spalding complained.

“When you say blue, do you mean there was a flash of light before I achieved a stable connection?” asked the Voice.

“I’m being harassed, that’s what this is,” Spalding continued, blindly ignoring the voice, “by a voice determined to make me question my sanity and mental stability. Bad enough I’m stuck with these terrible dreams half the time these Spindles jump, but it’s always something new.”

“I realize I seem to have failed to calibrate the connection properly but are you sure I couldn’t interest you in those coordinates anyway?” wheedled the Voice.

“Blue things, green things, a gun that only shoots once,” Spalding ignored him as he continued to voice out his complaints.

“There’s a way to empty that gun so you can fire it again,” said the Voice.

The old engineer paused.

“I can’t be tempted with your offers any longer. The last time you gave me a bunch of schematics, it would take me fifty years to upgrade our tech base in order to build. So shove off,” he declared angrily.

“I don’t recall doing that,” the Voice said after a moment.

“Yeah, well, you don’t recall a lot of things, it seems. Every visit is like the first time for you,” Spalding said, getting up and waving his hands in the air.

“Stop this thing I’ve never heard of. No, wait! Stop the Imperials that already attacked you two years ago. I’m sick and tired of it. Not one single useful thing out of you other than hallucinations and more hallucinations,” Spalding said angrily.

“Disturbing,” said the Voice.

“Yes, it’s disturbing. Disturbing how dense and stupid and all over the map this is. The world is founded in concrete engineering principles, not this Alice in Wonderland nonsense,” the old engineer said bitterly.

“Commander, I have a mission for you,” said the voice.

“It’s Commodore!” Spalding shouted.

“You let them talk you into a promotion!” exclaimed the Voice.

“It’s not like that,” Spalding immediately said in a defensive voice, “I was tricked!”

“You can’t let them get you to flag rank! You’ll never get back on an engineering room floor again,” warned the Voice.

“They said it was a medal ceremony and handed me a piece of paper to go along with it. I had no idea what was going on until I looked at it later on in my quarters,” Spalding complained, “I mean who looks at those things during the ceremony?”

“You’ve been had,” declared the Voice.

“I do just fine thank you, and goodnight,” Spalding said irritably, “so not only do I not take life advice from an intercom. I am in fact currently standing on an engineering deck fixing things. Things like you! You! You!” he shouted, shaking his fist in the air and going over to stop a new creature with each new ‘you’ he said, “so there,” he finished with a final angry stomp.

“I’m going to give you the coordinates now,” the voice said with a sigh, “you’ll just have to hope the artifact is still there.”

“La-la-la-la,” said Spalding putting a finger in both ears as the Voice started to rattle off the numbers.

But the trick was on the alien whack-a-mole Voice that sounded like his own, because he turned his slate onto its recording function and put one finger right next to his earlobe so he could secretly hear whatever nonsense the thing thought an old engineer like he needed to worry about two years ago. Just for reference, in case this really was some kind of other dimensional space these artifacts kept throwing him into every other jump.

Then right after the thing was done blathering, he hurried back to the bridge. It was important he didn’t miss any of the excitement. The Admiral might find himself in need of some sound engineering advice and without him present, who’d be there to give it some watch stander? He scoffed at the very idea.

Chapter 33

The Bug Campaign

Hot Cross Star System: A near Core-World-level system currently under bug threat.

“Point Emergence!” reported DuPont.

“Shields up,” Lieutenant Crisp-Willow said in a chipper voice. For a minute, I was saddened, remembering Longbottom’s decision to return home after the war was over. It was not that I had anything against Crisp-Willow other than her height, I just didn’t like it when anyone was taller than me, especially women.

Then I brightened at the thought that now I was King, there was every chance I would see the former Ensign on the deck of a warship once again. We’d just have to see how retirement was treating him because if he wasn’t retired… I mentally started rubbing my hands at the thought of activating his SDF commission and returning him to MSP service.

“Sensors are active. Waiting for returns,” reported the Officer in the Sensor pit.

“Communications is deploying the long-range array and attempting to form a connection and query the FTL buoy network,” reported the Com-Officer.

I looked down at the well-oiled machine that was the bridge of the Lucky Clover 2.0 and felt a swelling of pride.

There was a clunk and the sound of someone stumbling behind and to the side of me.

I refused to look.

The noise was followed by something hitting the floor and the shattering sound that only well-made porcelain can give.

Muscle twitching in my cheek, I turned.

“Sorry there, Yeoman,” said Spalding, patting a young spacer holding a teapot with both hands, a tea saucer between thumb and forefinger and most decidedly not holding the shattered cup of tea now steaming up the smooth metal floor that surrounded my command chair.

“Spalding,” I said.

“Sorry, Sir. Still not at a hundred percent after that jump,” the old engineer straightened guiltily and then winced as he moved to step up beside me.

I looked at the way the old man was holding himself carefully and looked at the Commodore with concern.

“If you’re not feeling up to things, you can go back to your quarters to freshen up or head down to check on engineering,” I said, surprised to see the man on the bridge. He hadn’t been there during the jump and I didn’t recall hearing the blast door opening or closing.

Oh well, nothing the old engineer did could surprise me any longer.

While I was thinking, Commodore Spalding was swelling with outrage.

“I spend enough time keeping this ship from total annihilation, I think I deserve a chance to see what’s going on. I’m not some wayward greenhorn that needs to go to his room to stay out from underfoot,” Spalding declared.

“Of course not,” I soothed, “it’s just you look like you took a tumble,” I said looking at his face where he had a bunch of new heal quick skin and antibiotic cream lathered, more than could easily be explained away by even a series of shaving accidents.

Spalding flushed.

“He thinks I’m old now and fell down the stairs on my way up to the bridge. There’s no respect for wisdom and experience any more onboard this flagship,” he spluttered.

“I didn’t say that,” I said irritably.

“You don’t have to say it. I heard it in your voice. You know what the problem with this ship is? Her crew’s gotten slack,” Spalding rumbled, sounding disgusted.

“What are you talking about?” asked our new First Officer.

“Two years of downtime,” Spalding reiterated, ignoring the First Officer, “and not a one of you is 100% sure if you’re ready to put it all to the test. That’s why I’m here to help raise morale. But instead of locking down and buckling up for duty, instead you pick on an honest engineer who only ever worked to do his duty to ship and country.”

“That’s enough, Commodore,” I said sternly, bringing an end to the angry tirade.

“Sir,” Spalding said, stiffening to attention.

“If you can find your way to an engineering console and sit there ‘quietly,’ feel free to do so. But we don’t need your wisdom the very moment we hit a jump emergence. Got it?” I said, letting a hint of a growl enter my own voice.

“Sorry, Sir. Won’t happen again,” Spalding said, looking like a kid about to enter a candy store as he gave a quick salute and hurried over to the engineering watch section.

I rolled my eyes.

If it were anyone else, I’d kick them off my bridge without a second’s hesitation but I’d been through too much with the ornery old engineer. He could stay… for now.

Turning back to the plot, I took in the arrangement of forces.

At first, everything looked good and then the red icon that indicated an enemy fleet had been detected started flashing.

“What have we got, Sensors?” I asked, enlarging the enemy fleet on the personal screen built into my Admiral’s Throne.

I paused.

Maybe my Admiral’s Throne needed to be upgraded into a full-on royal King’s Throne. I’d have to think on that later, much later, when the situation in this star system had been resolved.

“Aye-aye, Sir,” said the Sensor Officer, acknowledging the order and taking a minute to process the information before relaying it to me.

I waited as patiently as an officer of my rank possibly could, which meant I was busy pulling up the enemy classifications and force levels on my own personal holo-screen.

Whoever said flag officers were used to waiting patiently for answers was either a fool or a liar.

Finally, the Sensor Officer was ready. He cleared his throat.

I looked back up expectantly.

“Bugs, Sir. It’s confirmed,” said the Officer.

“Of course, it is. What’s their Swarm strength?” I asked.

“Hundreds of them, Sir. It’s confirmed,” said the Sensor Officer.

I gave the head of the sensor watch a level look, one that promised I would replace him with his shift relief if he didn’t stop ending everything he said with ‘confirmed’ and start give me a hard breakdown.

“Right,” said the Sensor Officer, looking momentarily embarrassed. He straightened professionally.

“We’re looking at: one Mothership class, three heavy harvesters, six medium harvesters, at least sixteen light harvesters—the sensor results are still coming in,” he clarified, to make sure I understood these were just the preliminary results.

When I nodded, I think I saw him heave an actual sigh of relief before continuing.

“In addition, there are maybe sixty scout marauders, something of the order of ninety-plus regular scouts and some kind of floating mass of individual bugs that we think may be some kind of heavy land-based version but we in the sensor department don’t understand why they’re present in space at this time, Sir,” he finished cautiously.

“That tallies in at less than two hundred,” I pointed out dryly before adding, “however, I understand why you say there are hundreds of them, considering that all of them have yet to be tallied.”

“Thank you, Sir. We’re having difficulty pinning down all the bugs moving in and out of orbit of the main inhabited planet,” the Sensor Officer said with relief.

I froze and then glared at him.

“That would have been nice to have heard at the beginning of the report,” I said neutrally.

“Sorry, Sir,” he stuttered.

The Sensor Officer stopped being the main recipient of my ire when the Tactical Officer decided to break into the conversation.

“That would have more properly been part of a tactical assessment. One which I am more than ready to give you, Admiral,” said the Senior Lieutenant in charge of Tactical.

“Fine. What are we looking at?” I asked shortly; I would have thought he needed a few more minutes for Sensors to pin down every contact, but if he said he was ready, who was I to stop him?

“We are looking at a bug Swarm of significant size. One that has already entered the Star System and already landed on the primary inhabited planet, Admiral. We’ve already skipped past a class four all the way to a class three infection,” he said seriously, “the fact that the main force has yet to arrive means very little. There are bugs on that world and in enough numbers to begin reproducing.”

“I understand,” I said.

“They have to be stopped and we have to stop them, Admiral,” the Tactical Officer said passionately.

“That all depends on the system government. If they say they don’t need us, we’ll leave. But,” I said lifting a finger when he and several other officers on the bridge started to look mutinous, “this sort of thing is our mandate. If they’ll have us, we will sterilize this bug infection from this star system and annihilate that Swarm.

They settled back at that but they settled down even more so when I ordered the Fleet to make its best speed toward the system’s planet.

“What’s our ETA, Helm?” I asked our helm team.

“A little over six hours if we leave the flagship behind and move at the best speed of our battleships; we arrived well within the system’s hyperlimit, Admiral,” reported Shepherd, “more like ten hours if we stay tied to the flagship.”

I nodded, taking it in.

“Sir, if I may make a suggestion,” interjected the First Officer.

“Wait,” I said holding up a hand.

I turned back to the Helm.

“Is there any chance the main bug force will reach the planet before we do?” I asked.

“With their slow reaction-based drive system? No, Sir. They don’t even use grav-plates,” Shepherd said with total certainty, “they’re days away from reaching that planet. A few of their medium ships already en-route may get there and their smaller ships are fast enough on their own but…” he shrugged at that last, to show there was no certainty in this life, especially when it came to a bug Swarms home-brewed technology.

“I think that answers that question then,” I said, nodding toward the First Officer.

He reluctantly nodded his head.

“Listen people. I can see you’re all eager to get back into the thick of it right this minute. We’ve had a couple years to decompress, settle down and as our inestimable Chief Engineer has pointed out, grow slightly complacent,” I said, sweeping the room with my eyes.

“Well, this isn’t the time to make mistakes. We keep this fleet together because it keeps us alive. We’ll do everything we can for these people, within reason, but make no mistake. We do not risk defeat in detail over a handful of scout marauders. Are we clear?” I asked.

“Clear, Sir,” the response rumbled through the bridge.

“Excellent,” I turned to the Com-Officer, “put me in contact with the government leaders on Hot Cross Prime,” I instructed.

“Immediately, Your Majesty,” said the Com-Officer, a person of clear Caprian extraction.

I grimaced at the use of a title. I hadn’t tolerated it when I was a Prince, and I didn’t see why I had to put up with it now that I was a King, but as my wife pointed out in a private conversation, that was back when I was merely a Prince.

The more telling point to my mind was that we already had too many admirals in this fleet. Maybe it was time to accept my promotion to King and Commander in Chief?

I didn’t know and I didn’t like it but it might prove necessary. Only time would tell.

‘Immediately,’ as it turned out, was anything but. It took a good hour before I finally had someone on the screen not only ready and willing to negotiate our services but who also had the authority to make it stick.

“This is Prime-Lord Harkor Fentin of House Mudd, speaking for the Hot Cross Star System. How soon can you move your fleet into position to relieve our SDF around Hot Cross Prime and rid our system of this bug scourge entirely, Admiral?” he asked.

“It’s King not Admiral, Prime-Lord. I’ve recently been elevated to the Throne and my fleet is already moving as fast as it can. Current ETA: five hours, twelve minutes,” I informed him following the general policy of always leading with the good news first, “that said, my legal staff has already forwarded you our bug Swarm protection contract. Sign it and return it and we will be there in five hours, twelve minutes, ready, willing and able to get rid of your bug problem for you, Montagne out.”

The Prime-Lord gave me an angry look as soon as my message reached him and made the round trip back to me.

“I’ve seen this so-called contract. It’s nothing more than extortion and highway banditry.” He raised a hand, “we’ll pay it of course but under protest. The lives of our people are more important to us than money. However, I must point out that we are full tax-paying members in good standing of the Confederation, entitled to all the same rights and protections from the Confederation Fleet as every other member world.”

“Good for you. As you may or may not be aware, in no small part thanks to your own world’s representative, I am no longer a member of the Confederation. You exiled me. Meaning I haven’t seen so much as one hot centi-cred of that money. Nor is my fleet any longer Confederation fleet. If you’re upset at how your tax credits are being spent, I strongly suggest you take it up with the Confederation Fleet. In the meantime, the days of hot lunches and free rides on the house are over. We bled and died for you during the dark times and you threw us away,” I said coldly.

“It’s a sad fact of life that when you vote to exile a man, you are no longer entitled to his free military services,” I finished flatly.

The Prime-Lord’s nostrils flared during my speech and at the end, he took a deep breath.

“I am aware of your situation. What I regret is that you have decided to hold our planet individually responsible for a group action it was forced to take when our government was held hostage and our military stood down. What was our star system supposed to do, defy the Empire and our Spineward Government in order to stand in solidarity with a military that had already acknowledged its defeat?” He paused for effect.

“A military that included you, King Montagne, who as I recall, was at the summit that saw the formation of a treaty that seceded Spineward Sector sovereignty, oversaw our initial return to the Confederation, and exiled you. So you tell me, if you couldn’t stand up to the Empire, what were we supposed to do?” he asked shaking his head.

“The New Confederation was a dream,” he sighed sadly, “a grand dream, I’ll grant you but ultimately doomed to fail and now that dream is over. Home rule is the best we could have hoped for.”

“The time to ask my opinion was two years ago, as many in the Border Worlds Alliance did,” I said coldly, thinking the reason the New Confederation failed wasn’t because it was doomed but because of smooth-talking pikers like this guy who refused to stand up and fight for it. “When given the option to run the numbers and make the smart play or stand on principle and let the Demon take the hindmost, your world made its decision. It also failed to build up a strong enough SDF to fully backstop that decision, which brings us to today,” I said bluntly.

“A day where I have shown up eager to blow these bugs to Kingdom Come for you,” I continued, “Sign the document and we can let our bygones fade into the welcoming embrace of history, where eager young historians will gladly write and rewrite it until the both of us can barely recognize it,” I said.

The Prime-Lord shook his head, looking like he wanted to say any of a dozen things but finally held himself back.

“It will be as you say. Save our people, King Montagne, and you will receive the reward you ask from a grateful Star Nation,” he said with heavy irony in his voice but despite the snark, I had to give him points for tact. Most planetary rulers were not so resigned and ready to face reality as he was, at least in my experience. Perhaps that was because they didn’t face the very real possibility of being eaten like the Prime-Lord did? I didn’t know and I really didn’t care. I was on a bug hunt and ready to act as the exterminator.

“Read it carefully, I don’t want to hear any complaints about the terms after we’ve cleared the star system,” I said, offering a final parting shot.

The Prime-Lord, in perhaps his final parting shot, didn’t bother to dignify my dig with a direct answer, instead choosing to send back a signed copy of the star system protection agreement.

He’d made his position clear. I’d failed his world and thus, they had no responsibility to me or mine. Which was fine. He was welcome to his opinion. But considering I wasn’t the one begging him a favor, I figured we’d go right ahead with what I felt was right, and right now I had a fleet hemorrhaging credits.

Four hours later, the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet swept into orbit like a storm. Individual bug ships going into or just coming out of orbit were targeted and blasted out of space at the first opportunity.

Bug scout-ships and even scout marauders didn’t stand a chance against a heavy laser mount. It was one hit, one kill as we swept over the planet’s main continent.

“I’ve got a bug sign on the planet’s surface and it’s consistent with the reports we’ve been receiving from Hot Cross’s surviving system defense forces, Your Majesty,” reported the Tactical Officer.

He paused reading something on his personal screen.

“If anything, it’s even worse than reported. I’ve got bugs landing all over the planet and scooping up everything from farm animals and vegetation, even raw dirt, up to and including successful attacks on medium-sized towns. I don’t think I need to state what they’re filling their holds with in the towns,” the Officer said grimly.

“No, you don’t,” I said unhappily, and turned to my Chief of Staff.

“Get me Rear Admiral Laurent on the line,” I instructed.

“Your Majesty,” he said, inclining his head as soon as I appeared on his screen.

My eyes narrowed dangerously but I let it slide. Now was not the time to be arguing over titles and technicalities.

“Take the light units under your command and sweep clean the orbitals,” I instructed.

“Yes, Sir,” he said eagerly and cut the channel.

No doubt he was eager to do something in the face of this ravaging of an otherwise peaceful population. I mean, could you look at them as anything other than a peaceful people when they wouldn’t fight the Empire alongside me and then went and built a system defense force so anemic, it couldn’t even fight off a force of bugs?

“Sire, it looks like there’s a harvester right outside one of their major cities. The local ground forces are fighting it right now,” said Tactical.

“Noted,” I replied emotionlessly, images of helpless men, women and even children being eaten and consumed by bugs clashing in my head.

“I’m receiving a call from Rear Admiral Druid, Sir. Do you want me to pass it through to you,” asked Steiner.

“I’ll take it now,” I said.

“Sir!” said Druid as soon as he appeared on my screen, “do you have any order for me?”

“A little eager aren’t we, Rear Admiral?” I asked, quirking a brow.

“There’s a world being attacked by bugs and my battleship squadrons are ready for action. Who wouldn’t be eager?” he asked, giving me a skeptical look.

“You’re right. Are you ready to hear your new orders, Admiral?” I asked.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Druid said with a hungry expression.

“I want you to take your battleships and clear the ground infection before that harvester can make a surface hive. Use those turbo-lasers to drill down deep and hard, Admiral, and don’t stop till you see the back of their mandibles,” I instructed.

“With pleasure, Sir,” Druid said with a nod.

“If that’s all,” I said with a gesture.

“What do you want to do about the bugs in their orbital industry?” he asked before signing off.

“We’ll take care of it,” I said with a dismissive hand gesture.

“Sounds risky. Are you sure you don’t want a little extra help?” he asked.

“Lancers sign up for service in the flagship on the understanding that they’ll be the tip of the spear. I’m just giving them what they want. Besides, I think we can handle it,” I said.

“I’ll have a few shuttle loads of Marines standing by anyway. Just in case,” he said.

“You run your command how you want,” I said, splaying my hands and then cutting the signal.

“First Officer,” I said.

“Yes, Sir!” he exclaimed.

“Bring up an image of Hot Cross’s orbital industry,” I instructed.

“Of course,” he said hesitantly but soon an image of the planet, its industry highlighted in flashing circles, appeared.

Despite myself, I was silently impressed.

“That’s a lot of industry, Number One,” I said; they had more orbital smelters and factories than Tracto and we’d been heavily investing and building up over the past two years.

“Near core-world levels, Sire,” said the XO.

“Well I guess we can see where their military budget went then,” Spalding snorted.

I looked in his direction.

“They’ve been rebuilding fast since they rejoined the federation. Probably paid for more than one outside constructor, or a constructor on a long-term project and turned their whole industry into rebuilding once they thought they were safe. Probably owe a mountain load of debt now too,” he said judiciously.

“Not our problem,” I said turning a now assessing look on those brand-new orbital factories and processing facilities, works that were currently infested and probably being damaged by bugs even as we spoke.

“Unless they’re richer than I’m giving them credit for, it’s unlikely they’ll be able to pay your fee, King Jason,” Spalding opined.

“Oh, they’ll be able to pay,” I said.

One way or the other, I added silently, eyeing their orbital factories with greedy eyes.

“A few factories would be just the thing to kickstart Tracto to the next level,” I said.

There was a pause as the bridge stopped to digest this.

“Who’s going to man them, though? Because I swear I’ll quit the service before you railroad me into running one of those things,” the old engineer immediately rejected, “I’ve got projects that won’t wait while I sit on an assembly line making stan-bolts.”

“One problem at a time, Commodore Spalding,” I said with a Cheshire Cat grin.

I turned to the XO.

“Check with our lancer department and see if there’s any volunteers for a hazardous assignment,” I said.

“On it,” said the First Officer.

As it turned out, there were quite a few volunteers. Nearly the whole Lancer Department answered the call to duty.

Chapter 34

Hot Cross II: The Battle for the Orbitals

“Remember when we only had swords,” asked one Lancer shooting down a pair of six-footers, lifting up his foot for a side kick that crushed a three-footer with its little spinning side wheel flat against the wall, and then turning to blow another six-footer to pieces with his blaster rifle.

“I try not to think about those times. You’ve got another warrior bug on your six,” his shield companion said. tersely.

Dropping his rifle and letting it hang by a strap, he pulled a vibro-blade. Gravity pads on the bottom of his power-armored boots clanged as he hot-walked toward the warrior bug.

To his surprise, the vibro-blade in his hand sparked off the metallic crab-like claws of the six-footer.

“What is this?” he exclaimed in surprise as another waving warrior claw blocked an instinctive follow-up slash.

“What are you doing playing around there with that bug,” grunted his companion, still firing his blaster rifle.

“These bugs are different,” grunted his Shield Companion, knocking the bug’s claws to the side with sheer power and then slamming a fist right through its head.

“They keep dying all the same for me,” replied Lancer, still unloading his blaster rifle into the bugs around him. Then a shot from his blaster rifle hit a metallic-looking bug warrior and ricocheted away, taking a three-foot bug technician with a cut wheel in the head and splattering what passed for its bug brains all over the hull of the orbital factory.

“Okay, that was different,” he said after a moment.

“It just takes a little more work is all,” his Shield Companion grunted, shoving his sword straight into the mouth of another dark metallic-looking bug warrior.

“I’d better pass the word up to Captain-General Herakles. He’ll want to hear about this,” said the first Lancer.

All over the factory, word began to trickle up the chain of command regarding the new bug threat they were facing. otherwise regular-looking warrior bugs with a dark metallic sheen to their claws and carapaces that made them resistant but not immune, to regular blaster weapons and vibro-blades.

It was enough to slow but not halt the MSP’s sweep of the orbital factories.

All over the Hot Cross orbitals, battalions of lancers and marines worked to clear the system’s industry of non-human habitation.

“How’s the extermination effort going?” I asked, opening a direct line to my ship’s Lancer Commander.

“The clearing efforts are behind schedule. The bugs we’ve been facing show clear signs of anti-marine adaptation, something that’s only seen after a hive has experienced significant ground forces or space marine resistance,” the Tractoan said with a hungry gleam in his eye.

That didn’t sound good.

“Despite this setback, we’ve almost finished clearing the first factory. The plan is to shift those forces over to the second factory as soon as we’ve finished clearing it, Warlord,” he added.

“I see you’ve spent some time studying up on bugs, Colonel,” I said.

The Colonel bared his teeth in an otherwise happy expression.

“You’ve fought bugs before and this is a bug-hunting campaign, Warlord. My officers had every reason to study both the Confederation and Empire’s history of battling against these creatures. I, of course, couldn’t let an under-officer surpass his leader,” he said with total confidence, “besides, studying battles using the holo-vid is the next best thing to battle itself.”

“I can see that,” I said.

“Thank you, Warlord,” he dipped his head.

“Just keep up the good work and clear those factories, Colonel. I have big plans for them,” I said.

Colonel Demeter looked interested.

“For now, let’s just say they’re a contingency plan,” I said confidently, “but as you’re going along, if you’d take notes and let me know which of the factories looks to be in the best condition, I’d really appreciate it.”

“As you command, Warlord,” he said.

“Also, because you’re experiencing greater than expected resistance, I’m going to have Rear Admiral Druid send in the marines,” I said.

“We will redouble our efforts, there’s no need to send in the marines, Sir,” Colonel Demeter protested, “my Lancers will be back on schedule shortly.”

“I don’t want to risk your people trying to catch up to some imaginary schedule, Colonel,” I immediately disagreed, “we’re here to kill bugs, not die fighting them. Prepare to coordinate with your counterpart among Druid’s forces.”

“Understood,” he replied unhappily.

“Montagne out,” I said, cutting the channel.

After telling Druid to release his shuttles and checking with sensors and navigation, I ensured we still had plenty of time to clear the orbitals before the arrival of the main force.

Not that I intended to stand around waiting for the main Swarm to arrive.

I decided to go for a walk.

It was a short walk to my ready room and a few minutes to stretch and take a drink before I returned to the flag bridge.

By the time I was back on the bridge, the first of the battleship complements were landing on the orbital factory complexes.

Ranging from an oversized battalion of battle armor to a dreadnaught class’s short brigade, the lancers and marines of the recently reinforced Multi-Sector Patrol began landing on the stations, factories and damaged defensive platforms that circled Hot Cross Prime.

With a fleet of right under two hundred warships, I felt confident we could liberate this star system and cleanse it of bugs, give or take something unexpected like massive out-system bug reinforcements showing up at the last moment, that is.

The only real question was whether my current force structure was up to the task and I didn’t mean the ships.

With my original fleet force of sixty fully-manned warships and the bare bones command teams and skeleton crews to bring another sixty into combat during an emergency, making that a total of 120 warships I could call up in a pinch, I’d felt completely confident. My people were veterans and the only issues that might crop up were due to insufficient crew, not the professionalism, training or ability and willingness to follow command.

My current fleet of 198 warships, twenty of them battleships, was a completely different kettle of fish and it was going to have to shake out fast. More than half of my personnel, a third of my captains and slightly more than that of the bridge crews were Caprian transplants.

That wasn’t a bad thing. Most of our protocols were originally based off of the Caprian way of doing things. The royal Caprian way, which was slightly different, but ultimately not really enough to make a difference and many of our personnel, especially in key positions, were former Caprians themselves. That said, most of the new people knew ‘of’ me but I didn’t know them.

I’d also been so cautious in where and how I placed my crews, command teams and, the ace in my deck, the lancer contingents.

As I watched the lancer reinforcements land and deploy against the bugs from a series of close up holo-feeds direct from battlesuit cameras and holo-pickups, I was already planning my strategy.

I needed a win to help solidify confidence in my command abilities, better yet a series of victories. Hearing about me was one thing, seeing a clear-cut victory another, and I labored under no illusions. My every defeat and pyrrhic win had been played up in the media before I started to fade into obscurity.

The terribly embarrassing series of web-videos and documentaries my people put out toward the end of my Spineward Sector campaigns and afterward helped mitigate those images somewhat, but only with those who cared to hear my side of the things.

Over the next hour, we cleared half a dozen orbital factories and warehouses and General Wainwright called in.

“Greetings, General,” I said after accepting the call.

“A-, Your Majesty,” he acknowledged.

I hid a smile. Most of my battleships were crewed by a majority of MSP originals and their lancer contingents were all originals or Tractoan-based units. However, now that we were all part of one big happy King’s Own Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, I didn’t want to be too blatant in my favoritism so I’d decided to extend an olive branch to Capria’s marines and invited back onboard a pair of my battleships, General Wainwright, and the members of his command.

“What can I do for you, General?” I asked.

“I was doing quite nicely in command of an active reserve formation back home, Sir. I got to see the family every day. Even got to the beaches one weekend a month in the summer if I wanted. I was even looking at buying a vacation home. You could send me back home, Sire,” he grumbled.

“Sadly, the people back home decided they needed me, or at least my money, and I told them I need you,” I shrugged, not caring about his whining in the slightest, “so I’m afraid you’re stink out of luck, at least until after things settle down. If your King has to go risk a hand-to-hand encounter with bugs, you’re not getting out of things that easily. But I assume you called for some reason other to bend my ear about beachfront property and the need for more vacation time, considering we’ve just started our Bug Campaign. What gives?”

“I don’t see how I’m all that useful,” he sighed but considering he was the only one I halfway trusted inside the Caprian SDF and, more specifically, the Marine Branch of the SDF, he could keep on dreaming.

Considering more than half the Caprian units I’d placed onboard the new cruiser commands joining our fleet had been officers or units he’d recommended to me as being solid, I felt free to file his bellyaching under the completely-without-merit category.

“Is this how you teach your junior officers to report to their senior officers up the chain of command, or is this reserved only for how you teach them to respond to their Monarchs, General?” I asked pointedly.

Wainwright winced.

“Sorry, Sir. I guess I deserved that,” he said.

“I guess you did,” I agreed sternly.

“I was just calling to say we’ve got the bugs over here under control, assuming Fleet doesn’t let anything else slip through. So, it’ll take a while to clear everything though and I wasn’t sure if you wanted to leave us out here on clean-up or start rotating half the units back home to their warships,” he inquired.

I pursed my lips.

We still had a good couple days before the bugs reached Hot Cross in force. Were things on the factories that hot? Had it been too long since my lancers and marines had been in combat and they needed some time to rest or was there some other factor?

For a moment, I was tempted to keep them out there full force until the bugs were taken care of. The sooner this local infestation was crushed, the faster I could sally the fleet out to finish off the main force.

Based off my past encounters, any force of bugs against an equal force of modern warships was an easy victory. That was when I realized Wainwright and his marines might not be the only people in this fleet that needed a wakeup call and a chance to get their heads on straight, always assuming there wasn’t some other reason he wanted my lancer and marine compliments back onboard their ships.

“Alright, I’ll trust your judgment. Rotate out the smaller units, and the larger brigade-sized forces, depending on their individual circumstances, can start coming back home as a whole or by individual contingents. If too many are being pulled back, I’m sure the cruisers contingents would like a chance to see these new bugs in action personally,” I said, coming to a decision after some silent rumination.

“Good,” Wainwright said with relief after hearing my decision, “I know it’s an unlikely proposition but I just can’t shake the thought of what a force of stealth bugs coming in ballistic could do to a battleship without any of its power-armor aboard. Men with skinsuits and blaster pistols are not going to want to deal with this new kind of warrior bug,” he said.

I felt a flash of alarm and a silent shiver. True, we were well ahead of the main bug force but the bugs here weren’t acting like the normal bugs we’d been facing before. These bugs were different and showed all the classic signs of a Hive that had started to adapt to strong human ground resistance. But what if modern ground forces weren’t the only things they’d started to adapt to?

“I’ll issue orders for the shuttles to start retrieving our lancers and marines momentarily. I’ll have Fleet Flight Ops coordinate with you and the various lancer and marine commands,” I said.

“Thank you, Sir,” he said.

“No. Thank you, General,” I said, genuinely meaning it. Wainwright used to be in command of my entire ground forces and after his departure, things had never quite jelled the same. I got that his people wanted to go home and he felt it was his duty to return to protect Capria now that they were once again willing to have him, but the loss had stung.

Falling back into old patterns was a nice feeling but could prove deceptive. Still, I was happy for the input.

After relaying to Flight Ops the need to coordinate the fleet’s shuttle recovery efforts, I opened a group channel to our carrier force.

“What can we do for you, Sir?” asked the Captain of Piece-Meal, the senior of the two Jumble Carriers currently in service.

“I’d like you to get your birds out into space at your earliest convenience and start a sweep in the general direction of the main bug Swarm, Captains,” I said, nodding toward each of the two captains although my main focus was on the Captain of Piece-Meal.

The Captain looked alarmed.

“Is there a specific threat, Sir?” he asked, tensing up.

“Nothing yet. This is just a better safe than sorry situation. The last thing we need is a surprise force of bugs hitting us while we’re distracted. You can just consider this the usual Montagne paranoia rearing its ugly head,” I said, glad that we’d started to produce a standardized version of one of our top gunboat models and promulgated it to each of the carriers, while at the same time wishing I’d had the spare hands and yard capacity to give them entirely new carriers.

We’d offloaded those old boats to system defense platforms on Tracto and at Omicron Space Station, but there had been no way to swap out the carriers themselves and those old battleship hulls they were using weren’t even close to fully optimized for carrier operations.

“I’ll take your feelings over most people’s sensor returns any day of the week, King Jason,” the Captain of the Piece-Meal said, “we’ll get right on it.”

“Make sure you coordinate with Flight Ops if you find anything,” I said.

“Will do,” he said.

After that, it was time to just sit back and wait until the shuttles started returning. For the gunboats, the carriers to send out the boats, and for them in turn to start sending back sensor results.

A whole lot of hurry up and wait.

Chapter 35

Hot Cross III in Search of the Clean Sweep

Fortunately for my peace of mind and my legacy, the bugs didn’t arrive before the lancers started trickling back to their ships. Even better, the gunboat returns showed no signs of a secret wave of bug marines about to fall upon an unwary fleet.

With Rear Admiral Laurent’s light forces sweeping the orbitals for bugs, Rear Admiral Druid’s battleships coordinating with Hot Cross ground command and slashing and burning anything they could on the surface with their heavy and turbo-lasers, I was starting to feel less and less like a hammer was about to drop on my head.

Finishing up the sweep of the orbitals, I detached a heavy cruiser and two squadrons of destroyers to patrol the planet and keep the bugs off it.

“Fleet, now that we’ve finished an initial sweep of Hot Cross Prime’s orbit and cleared it of bugs, it’s time to go out there and deal with the main source of the infestation,” I said in a fleet-wide broadcast.

“Whoever or whatever sent these bugs out to destroy as many of the defenseless star systems of the Spine as they could, did so not knowing that Admiral Jason Montagne and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet were still on duty. The Spine may reject us and the Known Galaxy might malign us, but once again, we prove that sometimes all the stands between the light of civilization and the darkness that lurks beyond our border is your King’s Own: Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet,” I said passionately.

“So, to whomever or whatever entity or entities out there perpetrated this dastardly deed, be they dead AI’s, angry Imperials or the space gods themselves, I have just one thing to say to you. We’ll be watching. We’ll be waiting. And we will find you. When we do, know that we won’t just shame you. We. Will. Come. For. You!” I finished with righteous anger.

A lot of people might point out the fact it might seem a little hypocritical to call out using bugs in space warfare when I had done so myself. The main difference, though, was I’d never introduced them to an inhabited star system or used them on non-military targets.

The same could not be said for whoever perpetrated this heinous crime.

It could be droids or pirates, or the plan of some long-dead AI, but my money was on the Empire. When I found out for sure… heads would roll.

“Blasted imperials can’t even take yes for an answer. A win isn’t good enough. They’ve always got to go for the jugular,” I muttered, not blind to the fact that it was almost certainly my own action of returning Tracto’s bugs to sender that had caused the Imperials to escalate.

In a very real way, every citizen that was eaten, every world that was rendered uninhabitable, was because the Empire couldn’t stand it when you hit them back. Maybe if I’d just stood by and done nothing, the death count would only be in the millions or low billions of people eaten by imperialsent bugs, instead of this massive billions upon tens of billions or even more that were destined to die in this latest series of attacks.

“Sir?” asked the First Officer.

“Nothing,” I dismissed, “just a little angry speculation. I was only wondering if I’d let them kill a few million people without the responsible parties being held to account, then maybe whoever it was that decided to launch these attacks wouldn’t have decided that billions more dying was the right response.”

The First Officer eyed me with concern.

I ignored him and watched as the fleet started to break orbit. Sometimes, being at the top was a heavy burden.

No sooner had the fleet started to break orbit than a bevy of planetary officials, desperately seeking assurance that we weren’t leaving for good started gumming up the com-channels.

“Is that all of them?” I asked Lisa Steiner after she’d given me the whole list.

“Yes, Sir,” she said.

“Alright, put the Prime-Lord on and refer everyone else to the Fleet’s PR department. Have PR put out a canned statement that a Task Group comprised of a heavy cruiser and two destroyer squadrons are staying back on planetary patrol while the rest of the fleet goes out to smash the main bug Swarm before it can hit orbit,” I said.

“I’ll make sure PR passes that to all the relevant authorities, as well as all the major star system and planet-based news networks,” she said.

“Good idea. Make it happen,” I said.

After she turned away to carry out her portion of the job, I accepted the blinking icon that was the Prime-Lord’s com-call.

“This is Jason Montagne,” I said, opening the channel.

“I would like to personally thank you for the actions of your fleet in helping to break the back of the bug infestation on our planet, King Jason,” he said with a nod.

“Happy to help,” I said, silently adding for a fee. I’d given up on verbalizations of thanks and settled on money as the only tangible form of thanks I’d receive in this life. It was sad but true that a fleet couldn’t fight without a base of support and that cost cold, hard credits. In a way, paying to fund my operations was the most tangible form of thanks these people could ever give me.

“It’s been expensive but so far, you’ve kept up your end of the bargain,” he paused, “I take it you’re now off to do what you said you’d do earlier and smash the main Swarm at the source?” he asked carefully.

I gave him a cheery expression.

“Pirates for breakfast, droids for lunch and bugs for dinner,” I drawled happily, “the day’s not yet over which is the only reason these bugs haven’t been put paid to yet. But never fear, they’re the next thing on my agenda. We just had to finish helping clear your orbitals first.”

“For which I and my people would like to once again formally thank you, King Jason,” said the Prime-Lord.

After I was done glad-handing the Prime-Lord and he thoroughly thanked me for my very expensive pest control services, I cut the channel.

“It’s a relief that’s over with,” I sighed. I could smile politely and glad-hand with the best of them but there was a reason I vastly preferred the throne on my flagship to the one in the Palace.

Over the next several hours, the fleet formed up on the flagship and headed out to meet the bug Swarm head on.

An hour outside of contact with the main Swarm, one of the gunboats sent out ahead of the main body to screen the rest of the fleet sent back an emergency transmission.

“Sir, I have a transmission from one of the gunboats; you’re going to want to see this,” reported my Chief of Staff.

Trusting her assessment, I tuned into the live feed.

“Put it on the main screen,” I said.

“I can’t shake it!” shouted a Pilot in the uniform of the gunboat service while someone screamed long and loud in the background.

“Just die already!” bellowed a Tractoan in his native tongue, repeatedly hitting something just outside the pilot’s holo-pickup repeatedly with a space wrench.

“I didn’t see anything on the sensors and then it was there. It’s on me and I can’t get rid of it,” reported the Pilot, working his manual controls for all they were for.

There was the sound of a plasma torch activating in the background.

“I’m trying to cut it free! Check your skin integrity,” yelled the boat’s engineering rating in a rising voice.

“Die-die-die!” roared the Tractoan Gunner in Tractoan.

“I can’t—” the Pilot’s urgent voice cut off with a screech of metal and gurgle as a large protrusion of some kind pushed through the wall and through his body. It went in one side and out the other.

It looked like a bug spike or protrusion, maybe a leg of some kind. Whatever, it didn’t look like duralloy or monolocsium.

“Lo-there, do I see my father. Lo-there, do I see my mother. Lo-there, do I see my sisters and my brothers,” yelled the Tractoan as he continued to wail away with his space wrench in a frenzy; the engineering rating used his plasma torch and the Pilot stiffened, spat blood and then slumped forward.

“Lo-there, do I see the line of my people back to the beginning!” roared the Gunner.

“Turn it off,” I said. There was nothing I could do from this distance. Their fate, such as it was, was in their own hands now.

The transmission cut.

“I take it their boat was boarded by a bug of some kind?” I asked in a clinical voice.

No one answered for a moment.

“Let’s stay professional, people. What happened… what’s happening to the crew of that gunboat is terrible. But there’s a reason we sent those boats out to screen the main force. Now look alive and tell me what we’ve got on that boat!” I said.

“Sorry, Sir,” Steiner said crisply and my flag staff leapt into action.

“From the boat’s telemetry, it looks like they were in the middle of an arcing turn and were on a course to return to their carrier after a successful patrol. They had just reached the slowest point when what I can only assume was a bug latched onto them,” said the Flight Ops Officer in a shuddering voice, “it looks like whatever it is, was strong enough to punch through the hull of a gunboat at multiple points.”

“This is not good,” I reiterated for anyone not paying attention the past few minutes.

“I want all ships to reinforce their forward shields. Put point defense systems on ultra-paranoid, and prepare to follow the flagship as we change course,” I said, instructing pulling up a control system and then dragging my thumb across the screen to plot an arcing course away from the gunboat and even further around the direct line of the oncoming Swarm.

I fired the rough course plot to Navigator Shepherd and told him to clean it up into something the rest of the fleet could use.

We must have been going too fast or bugs were light on the ground this far out from the main Swarm, because nothing else latched onto any of our ships or even showed up on our sensors.

“I don’t like this,” I said to no one in particular and then glared at my sensor team.

“We have the best sensors in the galaxy and we can’t find a single space bug before it boards one of our ships?” I demanded.

“Our boats don’t have the same sensor package as a full-on warship, Sir,” the Sensor Officer protested defensively.

“That’s fine. But why can’t they see any of them now?” I demanded.

The sensor operator had a long face.

“You know we had this problem before,” I growled, “the best sensors money could buy but our control programs weren’t up to snuff. I don’t know what the problem is and I honestly don’t care. Anyone who tells me there are not bugs out there, I’m going to call a bald-faced liar. Find them. Now!” I said, thrusting a finger at the black space between the Fleet and the Swarm.

While sensors worked and I worried, the Fleet swung even wider around the main path between the Swarm and Hot Cross Prime.

The Sensor Officer returned with a report.

“I think we’ve isolated bands we need to be scanning for. The problem is, we’re very reliant on gravimetric sensors for a lot of things and bugs that small are like fighters or even gunboats. They’re just incredibly hard to dope out using gravimetric sensors. We’re working on a fix,” he said.

“Dope? I hope we can do better than dope things out in our sensor department,” I said crossly.

“How long until we have a fix?” I asked.

“We’re already making changes but unless we get a sample, a sensor profile, or a target to run focused scans on, it might take a few days to run through all the possible permutations,” he said.

“A few days? Unacceptable. I don’t know what the sensor department thinks it’s up to but we’ve known about the upcoming threat for weeks now. You need to do better,” I instructed.

“We’ll redouble our efforts and pull in off-duty crews to help sift through the data,” reported the Officer.

“You do that,” I said. I didn’t know how successful they’d be honestly, but if a few people having a couple sleepless nights saved even a handful of lives on another gunboat, to my mind it was worth the effort.

As it turned out, there were no miracles in the next few minutes but no disasters either and though I hated to do it, we had to turn and begin slowing down.

I knew the slower we went, the more risk we had of a hostile boarding attempt by angry space bugs. My only hope was we were far enough out of line from the Swarm and our shields would prove strong enough.

They did.

“We are coming up on close approach to main Swarm, Sire,” reported DuPont, “do you want me to speed up, slow down or maintain course?”

I gave him a look.

“Take the fleet to standard bug engagement speed, Number One,” I instructed.

Then like the hammer of God, we drove right into the middle of the Swarm.

Chapter 36

Hot Cross IV - Smash and Grab

The bugs were lined up in a giant circular formation with the Mothership in the middle of a big empty circle and all the large harvesters, scouts and scout marauders in a big outer perimeter. Or that was how it looked from long distance.

Now that we were closer and started getting sensor hits, we could tell that the big empty circle around the bug Mothership wasn’t her smaller subordinates giving her space. The big empty was actually filled with thousands upon thousands of individual bugs.

“I’m reading hundreds of modified boring beetles and boarding bugs, each of them with dozens of smaller warriors and cut wheel workers on them. Focused scans have also revealed a number of sensor-resistant bugs. We’re working on a sensor profile and will promulgate it throughout the fleet as soon as one’s been isolated,” said Sensors.

“Good,” I said tonelessly.

I didn’t like seeing thousands of boarding bugs intended for space combat and boring beetles equally at home punching through the hull of a ship or digging into the crust of a planet to set up a new colony.

That these bugs were listed as modified and were carrying small numbers of worker and warrior bugs on their sides gave me even less feeling of enthusiasm.

This could get ugly if I wasn’t careful, and my plan to showcase an easy victory could turn around and bite me in the posterior.

“Take us in, Helm,” I said after passing along all the order I could think of.

We had marines on the hull. More marines ready to exit onto the hull. Point defense was set to paranoid and squadrons of battleships ready to punch a hole through any opposition.

More importantly, I had lots of lighter warships and gunboats to alternately take care of the small fry that tried to sneak around behind us and take out our engines or go in there and mix it up with the boarding bugs.

We were as ready to go as we were likely to get and any more waiting was just going to wear on the crew.

“Aye-aye, Sir,” DuPont said with the sort of confidence that said he had full faith and trust in his leader. Me.

Now, if only I was as confident as I’d been upon entering the star system, everything would be perfect.

Heavy Lasers leading the way, our battleships opened the conflict by firing at long range. There was no need to get in close to the bugs until after we’d softened them up from a distance. Their weapons didn’t range on ours which was why standard bug engagement speeds were so slow.

Like a hammer, we crushed the first heavy harvester facing with two broadsides and annihilated the scout-ships around it even faster, before the bugs began to respond to us.

So long as you were far enough away that the individual bugs couldn’t get close and board you, it was basically a rogue’s shooting gallery of fun and games. As soon as one popped up, it got shot down.

So far so good, at least until some of those nasty boogers snuck up on you, everything changed and people started dying, I thought bitterly. I turned to the Sensor Department.

“I want focused scans behind, above and below us, not just out front, Sensors,” I ordered.

“We’re already hard-scanning front and back. We’ll include top and bottom to that and not just continue the routine sweeps, Sire,” said the Officer.

I scowled.

“Why weren’t we already doing that?” I asked, voice deceptively light.

The Sensor Officer stiffened.

“We just got the sensor profile and added it on top of our current scanning pattern, Sir,” he said carefully, “so far, we’ve been mainly focused on being able to build a profile for these hidden bugs by scanning the ones we know are already there. It lets us build up a detailed scanning base.”

“Also,” he added after a moment, “running the scanners on 360-degree sweeps, at maximum capacity, for extended periods of time can burn out or degrade our systems.”

“Then trade off and share the load throughout the fleet. The flagship can’t be the only ship with the new scanners. Use whoever you have, however you have to but make this happen, Sensors,” I instructed.

“This is war. We’re in the middle of a battle. Now is not the time to be saving on lifetime service capacity. Burn the blasted things out, I don’t care, just so long as they’re finding the things right up until the last bug in Hot Cross Star system is dead,” I said.

“They’ve already been added. We’ll keep scanning, Sire,” he said, saluting.

Turning our ships, we skirted around the outer edge of the Swarm blasting the slow helpless bugs like we were shooting fish in a barrel.

My goal right now was to circle around the Swarm, denude their larger secondary ships until all that was left was the Mothership and the Swarm of smaller bugs around her.

Then it would be tough decision time.

As usual, the bugs didn’t have the same plans that I did.

As soon as they seemed to realize they were under attack, the outer circle of bugs began to move toward their Mothership, seeking to join the dubious safety of their Queen. Well, some of them anyway.

All of the harvesters and most of the marauders and regular scouts on the far side of the Swarm from us began to move toward the Queen. Conversely, most of the marauders and scouts near us began an immediate burn to initiate an intercept.

“Maneuver the fleet to stay out of their range and pound those bugs into space debris,” I ordered, relaying my instructions throughout the fleet. I had no intention of courting a boarding action until I was ready. These bugs could spin in cold space while we shot them up with lasers; as far as I was concerned, this was an extermination mission, not a slug-it-out-to-the-death campaign.

Now, if only the bugs would comply with my desires.

We shot them down in job lots, until they stopped coming; but by that point, we’d only nailed a trio of harvesters and maybe a third of the scouts and scout marauders.

After clearing out all the bugs we could reach, I opened up a channel with my top two subordinates, Rear Admirals Laurent and Druid.

“Ideas?” I asked as soon as the two officers appeared, pointing to a shared map of the local battlespace, one that showed the Mothership, her harvesters and scouts surrounded by the amorphous mass of boarding bugs and boring beetles they’d previously surrounded.

The two officers shared glances.

“I guess I’ll start off with the obvious,” said Rear Admiral Druid, “if there’s no easy way to winkle them out, we’re just going to have to go in there and get them.”

“Opening us up to attacks by those boarding bugs,” I pointed out.

“That’s a given,” Druid splayed his hands.

He looked over at Laurent.

“Thoughts?” he asked his fellow officer.

“We could drop space mines and wait for the main body to pull up on them,” he suggested after a moment.

I didn’t like his lack of confidence.

“And what if the boring beetles find the mines first?” I asked.

“Less boring beetles?” suggested Laurent.

My expression flattened.

“I don’t know what you want to hear, Sir,” Laurent said after a moment.

“We can try to soften them up with mines and then send in the gunboats. Either the mines clear a path through the bugs and beetles for the boats, or they get straight to the heavies. Either way, the boats are going to have a tough time of it,” he shrugged.

“We could send destroyers in to follow the gunboats, widening the breech and protecting our larger ships from boarding actions by clearing the path wider,” suggested Druid.

“Meaning, of course, higher losses among our lighter ships that don’t have strong lancer contingents,” pointed out Laurent.

“Or we could just hi-diddle-diddle straight up the middle and take it on the chin with our battleships. Then close to range and proceed to punch their lights out,” Druid said with a shrug.

“This is not everything I was hoping for when I got you two on a conference call together,” I observed, forcing down the irritation I was feeling at no magical answers landing in my lap.

“The question is just how cute you think we need to try to be,” said Laurent after a moment.

“This sucks. Your plans, suck,” I said.

“Illuminate us, oh wise leader,” Laurent retorted.

“So, soften them up with mines and then go tear their hearts out with the heavies. That’s the best plan you can come up with,” I said.

Druid splayed his hands while Laurent shrugged.

“We could always wait until they reach the planet. Something tells me those boarding bugs and boring beetles won’t stick around their Mothership forever. Not once a prime biosphere is calling out to them. Of course, that has other risks,” said Druid.

“Like potential genocide,” agreed Laurent.

“Aren’t you a bright bundle of joy today,” I said shortly.

“Why couldn’t this be easy?” I asked no one in particular. Everything had seemed fine right up until first contact, when the bugs suddenly started acting in ways they never had before.

“To be honest, between the reports of anti-marine mutations and now this circular, in-depth defense of their Queen, I think it’s safe to say this Hive, it’s faced and fought with humans before,” said Rear Admiral Druid.

“Agreed,” Laurence nodded his head sharply.

Then they both looked at me expectantly.

“I’ll take what you’ve said under advisement,” I grumped, disliking this reminder that in all likelihood, we were facing imperial action.

I reached down to cut the channel.

They were supposed to give me answers, not the other way around. I mean, what was I paying them for? I deliberately ignored the fact I just hadn’t liked any of the answers they’d given me.

Mutated bugs indeed!

“Montagne out,” I said.

I thumped the arm of my Throne once, angrily.

“Sir?” asked Steiner.

“My armrest was lumpy. Please let me think,” I said shortly.

There was nothing for it. It was get in there, blast them, and get out. Or spend a few days trying to wear down the individual boring beetles and boarding bugs with point defense fire, and probably still end up being boarded. All the while, the Mothership got closer and closer to a habitable planet.

Was that a risk I was willing to take?

The answer was a clear ‘no’, which left me back with unpalatable option one and unpalatable option two.

In the end, I went with space mines followed in by the battleships with the Lucky Clover in the lead. I figured if a super-battleship with incredible point defense levels like the Clover and a full lancer complement couldn’t handle a few boarding bugs, we were in the wrong business. Better we find out now than after we’d committed to multiple engagements all over the various sectors of the Spine.

“Remember, I want the gunboats to follow along right behind us. The rest of the fleet is to hang back and only come in if and when we need help. Otherwise, all I want them to do is circle around the outer circle of boring beetles and boarding bugs and use their lasers to thin them out,” I instructed.

“Aye, Sir,” replied Laurent.

“We’re ready to go in with you, Sir,” said Druid.

“Let’s to this,” I said.

Chapter 37

Hot Cross V - Smash and Grab II

Ahead of us, the majority of the mines went off early as they were sniffed out by the bugs but several got through, lighting off their proximity fuses and blowing large gaping holes in the side of the harvesters.

Nothing reached the Mothership.

“Alright, Mr. DuPont, lead us in,” I said.

“Not a problem, Sir,” the Helmsman said confidently.

At first, everything was smooth sailing and then we started detecting boarding bugs at short range and closing fast.

“Boring beetles are igniting their sub-light engines,” reported Tactical, “engaging point defense!”

First in ones and twos then in a steady drumbeat, plasma balls started shooting out the side of the ships as the plasma cannons slowly stepped up to a continuous rate of fire.

“I didn’t realize there were quite so many of them,” said my First Officer looking a little pale as the first boarding bug splattered against the forward shields.

“Steady on, man,” I instructed.

With the Lucky Clover out front to take the majority of the brunt, the battleships following along behind us were doing better.

Then the sensor team must have recalibrated something because the main-screen updated from one second to the next, going from around a hundred small contacts to now where it was showing over a thousand boarding bugs directly in the path between us and the Mothership.

“Sensors!” I exclaimed.

“Sorry, Sir,” the Sensor Officer said hastily, “we recently discovered the bugs don’t just have one kind of stealth mutation. They have two!”

Wanting to blame all my current woes on the hapless Sensor Officer when I knew darned well if anyone was at fault it had to be me, I glared at the screen and started chewing my lower lip.

We were going to get through this.

Then we were within range of the Clover’s main cannon.

“HPC is charged and ready to fire. We’re just waiting on your order, Sir!” Spalding chortled, clapping the weaponeer on the shoulder in his obvious excitement.

I blinked, realizing the Commodore was back on the bridge only after he spoke.

Then the chain guns started firing.

“Danger close! Danger close! Bugs are starting to penetrate the shields,” reported Tactical as the nose of the Lucky Clover slid into the dense concentration of bugs right between us and the Mothership.

“Fire!” I ordered.

“Firing now,” said Spalding, interrupted halfway through with the sudden thrumming and backward motion that always accompanied the firing of the hyper-plasma cannon.

The glowing streak of superheated materials smashed a streak through the miniature space bugs, struck the front end of the Mothership and vaporized the forward third of the largest bugship in the Swarm.

A wild cheer went up as the Mothership started spewing atmosphere and a gush of deep green into space.

“Do you think we got the Queen?” asked the XO.

“I don’t know and I don’t care. Fire again as soon as she’s charged and finish that Mothership,” I said pumping a fist into the air.

Our next aim destroyed the back end of the Mothership with a glancing hit and then the battleships accompanying the Clover turned as one and unleashed a rolling broadside.

The broadside finished the Mothership, causing it to fall completely apart, spreading out across the battlespace as it also took a bite out of the harvesters.

As if driven insane by the loss of their Queen, the harvesters immediately began firing on everything around them, including each other.

“I think it’s safe to say we got the Queen,” I said with satisfaction. That went a lot easier than expected. Considering the improvements to the individual bugs and the various stealth coatings, I thought the Mothership would prove to be something special.

“Switching targets to the largest surviving harvester,” reported Tactical.

“Rear Admiral Druid indicates his forces will target the rest of the harvesters,” reported Coms.

“We’ve got bugs on the hull!” reported Damage Control.

“Deploy Lancers to clean them off,” I immediately snapped.

Then a thought occurred to me.

“And somebody check on my wife!” I said, looking around wildly and realizing she wasn’t on the bridge.

Even money said she was suited up and about to launch herself on the hull to go fight bugs.

It took less than fifteen minutes to finish off the harvesters and a good chunk of the scouts. With the last major bug asset inside this star system neutralized, I gave the order to withdraw.

The Clover wasn’t the only warship with a bug problem, and now that their head had been cut off and the guts of the Swarm ripped out, the small fry could be swept up at our leisure.

Engines flaring, the battleships followed the Lucky Clover out of the middle of the Swarm, while at the same time our destroyers and cruisers continued to circle around the savaged and devastated Swarm in an ever-tightening circle, lasers firing.

A few hours later, it was all over but the crying.

As many as several hundred stealth beetles and boarding bugs may have escaped the net but everything down to the size of a scout-ship had been destroyed.

Having completed our main mission, I ordered the Fleet back into Hot Cross Prime’s orbit.

Chapter 38

Hot Cross VI – Clean Up and Reward

“I’ve got half a dozen worlds all over the Spine requesting relief. Half of them have already received a copy of our terms and already signed the contract,” reported Steiner.

“Looks like we’re going to be busy for a bit,” I said with relish.

It was not as though the thought of six worlds being attacked by bugs filled me with joy. But being back in battle just seemed to make everything more alive and nothing beat a post-battle win.

Well… one where I didn’t have to stare at a massive casualty list, at least, the thought of which caused me to grimace.

“Good work. Please sort the list for me and prepare options. While you’re at it, could you please get me an updated casualty list,” I said.

Her mood dampened and then she rallied.

“Of course, Sir,” she said simply.

“In the meantime, I have that call with the Prime-Lord ready whenever you are,” she said.

“Put him through,” I said.

“King Jason, please let me be the first to congratulate you on your astounding victory and offer you the gratitude of a grateful star nation. You will go down in Hot Cross history books as the man who saved our world. A legend in your own time,” said Prime-Lord Harkor Fentin of House Mudd with a pleased expression as he verbally lathered me up, and why shouldn’t he?

I mean, I had just saved his homeworld from certain doom. Even if we pulled out right now, while the body count might rise and they could have a hairy moment or two, the odds were they could handle a few dozen scattered boarding bugs and boring beetles. It might be costly but they could do it.

“I’m so glad to hear that, Prime-Lord,” I said with a grin, “you don’t know how worried I was that you weren’t calling to give your congratulations but to give your apologies instead.”

“Apologies?” the Prime-Lord looked taken aback. Realization seemed to dawn.

“Er. I didn’t realize Caprians were so business-minded that they couldn’t take a moment to enjoy the festivities. Our whole world is celebrating our deliverance from a genocidal event,” he chided.

“I always say no time like the present to get the irritating parts of any transaction out of the way,” I said with a grin, “and let me tell you. As soon as your world tenders full payment for services rendered, my spacers are more than ready for me to negotiate a little R&R time so they can go down and take part in those festivities of yours.”

The Prime-Lord’s expression immediately stiffened.

“Er…” he repeated.

“And as a thank you for prompt payment, I am also prepared to detach the same heavy cruiser and two destroyer squadrons that were protecting your homeworld, while the rest of the fleet was away dealing with the Swarm, for a two-week complimentary patrol to help you get your SDF back off the ground and deal with any residual bug sign that might crop up in your star system,” I said, projecting pure happiness at his supposed cooperation.

“And let me assure you that my men are prepared to drop a lot of credits on your planet. You know how spacers are after a battle, they’re ready eager and willing to help kickstart your planetary economy with a good celebration just like the one you already seem to have going,” I finished.

“Yes, with credits we’d have already paid you,” groused the Prime-Lord.

“Don’t be like that. Think of all the children saved and just how many of those credits you oh so wisely spent on defense will be immediately flowing back into your economy,” I scolded mildly.

The Prime-Lord gave me a flat look.

“I was rather expecting, considering your already formidable fee, that a large flotilla or even your entire fleet would take at least a couple weeks to patrol our system in case of a bug resurgence. Not just a cruiser and a couple squadrons of destroyers totaling fewer than ten ships,” said the Prime-Lord.

“Alas, we would, but your world is merely the first in a long list of star systems that desperately need our aid. Every day extra we spend in a star system is another world slashed and burned by the bugs,” I said regretfully, “don’t worry, the system patrol force we leave behind will be more than up to the task.”

The Prime-Lord looked like he’d just tasted something bitter.

“It’s not that we don’t appreciate your effort,” he admitted, “and we certainly want whatever size patrol you can spare. The bigger the better. But the problem is… I guess there’s just no easy way to say it,” he said.

“It’s regarding the payment, isn’t it,” I said sympathetically.

He looked at me with surprise.

“I’m so glad you understand. We can pay part of it now but unfortunately, we just don’t keep that kind of cash on hand,” the Prime-Lord said in relief.

“That’s a real shame,” I sighed.

“Now I know,” he said raising a hand, “that you stipulated all payments be made in Confederation credits. If you’re willing to compromise and accept Hot Cross Bucks in lieu of credits, I think we can work something out,” he said.

And let you monkey around with the exchange rate while you print off enough Bucks to deflate the currency and pay me off at a fraction of what you owe, I thought cynically.

“No Hot Cross Bucks,” I said, silently thinking not just ‘no’ but really no blasted way.

The Prime-Lord splayed his hands helplessly.

“I’m afraid at this time I can only offer you pennies on the dollar then. At best, I can do maybe 15% of the bill up front,” he said.

“This is regretful,” I said, shaking my head.

“I’m sure we can work out some kind of payment plan that will leave all parties satisfied,” Prime-Lord Harkor said.

“I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I’d heard so many good things about your world yet this is the way House Mudd settles its accounts. Regretful. Really regretful,” I said.

“I don’t know what else you expected. You come in here refusing to help us unless we offer you a king’s ransom, and then don’t even check to see if we can pay. If we had it, we’d pay you, I swear. But we don’t have it. We’re too heavily invested right now to have that kind of liquid assets on hand,” Prime-Lord Harkor said looking every inch a man filled with genuine regret.

I wasn’t buying it, not for a minute.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.

“You mean that?” Harkor Fentin of House Mudd looked at me skeptically.

He was right to do so.

“Of course. Pay me what you can now. As soon as you get me the rest of what you owe the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, plus transport fees, then I’ll return the assets I’ll be holding in lieu of your full and complete payment,” I said.

“Assets?” asked the Prime-Lord, his entire affect changing from regretful to suspicious bordering on outraged in an instant.

“But of course! As I said when I first contacted you, please read the contract carefully. As due to our unique hyperdrive, my fleet is capable of removing even the largest system build factory, shipyard or heavy industry in lieu of payment in credits,” I said with a winning smile, “those old fixed assets that would cost too much to disassemble and move to be cost effective can, with the new Montagne transportation system, be transported halfway across the galaxy at a fraction of the previous cost. No disassembly required! Only an increase in hyperfuel consumption by a few orders of magnitude.”

“Unacceptable,” snapped the Prime-Lord, “do you realize that the reason we can’t pay you is exactly because we’ve invested so heavily in our system’s heavy industry? If you take that from us, not only will we be out the original loan amount but our star system won’t have the capability of purchasing another. Our economy, already hard hit by the bugs, will be sent into a tailspin we won’t soon recover from!”

“It’s not like I’m looking to take everything. Just one or two factory complexes,” I said.

“One or two! We only have three orbital factories and one of them was heavily torn up by the bugs,” said the Prime-Lord.

“Yes, we won’t be taking that one. As you say, your star system needs something to rebuild with so you can clear what you owe us. You have my sympathies for finding yourselves in a touchy situation and I promise to do everything I can to make this as painless a transition as possible,” I said.

“Blast your sympathies! You’re consigning millions to a state of permanent poverty with your actions,” raged the Prime-Lord.

“Better poverty than death,” I said bluntly.

The Prime-Lord turned red in the face.

“Now while I realize it isn’t much, if any of your people find themselves out of work with the factories leaving Hot Cross, I will be posting a list of positions we need filled and they can always apply for a job on Tracto where the factories are moving to,” I said piously.

“If you were standing in front of me, I’d spit in your face,” said the Prime-Lord, revealing his true colors at last.

I, on the other hand, continued to play amicable and most importantly, dumb.

“So, you’re saying you don’t want me to leave the in-system patrol? I just want to be clear,” I said.

The Prime-Lord’s cheeks puffed and he looked like he was about to burst.

“No. We need those ships or people will die that didn’t need to,” he said.

“Excellent. It seems there will be no spitting or wriggling out of debts today. I’ll be sure to have the commander of the task group I’m leaving behind coordinate with the head of your SDF,” I said with a nod, “and don’t worry, I’ll leave strict orders to stay the full two weeks so long as they are not maligned as I have been here today,” I added, my eyes boring into the Prime-Lord, “I assure you I am much more sensitive about how my people are treated than I am regarding myself.”

“Hot Cross will extend your patrol every courtesy,” the Prime-Lord bit out, “and we will remember your actions here today, both good and bad.”

“That’s what I want to hear. Make sure your people remember today and remember it well the next time they’re asked to sign a bill or treaty screwing over the men and women who fought to keep your star system free when the Empire was at the gates,” I said coldly.

The Prime-Lord cut the channel.

Later that day, when the Jump Spindles were done charging, we jumped out of Hot Cross star system with not one but two orbital factory complexes, the two newest and least heavily damaged complexes.

Chapter 39

The Bug Campaign II

Over the next two weeks, we fell into a sort of rhythm, jumping from sector to sector using the com-stat network and our Jump Spindles for finding and transporting a rapid response force on site at need.

None of the worlds we went to had a bug infestation as large as the one in Hot Cross; the Confederation and Sector Guards were dealing with most of those, which left us helping out those worlds too small or too politically unconnected to wrangle a boost to their defense force.

The Confederation Flotilla and local Sector Guards could only be so many places at once while the Elder Jump Spindles allowed us to jump all over the place, saving several middle rung worlds that would have otherwise been left uncovered.

We fell into a rhythm jump from our last conquest to our next, and then while the fleet was dealing with Swarms too big for small system defense forces to handle, the Spindles return jumped home to load up on reinforcements and drop off any damaged warships along with the previous star system’s payment. Whatever form that took.

Sometimes, they gave us credits, more often orbital furnaces or other industry; sometimes, I was such a sucker that I loaded up on mineral wealth in the form of processed ores and unprocessed asteroids. I was secretly resolved that I wasn’t going to turn anyone away even if they couldn’t pay but I wasn’t going to let them know that.

They didn’t like the way we did business but we weren’t in the free lunch business any more.

Unfortunately, there were just too many worlds and after the first week I was forced to split the fleet.

Laurent and Druid, reinforced by new ships coming out of Capria, were each assigned a flotilla of ships and sent on separate missions.

While I continued doing what I did, only time would tell if it was going to be enough.

Chapter 40

Akantha Meets Elaine Three Feathers

“I want to do something nice for Jason since he’s been so busy lately,” said Akantha.

“Are you sure you’re not trying to make up for something?” Elaine asked.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Akantha said, lifting her nose.

“Really? I heard that someone went out onto the hull to fight space bugs in Hot Cross and is still trying to sneak out to play in every star system since,” Elaine said slyly.

Akantha frowned.

“It was only the one battle, for old time’s sake. I’m a mother now; I can’t afford to go running into every battle that presents itself. Especially not when there are so very many of them,” she said.

“The fact bugs haven’t made it onto the hull since Hot Cross has nothing to do with it, of course,” Elaine nodded seriously.

Akantha looked at her in irritation.

“I didn’t come here to talk about me. I wanted to do something nice for Jason,” she reminded her mother-in-law.

“Of course, dear. What were you thinking?” asked Elaine, taking a sip of her tea.

“I was thinking it might be nice to kill King James before our next anniversary. Consider it a nice memento and a well-deserved action rolled into one,” she said bloodthirstily.

The tea cup in mother-in-law’s hand returned to its saucer with an audible click.

“You had to know you’d find a receptive audience here considering the latest turn of events back home. The question is why. Why now?” she asked, eyes sharp as she took in the younger woman.

“I dislike the idea of a male in the line of succession on general principle, but what I like even less is the notion of someone murdering one of my sons because they’re all that stands between them and a throne,” Akantha said coldly.

“Jason’s still very much alive so your sons should be fine. I honestly don’t know if I can help you with this,” Elaine said uneasily.

Akantha picked up her own tea and took a small sip.

“How is Duncan feeling?” she said, seemingly changing the subject.

“He’s doing quite well, all things considering. He’s still in therapy but Doctor Presybter prescribed a full treatment regime and he should make a complete recovery. That was also a low blow, my dear,” said Elaine.

“You’re a mother, should is not good enough when it comes to the safety of your child or in my case, children and, yes, you can. I know you have information, contacts, all unknown to Tracto. Just find him for me and I can take care of the rest,” Akantha ordered.

“You think I don’t despise James Vekna? That I’m inclined by some merciful nature to let the attack on Duncan and me go just like that?” she snapped her fingers, “I don’t have that authority, dear. I never did,” Elaina said, leaning back.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Akantha said with disappointment.

She leaned back in her chair, adjusting her seat for better comfort.

“My old battlesuit just doesn’t fit as well as it used to,” Akantha complained.

Elaine lifted an eyebrow with amusement.

“Pregnancy and motherhood will do that sometimes. Why don’t you check with the ship’s armorer, a new fitting might be in order,” she suggested.

“I was back in power armor right after I gave birth and I didn’t have any of these problems,” she growled.

“Then I don’t know what to tell you,” Elaine said with amusement.

“MEN!” Akantha swore, “it’s all these years of easy living. No wars. No rebellion. Hardly an assassination attempt worthy of the name. Prosperity; this is what it breeds.”

“So, should I let the armorer know you’re coming?” asked Elaine.

Akantha gave her a flat look.

“Fine,” she said.

“Of course, dear. Now is there anything I could do for you or was this purely a social visit? Minus the little disagreement concerning the King of course,” she asked.

“Not so little,” Akantha said, relaxing in her chair, “and there is something you can do. You can relay a message.”

“Oh?” Elaine’s ears perked up.

“Yes. Please inform your sisters that Tract Two has decided to restart the resurrection process,” she said, picking up a cookie and taking a bite.

Elaine stiffened.

“Remind your sister,” she said waving the cookie in the air, “that their King is replaceable. He’s not even Tract One like Jason. In our consideration, nothing can stand in the way of our god’s return and I won’t have some rabid spit-monkey lurking in the background, waiting to strike and potentially uncovering something the wider galaxy is not yet ready to understand.”

“That’s why I’m invoking prime override authority. Pull him from the shadows so I can send a priestess to eliminate him,”’ said Akantha, shoving the rest of the cookie into her mouth.

“You realize yours is not the first attempt to bring him back? The three-for-one society has tried over the centuries since the fall,” she advised.

“We know and we don’t care. Where you failed, there’s no reason to think we can’t succeed. Not if we are willing to build upon the good work your sisterhood has already done, as we are,” she said bluntly.

“We have the swords of power and access to several monuments and repositories your sisterhood may not. Trying is not a slander against your tract. If we failed to even try, that would be the real slur against our god,” Akantha said with certainty.

“I will relay your message,” Elaine said after a minute, “but I must advise, you are walking perilously close to abusing your authority for personal ends and that is how many in the sisterhood will see it.”

“Thank you and I don’t see what’s wrong with a High Priestess looking to the needs of her god’s people at the same time she’s dealing with higher affairs,” Akantha smiled and picked up another cookie.

She took a bite.

“These are really good cookies,” she said with real appreciation.

“I have another plate we can have, while waiting on the hot-cross buns I have in the oven,” she paused, “and I’ll see what I can do,” said Jason’s mother, handing over the plate and then moving to a communications panel, “you know I picked up the recipe on Hot Cross itself. It’s supposedly a system famous recipe. They were inordinately proud of it,” she continued, tapping away on the com-console.

“Have you heard where our next target is?” asked Akantha, sniffing as the thick tempting smell of baked goods started to permeate the apartment.

“Officer Laurent’s been assigned to Pleasurance in Sector 22 and Rear Admiral Druid’s still tied up somewhere in Sector 27,” said Elaine.

“I thought that was just supposed to be a quick assignment?” asked Akantha.

“Turns out another three star systems nearby have been targeted,” Elaine said with a sigh.

She finished with the com-console and returned to the sofa.

“Leaving the Fleet with the choice of three different core-worlds,” she said, “Fannin’s System, Paradise Lost and, uh, The People’s New Tibet III.”

“All core-worlds? And screaming for help I presume,” Messene’s Hold-Mistress said derisively.

“You’re letting your contempt for them shine through, even if you presume correctly, Akantha,” Elaine warned lightly.

“And why should I moderate myself?” Akantha asked, clearly irked, “where were they when Tracto was spending its blood and treasure to drive back the Empire? When Jason was exiled? When the Sector Governors placed a tariff on trillium imports from Tracto, each individual governor, bringing the effective price of our hyperfuel to the point old Confederation fuel providers could outbid us in the open market? When…,” she cut herself off, “if it were just my decision, I would demand as little as he did. Jason is far too kind to a people that show no kindness to us,” she said savagely.

“It’s fine to whine a little in private but just remember, not in public. The media can scent scandal half a sector away and zero in on it,” warned Elaine.

“They cut our throats with trade, turn around and tell us it’s our duty as fair-minded people of good character to save them from the demon sky bugs, and I’m the one who needs to guard her tongue? I think you forget Tracto is not Capria. It is also not a part and portion of the old Confederation that they can dictate their code of behavior on a Hold-Mistress of Tracto,” Akantha said with outrage.

“They could have blockaded your world, sent an invasion to overwhelm your people with sheer numbers, forcefully taken your trillium and integrated Tracto’s people into the intra-galactic community and declared Jason an intra-galactic criminal. Making you helpless bystanders in your own homeworld. There are far worse fates than Exile and trade restrictions,” she said.

“Over my dead body! I’d like to see them try to take our world from us!” Akantha snapped.

“With a million-strong planetary garrison and so determined a billion new colonists within two years, mark my words you’d soon find yourself a minority on your own world. A mere speck in a veritable sea of humanity,” Elaine rebutted, “I don’t think you understand the full gravity of the situation your people find themselves in. The sisterhood has seen it before. Worlds full of survivors placed in restricted zones called reservations where they could be safely left to wither and die, while the rest of your world was actively built up and exploited.”

Akantha narrowed her eyes.

“Maybe you’ll outlast them, you think. Build up your strength and attack when they’re weak and least expecting it? But who will follow you? New generation of young native Tractoans seduced by the luxuries of the outside world, paid for by your own mineral wealth? Unlikely,” Elaine said brutally, “in many ways, we are both fortunate your people were not forced to join the Confederation at gunpoint and if you think the Sisterhood took no action to ensure your world and the ancient repositories of secret knowledge they contain were spared such a fate, think again.”

“Jean Luc’s invasion and conquest of Tracto?” Elaine sighed, “that was a mere taste of what modern warfare has to offer, done on a shoestring budget with a small manpower base,” she added, “you’ve seen but a tithe of what the wider galaxy has to offer, my dear,” she said, reaching over and patting Akantha’s hand.

Akantha withdrew her hand.

“You paint a grim picture of what could have been but our people are still here, unbowed and stronger than ever,” she said with icy determination, “and I aim to see that continue until ours is a world not so easily dismissed as he has been in the past. Starting with the death of James Vekna.”

“I’d hoped you’d decided to move on from that,” Elaine said.

“Never. With or without your assistance, James Vekna will shuffle off his mortal coil and move onto his eternal reward… oblivion. A man like that cannot threaten my children and live,” said Akantha.

“You’re aware this attack on you wasn’t the latest attempt? That he sent an assassin to murder my children in their beds and not just once,” she said.

“I’ll see what I can do and I am not entirely without resources myself, understand,” said Elaine.

The two women shared a look of mutual understanding.

Chapter 41

A Queen’s Eye View

Inside her mobile hive mound, the Bug Queen carefully observed the screen placed in front of her oculars. Was their time of exile and hardship, the only things she and her Swarm had ever known, about to end?

For long minutes, she carefully ruminated using small manipulators to look first this way and that at the small world on the screen. Then, almost as if by accident, her front manipulator touch activated the zoom function and the world she was looking at grew until it dominated the screen.

All around the front of her massive bulk, the hive Primes and specialized brain bugs focused on her, waiting in anticipation for her carefully-guided decision.

For while her decisions were near absolute, it was the Primes and brain bugs that decided which information was necessary for the Queen to receive to make those decisions and which were not.

Slowly, her abdomen began to swell in response to the sight of the rich green world with all that biomass.

The Primes-stirred claws and manipulators started clacking in anticipation.

The Queen suddenly screeched, angry, inquisitive, wanting to know the level of expected Swarm resistance to expect. It was long in the past before she was even a sub-queen but this Queen remembered a time when the hive before this had been broken and the survivors shattered.

It was the reason she had been able to rise in status, eventually metamorphosing into a Queen and she had no desire to lose everything she had worked so long and hard to build, just so she could die and another genetic competitor might rise and take her place. The mere thought of it was enough to trigger an instinctive release of suppressive hormones throughout the hive.

In response to her query, a pair of primes stepped forward, each releasing an acrid burst of pheromones, as they chittered to the Queen and then at each other.

Their consensus was that what the hive needed most right now was the production of more warriors and a few more workers to help harvest the biomass the warriors were going to secure.

Slightly mollified, the Queen eyed her two primes before screeching at the brain bugs for confirmation.

In response, the brain bugs rubbed their manipulators together, creating a soothing harmony and signaling their group agreement of the Prime’s assessment.

But there was one slightly discordant sound within the brain bug group as one of their number fiddled a different tune.

At their Queen’s signal, a trio of enforcers swarmed over the discordant brain bug, dragging him within range of the Queen’s manipulators.

The brain bug quailed.

Once again, the Queen screeched an interrogative.

Eventually, the brain bug straightened and sang its discordant worries to the Queen as she began to swell with fury, causing the rest of the brain bugs to immediately begin another soothing song.

The Queen was drifting dangerously off track. What was important right now was going down, digging deep and securing that rich source of biomass just at the tantalizing edge of their sensory organs.

Even the Primes started to join in with the brain bugs in an effort to soothe the Queen. After a minute, her eyes began to cloud and she seemed to droop.

Once again, the prime, calling for more masses of warrior bugs released a burst of pheromones and the Queen’s abdomen started to pulse. At the other end of her giant bulk in another room of the ship, nursemaid drones without the capability of genetic advancement began to receive a glut of new eggs.

The bugs facing the Queen received the notification and began to relax, the Primes leaving the harmony entirely as the brain bugs slowed their soothing tune.

In that exact moment, the Queen reared up to her full height and snagged the forward-most lead brain bug, the head of their chorus, with her forward manipulators.

The brain bug chorister screamed and squealed, twisting in her grip as the Queen drew the bug into her constantly heavy maw and crunched down on his head. As the deep rich brain matter of the brain bug entered her mouth, the Queen’s eyes sharpened and she glared around with fury at her mutinous advisors. Lifting her head, she swallowed the brain bug whole.

Releasing a gas-filled belch, the Queen cast around the room with reddened eyes. With an angry chirrup, she summoned her primes, ignoring the now quelled and quiet brain Bugs entirely.

When the now cowed primes and brain bugs left the room, they weren’t just short of one brain bug; they were also short of a prime. At the rear of the ship, the birthing chambers began to fill with more than just the workers and warriors previously requested. Two small clutches of genetically-specialized eggs were laid, nearly causing the nursemaid bugs to go wild as they lavished additional care on them.

After the glut of eggs slowed to a trickle, the Bug Queen began to grunt and groan. Two days later, one giant egg, nearly the size of the Queen’s entire abdomen, was birthed. It was immediately moved to the front of the Mothership and placed in a specially-prepared birthing chamber where it would alternately be exposed to bulk nutrients, trace metals, and the vacuum of cold space.

It was a seed that would grow into another harvester. Whether it was heavy, medium or light would depend on the nutrients it received as well as the directing intelligence assigned to it, a directing intelligence already laid inside one of those two special clutches of eggs.

Her primes and brain bugs might have become complacent, seeing only all of that rich, green, easily digestible biomass, but the Queen was a wily veteran of past conquests and she intended to consume everything in her path.

Over the next week, her Swarm was tested, taking serious losses among its scouts and harvesters before finally overcoming the system defenders trying to resist the hive.

When the first succulent taste of the world her scouts had found reached the eager maw of the Queen was pure bliss.

Nearly driven mad by the sweet taste of the world below them, the Queen crazily started pumping out more eggs to replace her lost scouts and harvesters even as she drove her Swarm deeper and deeper into its gravity well.

Soon it would be time to turn her roving Swarm into a full-blown planetary hive!

When the first harvester crash landed on the surface killing its guiding intelligence and destroying its brooding chambers the canny and wily experienced Bug Queen resisted the siren call of the planet as long as she could and didn’t immediately attempt to land her Mothership.

But as her spawn began to overrun the world, reproducing in a joyous spasm releasing clutch after clutch into the world and the cry of a new born sub-queen started to interfere with the smooth operation of her Swarm the incensed queen ordered a landing.

Chapter 42

Paradise Lost

“Blast it all! I’m showing stage four bug sign on the planet, Sir,” the Sensor Officer said with a stricken expression.

“Any radio transmissions?” Tactical asked sharply.

The Com-Officer looked sick.

“I’m reading 0.5% of the transmissions I would normally expect to receive from a fully inhabited planetary body of this size,” he reported.

“Surely, you’d expect there to be lowered transmissions after the bugs took out the orbital satellite array,” argued the First Officer.

“I would. This is after accounting for satellite array degradation to its current level,” agreed the Com-Officer.

He swallowed.

“From monitoring the current com-traffic levels I estimate there are only a few hundred thousand souls left alive on Paradise Lost.”

There was a long moment of silence as I and the rest of the bridge crew digested that statement.

“Admiral?” my Chief of Staff looked at me imploringly.

I evaded her eyes.

“How advanced is the surface invasion,” I asked steeling myself for an answer I didn’t like.

“It’s bad, Sir,” my Tactical Officer said gravely.

“I know it’s bad,” I said irritably, “what I want are specifics.”

“Specifically… it’s bad enough I doubt we could send in retrieval forces fast enough to evacuate even 5 percent of the survivors before half the remaining survivors had been eaten, Sire,” Tactical said after a moment.

“You’ve anticipated my next question,” I said keeping my face neutral at this latest blow. I’d become more confident in letting my people see the real me over the years but at times like this it was good to keep your real emotions hidden.

“We can’t just let them die,” Commander Steiner protested but although she started off strong she ended weak, already sounding like she feared the worst.

I wonder what that said about her confidence in our fleet and me as her commander.

“The real question is how many lancers are we willing to risk to save them,” I asked rhetorically.

“Yes, that is a very good question, Sire,” Tactical said.

My chief of staff, first officer and several other offers joined him in staring at me expectantly.

I huffed out a quiet breath. As usual all the hard questions went straight to the top. Then again that’s why they paid me the big bucks.

Under the weighty gazes of my bridge team I took an irritation filled minute to weigh my options. If I did nothing I looked like an uncaring despot. On the other hand were I to send lancers down to the surface to save people every one of my men’s deaths would be on my head. On yet another hand… Paradise Lost was technically lost to humanity because no one had been able to come with a fleet in time to save her, if we spent a significant amount of time here saving a handful of lives while millions more and another planet was lost could I live with myself?

I was in the unhappy juxtaposition of several factors none of them at all what I had hoped to be dealing with when I jumped into this star system: a lost world, people being eaten and working under a time crunch.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” I said finally, “we’ll make one pass, clear out the bugs still in orbit, and drop shuttles. Communications and sensors will have to coordinate with tactical and the lancer departments. We can’t afford to get stuck here but every day we spend is another day we’re not out saving a world that still has a chance to live.”

“That’s a hard call, Sire. I’m honestly glad you’re the one making it not me,” said my XO.

I blinked.

“If you’re hoping for a ship command of your own someday you need to ready yourself to make those kind of calls,” I advised him.

He nodded seriously.

“I’m not saying I would not make such a call just that I’m glad you’re here. It’s not easy deciding who lives and who dies, Sire,” he said.

“You’re right,” I said because it wasn’t. It wasn’t fun at all.

“How long of a pass are we going make, Sir?” asked DuPont breaking into the conversation.

I scowled in thought.

“I’d say as long as it takes our jump spindles to charge back up except they’re already charging for a return to capria,” I said sucking a tooth.

I waved a hand irritably.

“Let’s aim for twelve hours but no longer than twenty four. That’ll give us time to wrap things up here and return for a pick up in the outer system,” I decided.

Someone behind me, a very feminine someone, made a noise of protest.

I looked back at my chief of staff.

“Who am I going to leave, Lisa?” I asked quietly, “there are bugs all throughout this system. If I detach a small patrol odds are they’ll be attacked and forced to flee or else be eaten by the bugs. A larger group and why not leave the whole fleet? If I spread us out in too many penny packets it’ll take too long to pick everyone back up if there’s a major threat that needs the whole fleet.”

“But, Sir, it’s just that, how can we turn our backs and just leave when we’re right here and if we leave they don’t have a chance….” she said sadly.

“This is not our fault. Not yours. Not mine and definitely not these peoples. No one knew there was someone so maniacal, so evil or so despotic that they wouldn’t take no for an answer and rain down a plague of bugs on billions of innocent people,” I said savagely.

“This is not our fault people. We’re just here to clean up the mess. We’ll save as many lives along the way as we can but if we’re only able to save a handful of survivors before we move on that’s what we’ll do. Because if we don’t, millions more will die,” I finished coldly.

“Aye aye, Sir,” my offers chorused around me.

As our fleet approached the planet a small horde of scouts and scout marauders rose up to meet us. Laser flashed in response and hundreds of scouts fell back into orbit trailing fire as they burned up on reentry.

After the mass lift off a few more popped up in ones and twos which we easily dealt with. Other than the few bugships here and there and a small harvester that must have got lost and landed on a moon the vast majority of the bugs seemed to have already landed on the planet.

“Release shuttles,” Shepherd instructed when our fleet reached the appropriate launch point.

I watched as part of the fleet detached into a series of small task groups mainly a group of destroyers centered around a cruiser, each holding position over a group of shuttles away on a rescue mission while the rest of the fleet continued its stately orbit around the planet.

Every hour or so a group of shuttles would launch from the shuttle bays of a battleship and a corresponding task group would fall back with them until they entered atmosphere whereupon they would take up a geosynchronous holding pattern and provide orbital suppressing fire and cover.

It sucked but today the MSP arrived too late to save the day.

“Do you want to initiate an orbital bombardment of the planet?” Tactical asked.

“And waste any more time?” I asked and shook my head, “no we’re investing enough into this black hole of a star system already. Paradise Lost indeed, this planet is totally and completely lost that’s for sure.”

“Do we have an exit plan, Sire?” he asked.

“The sector can deal with it. No one here’s paying them anything they’re all dead, except for the few we’re saving, and can’t care any longer. Let the local star systems pull their heads out of their shells and drop an orbital bombardment or get the Sector Governor to do it for them. Either way we’ll only be back here if and when someone pays us to do it. We’re in the business of saving star systems not cleansing them once they’re already lost,” I paused.

“Not that I’m morally opposed to coming back and finishing these bugs after the rest of the Bug Campaign is over,” I allowed.

“That’s cold, Sir,” interjected my First Officer.

“That’s reality,” I riposted, “we’re here to save the living. Not burn a giant funeral pyre of bugs to mourn the dead.”

In total we liberated 10,378 citizens of Paradise Lost. I was rather proud that more than half of them were your average Joe-blow and Jane Doe, considering most of the surface transmission were from hardened bunkers built by government or corporate interest.

Chapter 43

LeGodat vs. Rear Admiral McCruise

“It’s good to see you, Colin,” said the uniformed fleet officer after she entered the Confederation Fleet’s rehabilitation facility.

The man forcing his body to move as he held on tightly with two hands to a pair of metal poles looked up.

“I see the Fleet has been treating you well in my absence, Synthia,” he said taking in the extra pounds and pointedly looking at her new shoulder boards.

“Jealousy, Colin? I would have thought you above that sort of thing considering you were placed in charge at Wolf-9 by dint of a few days seniority. I guess it’s true how they say people change,”

“Yes, they do,” LeGodat said dryly and looked down at the lower half of his body and then back up to the Rear Admiral.

Synthia McCruise’s lips tightened.

“No one doubts your sacrifice. Perhaps I was a little harsh,” she said not sounding as if she necessarily agreed with her last statement.

“Maybe,” Colin LeGodat said working to take another agonizing step.

Sweating bullets he looked over to see McCruise staring at him with a haunted look her eyes.

“Don’t worry about me. This is just another price of the service,” Colin LeGodat informed her.

The haunted look in her eyes disappeared.

“It’s a risk we all take, Officer LeGodat,” she said nodding and speaking formally as if to put some distance between her and him.

“Feeling nervous in the service,” Colin LeGodat asked mouth twisting.

“I don’t think that’s called for,” she said.

“You’re probably right,” he said after a moment.

Neither one spoke for a moment.

“What do you need, Synthia,” he asked after the silence had grown uncomfortably long.

She frowned.

“Do I need a reason to see a man I served alongside for several years?” asked the hatchet faced woman.

“It’s been two years. I’ve seen lots of officers and crew from my former command come in and out of those halls,” he said jerking a thumb over his shoulder, “but while I heard you came by to visit those first few weeks, this is the first time in the almost two years since I’ve been awake that I’ve seen you for myself,” he said.

“I did want to visit you at first but I honestly became too busy and then….,” she took a breath, “it has been too long since I came by. You’re right to call me on that,” she said raising a hand to stop any interruptions, “but you’re not wrong when you said I had ulterior motivations. I’m here as, I hope, still a friend but I’m also here in my rear admiral’s hat.”

“I doubt I can be of much help to, Rear Admiral Synthia McCruise, in my current circumstances but I’m always available for advice and as a sounding board for an old colleague,” Colin LeGodat demurred.

Synthia McCruise frowned.

“You’re a good man, Colin. I know how you must feel, all things taken into consideration, but you’re wasting yourself in this place. Why don’t you come serve with me,” she offered.

He took a breath.

“Serve with you? Don’t you mean work for you? Besides I was of the understanding I had a good 6 months of rehab left before all the new neural connections in my lower body had been reconnected and I’d built up sufficient muscle tone to get out of this place. I honestly doubt there’s much I could do for you even in a staff position,” he said.

“You’re not wrong when you say I want you to join my team and that would mean working for me but this is not a strictly mercenary action on my part. I’ve assured that if you agree to cooperate with my command I’ve been told we can cut your rehabilitation time in half or better with top of the line military treatments and you can receive those treatments onboard a starship. To my eyes that’s a win-win-win,” she observed pacing back and forth beside him.

“No more lounging around in a fleet base body shop and risk being placed back on reserve status after your rehabilitation program is over but a real honest to Murphy fleet assignment,” she said.

Colin LeGodat’s lips tightened.

“You mean those top of the line treatments reserved for flag and pennant officers, you know the ones ranked Commodore or above?” he asked derisively, “I’ll be honest I don’t see how much good another Commander will do you, even if they agree to put me back on my feet and give me a ship command of my own, let alone having me work for you as some sort of glorified staff officer, which was never my strength.”

“I think you underestimate yourself,” McCruise cajoled, “and while I realize a bump to Commander wasn’t what you were expecting after waking up back inside the Confederation after working to hold the line like we did but considering all of Jason Montagne’s appointments, promotions and performance reviews were placed into question, understand, it wasn’t the worst that could have happened.”

“I don’t know about that but you seem to have done well enough for yourself, Rear Admiral,” he said once again glancing her shoulder boards, “maybe that’s the sour grapes speaking though.”

Synthia McCruise’s expression flattened

“I think it is. But I can see how a man used to commanding an entire star system, cut off from higher command for years at a time, might feel that way. I’d hoped you were better than that but waking up from a battle to find your body badly damaged, command dispersed and temporarily elevated rank reduced under a political cloud back home could wear on anyone so, I’ll agree we should let the comment pass,” she said firmly.

She ran a hand through her hair.

“Let me put this to you a different way. If you play ball I can guarantee a return to Captain rank and a ship command before our deployment is over and that’s just to start. Play your cards right, if we clean up this mess that I’m looking at and if you’re willing to take a tour in a more administrative post Commodore is not entirely out of the question for you once more,” she said dangling the possibility of both a command, a promotion and possibly a return to his previous rank before him.

“Play ball? Do you mean like the politicians told me to play ball and manipulate my sworn testimony until white was black and night was day that kind of ball?” he asked curiously.

“If you’re determined to sit out on your tree all alone, cutting off limbs I can’t stop you,” McCruise said patiently.

“Because you know when I refused to do that the first time they busted me back to commander and they denied me top of the line treatments I might have had right from the beginning, I didn’t’ budge,” he continued ignoring her, “what makes you think I’ll suddenly start dancing to their tune now, instead of say giving them an even bigger middle finger than before?” he asked honestly curious.

“It’s that exact attitude that nearly got the entire Easy Haven command relieved of duty!” McCruise finally lost her cool, “do you know how hard I had to work to keep a lot of good people from committing career suicide? The number of egos I had to stroke and favors I had to trade! And here you are doing your darndest to make things worse.”

“To what? Save the careers of you and your followers?” he asked dispassionately, “my heart bleeds, Rear Admiral but you seem to be doing fine.”

“No you stupid ass! I and those you term ‘my followers’ who were part of your command just like the rest of us are doing just fine! It was the rest of the personnel, the ones who wavered or who would have wavered and might have agreed with you, swallowing Jason Montagne’s line, hook, line and sinker straight into mutiny and treason if given half a chance, that I’m worried about,” she shouted.

“Yelling at a sick man during the middle of his therapy,” said Colin LeGodat, “now there’s the real representation of truth, reason and the Confederation way.”

“That sort of attitude is exactly why I haven’t come here and restricted access as much as I could,” McCruise said angrily, “just agree to join my command already. Hate me all you want privately and that’s fine. You made command decisions I disagreed with, strongly, but I followed you into the blender and back out again. Now if you would please do me the same courtesy and after you’ve been restored to the your previous rank you can go right back to fighting me, the Fleet or the entire political establishment if that’s what gets you your jollies. But at least give me the same respect I gave you all those years ago in the Spineward Sectors.”

LeGodat cheeks puffed out.

“You must really need me for something big if you’re ready to pull out all the stops like this. What’s the mission and why exactly do you need me, a broken down former Commodore, and don’t just feed me a line that it’s too repay a favor or return me to a former rank I supposedly deserve because one I don’t buy it and two I’m not sure I’m ready to climb back into the Confederation fleet harness just yet, if ever again,” he said with a flinty look in his eyes.

Synthia McCruise drummed her fingers along the metal pole beside his hand.

“Why are you being so obtuse,” she growled.

“Maybe because you took everything we worked for and threw it away! You say Jason Montagne’s illegitimate? Well he’s also the only reason seven sectors of the Spine are still a part of the Confederation! Do you honestly think the Empire was just going to hand those sectors back to the Confederation after they were all but directly sold to them? And where were you? Running back home abandoning everything we fought, bled and died for. The Confederation citizens of the Spine!” he exclaimed almost losing his grip and slipping off the bars.

Reclaiming his grip he started angrily forced his legs to move and started walking down the bars.

McCruise waited for the tension to die down before restarting the conversation.

“I think Charles Thomas and the Confederation Fleet that went with him would have a little bit to say in response to your ‘only reason’ but I’m not here to argue about Jason Montagne of all people with you. Whatever I think about him he’s not the hero you seem to think but I digress,” she said sternly.

“You want the truth? Here it is. There’s another crisis in an area you are intimately familiar with. Or at least as familiar with as anyone currently in the heartland,” she said finally.

“Stop playing coy, it doesn’t suit you. You mean the Spineward Sectors,” he said coldly, deciding to play her game, “but I’ll bite. I’m familiar with the area, although if we’re being brutally honest you’re just as or even more familiar with the region than I am all things considered,” he said tilting his chin toward his legs and thinking of all the time he’d been unconscious, “so what gives. What’s this crisis you can’t seem to solve without me?”

Her nose wrinkled.

“There’s bug sign in the Spineward Sectors, Commander,” Synthia McCruise said formally and drawing herself up in a way that made her seem more a rear admiral than ever before in this conversation, “and the Confederation needs your help. Your familiarity with the region, your command ability and your ability to inspire others, as evidenced by your time in command of the Wolf-9 starbase, all indicate to me and my supporters in the admiralty you are the man we need.”

“Bugs? In the Spine?” he asked quizzically, “surely we have more than enough forces on hand to deal with them now the Spine has returned to the Confederation for more than two years now,” he paused, “unless all that’s a lie too about the large redeployment of military assets. But regardless by the time we could gather a fleet and get there any bugs you’ve spotted would have already struck and been dealt with by the forces on hand or,” he continued grimly, “have already consumed the entire population and started on the biosphere.”

“Making this more a political wave the flag tour than a legitimate fleet operation,” he continued thinking things through.

Synthia McCruise ran a hand through her hair.

“If only it were that simple. What you say might be true if we were only seeing bugs hitting a world or two there’s been bug sign all over the region. Right now, all signs point to even more worlds being attacked than have confirmed sightings yet,” she said.

“All over the Spine?” he questioned, “the bugs are a sub-light menace, one that never spread that deeply into the Spineward Sectors in the first place. The few cases we had were always suspected of being introduced there by intelligent design and by that I mean post AI intelligent design…,” he frowned and then a dawning realization, “we always blamed the old AI’s for leaving them behind as some kind of failed ‘Operation You Lose’ event.”

“One where even though the human resistance won we’d lose but if there’s suddenly a mass of coordinated attacks in some kind of timed event, AI’s can’t reasonably be the cause,” his eyes cut to her sharply, “which only leaves a coordinating ‘human’ intelligence as the most likely origin point.”

“The Confederation is not yet ready to speculate as to the origin of this latest rash of bug attacks. Only respond to and quash it with overwhelming force,” she warned.

“You realize they’ve done it again, don’t you? There’s only one authority in human space with both a grudge to bear against the Spine and the resources to pull off something as coordinated as this,” he said ignoring the warning.

“Don’t go there, Commander,” she said flatly, “there are any number of potential bad actors on the Rim that could be behind this latest move, if it’s really a coordinated action in the first place.”

“Has the bureaucracy really got its hooks into you that deep, Synthia?” he asked shaking his head.

“I can list at least three organizations on the Rim with the means, motives and resources to pull off an attack of this magnitude off the top of my head, Colin,” she replied in a cutting voice.

“You’re still failing to mention the most likely cause, the Empire. It doesn’t like to lose, Rear Admiral. I’d think you’d have realized this by now,” LeGodat said pointedly, “just look at what they did to us. To you and me, Synthia! When they ‘Withdrew’ from the Confederated Empire, they weren’t above leaving a waste land seven sectors wide behind them on the way out as you and I saw personally in our little corner of the Spine.”

“Are you looking to start a war we can’t win? The Confederation is not prepared to engage in the same sort of speculation as you are, Colin. And what you may say privately to an old friend is something very different than what you as a Confederation Officer are authorized to say,” she said sharply.

“Political double-speak and threats? You can do better than that, Rear Admiral,” he said.

“You want my opinion? Fine, I’m not some kind of robot. Personally and speaking strictly off the record, I think Droids, Pirates or even, and I know you don’t want to hear it, the Tractoan System Defense Force, are all much more viable candidates for this attack. Possessing not only the means, motive and an axe to grind with the Spine, but the kind of close proximity that would make such a mass of attacks all much more likely than some kind of imperial scheme,” she said.

“You’re dreaming if you think Admiral Montagne would ever order such a thing. As for pirates don’t make me laugh,” he shook his head.

“I know you don’t want to hear this but your Little Admiral has changed, Colin. And like the Imperial Ambassador himself pointed out, the last person to use bugs in a military campaign was not the Empire. It was your much-vaunted Little Admiral himself. If he’ll use them once then why not again?” she demanded.

Colin LeGodat looked at her with a question in his eye.

“For one thing, he’s not even claiming to be an Admiral anymore, he went and made himself King of his old homeworld,” she said.

LeGodat shrugged as best a man holding onto a pair of rails can do.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get off these monkey bars and sit down somewhere more civilized,” he said with a gasp of relief as the waiting hover-chair came back under his legs, allowing him to sit down.

“Of course,” she said, following him over to a waiting area.

“You were saying something about how he’s King now? I have to admit, for a man two years out of the loop, that doesn’t sound that unlikely for the Hero of the New Confederation,” LeGodat asked after they had transferred and he could sit back with relief, “and yes, before you ask, I’d heard about him using the bugs. While I don’t condone it, they were used against strictly military targets in an uninhabited star system already labeled with a plague status.”

“Hero, my backside,” Synthia McCruise said bluntly, “I can’t believe you’re still covering for the man. I don’t care if he thought the Empire turned those bugs loose on Tracto. Using those kinds of weapons makes you just as bad as the people you claim attacked you with them in the first place! And that New Confederation nonsense was nothing but treason disguised as virtue and a bad dream destined to fail as soon as it hit reality, all rolled up into one.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Now we will never know about the New Confederation, that’s for sure,” he said.

Her lips tightened.

“Listen to yourself. You may like to believe your Little Admiral is as pure as the driven snow, but he is now openly defying the terms of his exile to go fight the bugs and, by extension, breaching the very treaty that returned the Spine back to the Confederation,” she said.

“Hardly suspicious on its own, Synthia. You may have never liked him but Admiral Montagne, King or not, was never one for strictly following protocol when lives were on the line. You say we don’t have the forces to deal with it? Well, there you have your answer,” he said firmly, “and don’t blow sunshine at me. I know you didn’t come down here to talk politics with me. A broken-down old former Commodore with questionable politics can’t be needed simply for his supposed command and administrative abilities.”

“The truth is, we need you because while Commodore Hammer’s command stuck together—or in a few cases went off to a series of well-deserved retirements—the Easy Haven group was split, riven right down the middle. The group that disagreed with my decision to actively avoid courting treason and leave the Spine, has for the most part been placed on reserve status and mostly kept close to hand, incase their… questionable loyalties force them to act,” she said.

“This is not sounding like the Confederation you and I fought so hard to protect,” Colin said sardonically.

“Which in its own way has turned out to be a blessing all things considered,” she continued mulishly, waving her hands in the air, “just listen to me. Right now we’re short-handed and all 7 Sectors of the Spine are screaming for a relief fleet.

“With you as my second in command, rehabilitating those thousands of potentially disaffected Easy Haven fleet personnel is now possible. Not just possible but entirely probable. This is our window. We can fix things. Return to the Spine together in a righteous cause, save billions of lives and for a nice little cherry on top remove the pall our disunity has cast us all under since our return once and for all. Even the most ardent critic will be forced to put aside their past grudges but only if you will just get out of that chair and put the good of the Fleet and our own people first, this one last time.”

“So that’s what this is,” LeGodat said emotionlessly, “the job offer. The emotional plea. It’s the same game as last time. You want to use me to play fleet politics, clear everyone’s names and at the same time I’m sure use mine to springboard your career to the next level.”

“I’m playing politics? So what. This is still a good cause,” she said harshly.

“Do you want the honest truth?” she asked not sounding like she cared if he answered or not at this point.

Colin crossed his arms.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s Montagne or the Empire that’s done this. People are going to die and I’m not ready to stand around pointing fingers while people are eaten,” she said bluntly, “your offended that I’m going to come out this looking good if I can get you out of therapy and back into the fleet? Tell that to the people being eaten and see how much they care. Get over yourself. The people need you. I need you and your former crew definitely needs you. It’s time to act.”

“You still haven’t sold me on Montagne as some kind of secret evil mastermind,” said LeGodat arms still crossed, “you need me to save those lives? You just told me Admiral Montagne’s now on scene and everywhere I look the news is still blasting him for a pirate warlord with a fleet of warships. Why are you and I the Spine’s only hope when there’s another fleet already on scene?”

“Do you even listen to yourself sometimes? You actually want to leave the safety of seven sectors in the hands of a private citizen? An Exile? At best you’re asking for a provincial government made up of barbarians under a trade embargo to sacrifice everything out of the goodness of their hearts. Jason Montagne is a man with every reason to hold a grudge against the very people who need him right now and you ask why I don’t want to leave everything in his unsteady hands?”

“Fine you know what if you want it here it is,” she said, “in case you weren’t aware Jason Montagne is now charging a ‘tax’ on every world that wants his help. Not just a reasonable fee mind you to cover operating expenses but a flat 4% of every star systems gross Global Domestic Product! If he didn’t deliberately cause this for his own gain then he’s certainly taking every advantage of it because that kind of fee is space lane piracy,” she growled, “you may continue to believe he’s some sort of great hero and you’re welcome to, but the rest of us can’t look at a WMD bug user holding entire worlds over a barrel and just shrug our shoulders. Each person’s entitled to their own opinions and you can have yours. But I don’t have that luxury. A portion of the Confederation’s under attack and I refuse to stand by and do nothing.”

“Just like you refused to stand by and do nothing when the Spine was being invaded by a fleet of imperial partisans?” LeGodat asked neutrally, “I think we’re reaching the realm of a circular argument over here. For my part I genuinely hope you succeed in raising a relief fleet. I mean that.”

Synthia McCruise removed her admiral’s hat from under her arm and firmly squared it away on top of her head.

“But you’re not going to help. You’re mad at me and I get that. But letting personal animosity or jealousy be the reason people die is beneath you. I also know that being in this place is hardly conducive to an even temper. So I’m going to leave for now and let you think about my offer,” she said tightly, “I hope you make the right call after you’ve had the time to calm down.”

Colin LeGodat stopped, started to bristle and his shoulders slumped.

“I appreciate the offer, Rear Admiral. Really I do,” LeGodat said wearily, “and I promise to think about it. But I have to admit I’m still probably going to decline.”

“Unlike you I do not have that luxury,” McCruise said with a nod and then turning on her heel she marched out of the room.

“What a mess,” LeGodat said after she’d exited. He was left to wonder what exactly he was going to do?

Chapter 44

Spalding into Trouble

Spalding dragged himself onto the bridge just as the ship finished jumping. Falling to the floor he flopped onto his back breathing heavily and dripping blood as everyone reappeared and started moving around him.

“Spalding! What happened to you man?” the Admiral asked looking down at his battered and bloody form.

“The Spindles, Sir,” Spalding gasped for breath, wiping a bit of blood out of his eye, “we can’t take much more of this. There’s a temporal flux each time the ship jumps and it’s getting worse.”

“Temporal flux? What are you talking about,” demanded the First Officer.

The XO turned to the Admiral.

“Are you saying we can’t used the Elder Tech Jump Spindles again, Spalding. As in not anymore at all or just for now?” the Little Admiral asked intently even as he leaned down to look at Spalding’s head with concern, “your hair’s burned off on the side,” he observed.

“Sir!” protested the Executive officer, “it looks like someone hit the Commodore in the head. Or maybe he bumped into a ruptured conduit and burned the side of his head. Either way it’s no surprise he’s not making sense, this man needs to be down in medical,” he said.

Spalding instantly rallied pulling himself part way off the floor, enough to grab the Admiral by the middle of his uniform jacket.

“No doctors!” he said sharply before getting back on track as was only right and proper, “if we jump again we’re doomed. We’ll all go up in a great fiery blaze! Another transfer like that last one and they’ll get into the anti-matter generators for sure and then all bets are off, Sir,” said Spalding pulling the Admiral close enough that the new king could feel his hot angry breath, “All. Bets. Are. Off!” he emphasized, “I need time to make repairs.”

The Little Admiral nodded slowly.

“Sir!” protested the First Officer.

“If he was just hit in the side of the head why is his leg clearly damaged, I don’t know of a conduit rupture other than a plasma line that could do something like that and that doesn’t look like plasma damage,” cut in the newly crowned King.

He turned back to Spalding.

“If the Chief Engineer says we need to hold off on the jump drive for a few days to make repairs then that’s what we’ll do. Stop and fix things,” he said calmly.

The tactical officer and chief of staff both made noises of protest.

“Sire I don’t object to the Chief Engineer’s proposal, in theory, or say he’s necessarily wrong but even a day lost could see another world attacked and destroyed,” protested Lisa Steiner with an intense voice.

“King Jason there’s been 36 recorded Swarms at this point in time and the Spineward Sectors has already lost three worlds. That number would be at least double if not for our actions,” advised the Tactical Officer.

“I’m aware of that,” the Admiral said shortly.

“Most of the core-worlds in this and each sector are so afraid of their worlds being attacked when their system defense force is absent or weakened that they won’t dispatch anything larger than a few destroyer squadron to assist the worlds roundabout them,” warned the Tactical Officer.

“I said my decision stands. That’s the end of it,” iron entering the Admiral’s voice.

Spalding silently nodded in approval.

“Of course, Sir,” the Officer said stepping back with disappointment.

“Perhaps it would be best if I escort the Commodore down to Medical myself, Sire,” the First Officer said neutrally.

Spalding jerked with surprise.

“Now wait just a blooming second,” he started angrily.

The Little Admiral lifted a hand.

“No you’re going. Whatever repairs you have to perform can happen after you’ve been through the body shop. A pit stop at medical to get your head looked at and then,” he gestured to Spalding’s damaged leg servoe, “a stop at a machine shop. Maybe get the ship’s armorer to look at that. I’m sure he’s used to working on servos.”

“I can look after me own leg, Sir,” Spalding said testily.

“Just so long as it happens ‘after’ you see the doctor,” Admiral Montagne scolded.

“Sweet Murphy and his blessed wrench turners a man does a little thing like become king and the thinks he’s the boss of everyone around him,” Spalding swore.

“I am the boss,” the Little Admiral said pompously before waving imperiously.

“Humph!” Spalding huffed as a pair of lancers sprang into action and attempted to help him off the floor.

“Careful with your cotton-picking metal hands!” Spalding shouted, batting their helpful hands away.

“I can get up all my lonesome,” he declared shoving off the floor with a gasp and getting to his feet.

“So there!” he declared taking a step toward the door only for his right leg to spark, seizing up on him, “Confound it!” he cried pitching toward the floor only to be caught by a pair waiting and watchful Tractoans.

“A man needs a cane and there’s none to be found,” he groused eyeing the lancers with a dangerous glint in his eye, “now don’t go getting the idea old Spalding needs help to get around now,” he warned a dire threat in his voice, “it’s this defective metal leg. Once it’s been back through the body shop I’ll be good as new.”

“Of course, Commodore,” the one on the right said with a blank face.

“And don’t you forget it,” warned the old Engineer waving a finger around in the air as he was led to the lift like some sort of invalid.

“A man works his whole life, fighting to save his ship from the monsters of hyperspace determined to rip this ship apart he deserves a little respect!” he said jaw jutting belligerently.

“Let us know when the doctor’s done with you, yeah, Spalding?” asked the Little Admiral and new King of Capria.

“Those fools! There’s nothing those quacks can do for me that a bracing dose of combat heal can’t do better, Sir,” Spalding turned around and wheedled, “just give me a shot and I’ll be right as rain as soon as I’m done with this bum leg they gave me. Factory defective that’s what I say!”

“You’re going and that’s it,” warned the Admiral, “otherwise you’re confined to quarters and we’ll just have to risk the ship. As my chief of staff and tactical officer say billions of lives ride on our actions.”

Spalding’s eyes bulged.

“You’ll kill us all!” he roared.

“Then you know what you have to do. Go down there and come back with a clean bill of health,” said the Admiral unflinching as the old engineer vented his spleen.

“This is blackmail pure and simple!” Spalding cried throwing his hands in the air and not caring as he swayed and the lancers had to catch him before he hit the deck, “I have rights! There’s no call for throwing me to those wolves in white lab coats, Sir,” he complained as the Admiral made a chopping gesture and one of the lancers slapped the emergency close button on the doors.

“Blast it all I wasn’t done talking with the Admiral!” he bellowed rounding on his pair of walking cane replacements.

“The King was done talking with you, Sir,” said the Lancers.

“This is just great. It’s a conspiracy!” Spalding jerked his arms free and crossing them over his chest, “and on my own ship to boot! I knew I spent way too long on all those side projects. I shouldn’t have left her, I mean just look at all this disrespect,” he groused swaying from side to side as the Lancers gripped his upper arms to keep him from falling over again.

“Well that’s it. No more! I won’t take one single additional project from here on out. Fix the ship they say. Expand our anti-matter production how about it, Spalding, they ask. Raise the blazing dead. We’ll I’m done! Done you hear!!!” he complained aloud as the two Lancers manhandled him through the doors and into the medical department.

“Ah! Commodore I see you’re in for your yearly physical,” the Doctors said rubbing his hands together and smiling with delight, “you’re only six and a half months late but as soon as we’re done taking care of that nasty looking head wound we’ll make sure to put you through your paces. Dr. Presbyter’s orders,” he ended happily.

Spalding took one look at the torturer in disguise and lunged for the door, twisting in the Lancer’s hands.

“I just forgot I have a pressing engagement with a faulty junction relay,” he called over his shoulder only to be caught, picked up and finally deposited into a nearby medical bed.

“There’s no need to be like that, Commodore,” the Doctor sighed activating the every single one of the hover-bed’s auto-restraints; a feature normally only used to hold down and immobilize men and women with severe battle injuries where seconds count and arterial bleeds were common.

“This is false imprisonment. I’ve been kidnapped by a man with a stethoscope,” Spalding yelled as he was wheeled away.

“Now this won’t hurt a bit,” the doctor said placing a devise against his neck and hitting the trigger.

“HELP!” Spalding screamed bucking writhing as everything faded to black. His last thought as he was definitely going to sit down with the ship’s legal advisor and file a lawsuit against the entire blasted medical department.

Chapter 45

Deep in Sector 23

My part of the Fleet was deep in Sector 23 and spread out to here and gone, and were giving the Jump Spindles a break on the Fleet’s Chief Engineer’s advice, when we received a call from the local Sector Governor.

Apparently, he’d rushed all the way out here via courier to make a request in person.

“King Jason, we desperately need your assistance in Sector 26,” said the Governor.

“I’m desperately needed everywhere right now, Governor,” I said, pulling up a screen showing a dozen red icons spread out over three sectors of space, “In fact, I’d be there already if the engines weren’t giving us trouble. I have eleven emergency calls coming from worlds all through sectors 23, 24 and 25. And right now, I can’t answer them all.”

“This is more important. Please prepare your fleet to jump to the Capital of Sector 26 immediately,” he instructed brusquely.

My brows lifted.

“Or as soon as your engines are repaired. My apologies. I trust your engine trouble will be fixed shortly?” the Sector Governor asked hopefully.

“They should be done within the day,” I admitted.

“Good; then you can get there in time,” said the Governor.

“To the Capital? Rejected,” I said immediately, “look, your fellow Governor decided to fort up with a bunch of his cronies and the 26th Sector Guard to protect him, as is his right, and the rest of the Guard was doled out to his biggest supporters. No one’s denying that. But that means I’ve had to put out more fires in Sector 26 than any two other sectors and as a result, I don’t have time, desire or resources to commit anything more to his paranoid defensive measures.”

The Governor looked irritated. I couldn’t tell if it was because he wasn’t used to being defied to his face or that my failure to comply was putting a wrench in one of the Regional Authority’s big plans.

“Listen every scan report we’re getting say this is the single largest bug nest of them all, so far, and it’s heading straight for the Capital of Sector 26. Due to various reasons, one’s I’m sure you’re aware of given your history that Sector was hit the hardest and it has limited defenses. You might not like his decisions but my fellow governor had to make some hard calls. Well it turns out he was right! You may hate him for it but there is one blasted giant of a bug attack force on the way and it’s all hands on deck, we need you, Admiral,” he said passionately.

“I have worlds out here that need me more,” I dismissed immediately.

The Governor looked pained.

“The Regional Authority will compensate you for your efforts if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said shortly.

“How many ways do I need to say this? Not interested. I already have a valid contract and I’m not about to help a man that wasn’t willing to help those around him when he had every chance to do so already and chose not to. He made his calculations and made the hard call to protect himself and the world he’s staying at above every other? Well, good for him! And you can count me out,” I said, iron entering my voice.

The Governor looked at me in disbelief.

“You really intend to continue poking around, saving a few hundred million lives here and there when five billion souls face annihilation?” he asked with disbelief, “over some personal beef?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Is there a reason you want me to go to another sector instead of protecting those hundreds of millions right here in your own sector?” I asked.

The Sector Governor slammed a fist down on his desk.

“Blast you, Montagne! I am not some soulless bureaucrat in a suit, for you to mock. Of course, I care about my people. But we’re all in this together. Five billion souls. I can’t just ignore that and neither should a heartless money-grubbing monarch like yourself,” he snapped.

I snorted derisively.

“Yes I am a heartless money-grubber; that’s totally and completely why I have the only fleet out here protecting the middle-rung worlds and why I won’t just give up on them the moment you wave a fist full of credits in the air,” I sneered.

He shook his head hard enough to give himself whiplash, to my eyes.

“This is an awful time to start proving you care about something more than just yourself. If words won’t sway, please can you just take the money and go,” he said wearily.

“I haven’t just started to prove anything and this has to be the third or fourth time you tried to pay me to leave your sector. I’ll repeat. Just what are you hiding, Sir?” I said coldly.

The Governor looked genuinely torn.

“Look,” he started and then stopped.

His shoulders slumped.

“Despite my angry words earlier, I and the rest of the Governors realize you are a man of principle or at least you were in the past. Despite former Governor Isaak’s hatchet job, there was enough evidence you were always more a man of the people than some holo-vid-inspired space—lane Tyrant,” he said unhappily, “what you are today is anyone’s guess, although I’d say angry and disaffected are clearly part of it.”

“While part of that’s good to finally hear, all the head shrinkery isn’t. Why the sudden change of subject, Sector Governor?” I said, eyes narrowing.

“The Regional Authority may seem united on the surface and everything appears all fine and dandy on the media streams, but things are much shakier than they appear at first glance. The fact is, we’re holding the Spineward Sectors together by our fingernails,” he said wearily running a hand through his pasty Caucasian skin.

“Who’s we, white man?” I asked.

A brief flash of rage crossed his face before being suppressed.

“Don’t you get it already? The only reason the Spine hasn’t fallen apart, is because Governors like myself realize the Empire is still eyeing us and the Confederation would be more than happy to have us return to the fold with a new fifty-year round of protectorate status as they ‘re-integrate’ us back into the Grand Assembly fold,” he said coldly, “an integration that those of us without a brain fear will never see happen.”

“At least not until after you rejoining the old Confederation as full voting members doesn’t threaten to upset the applecart,” I agreed, “but despite this momentary burst of sanity, I once again fail to see how any of this is my problem. I fought the good fight and in my judgment, I’m still doing that right now. Nothing’s changed. Right down to the usual political figures like you telling me, unsuccessfully, how to do my job.”

The Governor looked like he was holding onto his temper with both hands.

“You feel you’ve been given a raw deal. I can respect that. Despite playing hardball with the Council of Sector Governors, you still genuinely have my sympathy. But you have to realize there’s no way the Regional Authority can so much as privately acknowledge your efforts for this region, without risk of an imperial invasion,” he said trying to sound sympathetic maybe but coming off forced as if he was secretly cold and uncaring.

“Publically, maybe, I can buy that. But privately?” I shook my head, “you could have brought me into a secret room, patted me on the back, cheered me for my efforts and sent me back out on my way with a made-up medal you never had to later acknowledge giving me. That you didn’t, and only gave me the public grilling, doesn’t show prudence; it shows cowardice or a lack of feeling. Maybe both,” I replied evenly.

I flashed a cold smile.

“Not that I expected anything less from the combined Sector Governors of the Spine, I’ll admit,” I said.

“You can believe what you want,” the Governor said bluntly, a hint of regret in his demeanor, “but sadly, I don’t have the time or inclination to sit around here and change your mind. There are events bigger than the two of us that require your attention desperately, right now. We need you in Sector 26.”

“If you’re looking for me to repeat myself, I’m more than willing. No deal,” I said, looking away uncaringly.

“Maybe I haven’t made the stakes here abundantly clear. You may hate me. You may hate the Governor of Sector 26 and the whole Council of Governors but please hear me when I say the only thing holding the Spine together right now is a core alliance of four sectors, 23, 24, 25 and 26. We provide the appearance of stability that is all that’s keeping the Grand Assembly off our backs and the Imperial Senate from making another move to subjugate our people,” he said.

“This alliance will fall apart if the Capital of 26 is turned into an uninhabitable waste land by space bugs and everything your people say they fought and died for will be gone forever. If you won’t do it for us, then please reconsider and do it for the good of the people you have shown you cherish time and time again,” he said.

“Nice tug on the heartstrings,” I remarked, gritting my teeth as the shot sailed home.

“Blast you; what’s it going to take?” he finally demanded.

“Fine. Now you’re talking my language,” I lied, angry at being manipulated successfully and determined to make him pay for it as much as I could, “since you’re asking what I want. First, it’s someone else to take over my current contract,” I said.

“And draw down home fleet?” he asked taken aback.

“Is that what you call your Sector Guard or your home world’s SDF?” I asked.

The Sector Governor had the grace to look abashed.

“I’ve been using my world’s SDF as a ready reserve,” he said defensively.

I shrugged, to each his own and all that. I didn’t really care what kind of games he was playing in his home sector.

“Well, get ready to use them again,” I said.

The Governor for Sector 23 ran a hand through his hair.

“Done,” he said finally, “it’ll hurt but if it gets you moving, it’s worth it. My warships can’t get there in time but yours can.”

That was when I knew he was serious. Either serious about this alliance, or serious about doing anything including lying to me to get the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet out of his sector.

Now it was my turn to be surprised.

“Well, in that case. The same terms apply for the Sector Capital of 26 as they would do any other world,” I said after a moment, “give me a signed contract and I’ll jump in there in nothing flat.”

“I’ll sign the contract and pay you out of this sector’s own coffers. Just go,” the Governor said seriously, “between my forces and your detached patrol force under Captain Archibald, I believe we can handle anything that crops up.”

I looked at him, surprised to hear a seemingly rational response.

“I’m not a fool; there’s been a dozen worlds attacked by bugs in this sector,” the Governor said testily, “sectors 25 and 26 have both had more than twenty worlds targeted. While sectors such as 21, 22 and 27 have all had half a dozen or less. I’ve weighed the odds and run the numbers.”

“I’ve noticed the same pattern,” I admitted.

“However, there’s nothing to say more attacks aren’t on the way, ones that will push the numbers in those sectors up to comparable levels,” I warned.

“Absence of evidence isn’t a fact; the speculation is sound, but I can’t be paralyzed into indecision. All of those sectors being attacked may be the ones that most strongly resisted the imperial liberation fleets in the past, but that could just be baseless speculation on our part; there’s nothing to say ours aren’t just late in coming,” the Sector Governor said unhappily.

“Liberation Fleets?” I asked, a chill to my tone.

“Perhaps I misspoke. Whatever you want to call them, the four core sectors of our current alliance were the ones most deeply involved in resisting the Empire during the dark times and in holding onto our semi-autonomous status with the old Confederation now,” said the Governor, “it’s no surprise that whoever’s involved, we’re the ones being most heavily hit.”

I drummed my fingers on the armrest of my flagship’s throne. He made sense and he wasn’t even all that evasive…. for a politician.

Much as I hated to admit it, I might actually have to go bail out the most useless politician in the history of Sector 26.

“It’s a deal,” I said finally, “I’ll round up the fleet and get there.”

The Sector Governor practically slumped with relief.

“This is the biggest bug fleet yet; you’ll need to recall your rear admirals,” he said.

“That’s an internal decision of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet. We’ll deal with this Swarm the same way we have the others. Decisively,” I said, projecting easy confidence. Whether that confidence would play out in real life, we’d just have to see. I knew what bugs could do when guided by a human intelligence. Hadn’t I taken advantage of the droids to create a planetoid-sized bugship?

I wasn’t enough of an egomaniac to think that anything I did, the Empire couldn’t imitate, if they desired to put in enough time and effort—but did they?

Droid scientists like Mad Scientist might be mechanical geniuses or a dime a dozen, I honestly didn’t know; what I did know was the Empire had a legion of the top scientific talent in the known galaxy and could replicate anything they put their minds to.

“Don’t become overconfident, Montagne,” advised the Governor, “when you get to the top, where we are right now, it’s easy to become overconfident and believe that you somehow deserve to be here by dint of intelligence or even mere existence. Never forget the weight of a world, in this case, a sector or even multiple sectors, rests on your shoulders.”

“Nice fortune cookie wisdom,” I deadpanned, “but I’ve been shouldering that kind of load the better part of a decade now. I think I’ll manage to keep from becoming a deranged killer or overly entitled schlob. Still it could be good advice so long you’re willing to apply it to yourself,” I said looking pointedly at the Sector Governor as I said that.

The Governor sighed.

“I can see my words aren’t being heard in quite the way I would wish, not that I can entirely blame you, all things considered,” he said.

“As I said before, or maybe I didn’t but it would have been nice to hear this during the last meeting we had in a public forum, not here in the middle of a star system wracked by chaos with no one of import around to hear it. In short, words are cheap,” I shrugged.

“That’s hardly fair,” protested the Sector Governor.

“Is it?” I was irked.

“I have no use for fair-weather friends. People who tell me what a guy you are in private but when put to the test or in front of the cameras, proceed to angrily denounce me for not living up to his or her expectations,” I said rolling my shoulders to let any angry emotions I might feel slide off me like water off a raincoat, “so you can feel free to go on thinking I’m not fair to you because I don’t really care, considering what you and your sector governors have done.”

“If you want to be entirely accurate, we haven’t done much of anything to you, good or bad. Unless you believe asking you to do your part in stopping this bug plague, is some kind of wrong we’ve done you,” the Governor said after a long moment and with a bite to his voice.

“I’m not here to refight old battles,” I said wearily, “but ask yourself this? If you sacrificed everything for the Spine and your world were embargoed, how would you feel?”

“Blast it, Admiral. I’d hope I’d rise above, considering no one has died and there was still time to reconcile. You know, despite your droid-loving ways, I really wish you’d won,” he sighed.

“I did win. The Spine is its own master for however long men like you can keep it for us,” I said.

“And for that, you had to fall on your sword. The truth is, you’re a Warlord, Admiral. Or King now, I suppose. But still a Warlord, one who’s done far more good than harm but the point is… A man like you has to be closely monitored if we’re to maintain a representative government. What do you want from me?”

“Honestly?” I asked, digesting the notion that people considered me a warlord just like Arnold Janeski.

The Sector Governor hesitated for a split second; if I hadn’t been watching, I wouldn’t have noticed it.

He nodded.

“Then if you guys would just stop assuming the worst of me every time we meet, that would be wonderful,” I said.

“I think I can manage that,” he said finally.

“Well, there we go,” I said.

We’d reached an understanding. One I hoped lasted longer than his next appearance before a holo-camera.

Chapter 46

The Trouble with Spalding

Spalding chortled as the miniaturized self-modulating shield emitters he’d installed around the entire anti-matter core vaporized another of the strange inter-dimensional creatures that seemed to be attracted to his ship like flies to honey every time they jumped.

Pulling out a packet of corn, he tossed it into microwave and as soon as it was done bursting into fully-popped corn life, opened up the packet and started tossing the hot and buttery corn straight into his mouth.

“You know, it was a good thing I convinced the Admiral to take a short break in between all that jumping,” Spalding chortled as another of the monstrosities went up like a flash in the pan.

With the Spindles powered down and the ship laid up for temporary repairs, the Chief Engineer could shut a few things down and install the last shield generators. Generators that were working just as designed, he thought with pride.

That the tech for the new shield generators was originally imperial tech was the only dark spot.

“But as I always say, if you can’t beat them, join them. Only in our case, we walloped that command carrier right and proper and stole those Constructors right out from under Captain Cornwallis fair and square,” Spalding sighed, reminiscing fondly over past glories.

To be entirely honest, it took almost as much engineering know-how to get the microwave working properly in this displaced bit of space time as it did the generators.

“Who’s the old potato now?” he asked, stuffing another handful of corn into his mouth and chewing loudly.

Chapter 47

The Bug Campaign III: Ironing Out the Chain of Command

Anti-Matter Generators fully protected and the ship no longer at risk of total annihilation, the King’s Own Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet jumped into the Star System that was the Capital of Sector 26.

“Clean emergence; there’s nothing on the initial short-range sweep, King Jason,” reported the Sensor Officer.

“I’m still an Admiral, blast it all,” I said, glaring at the Sensor Officer.

A hand on my elbow brought me back to reality. I turned with an angry look.

“It’s not his fault you are King, Jason,” she said softly.

“Gah,” I said, turning back to look at the petrified Sensor Officer. I folded my arms and huffed.

I could almost feel the silent disapproval.

“My apologies, Sensors. That was uncalled for,” I said.

“No apology necessary, Admiral,” the Sensor Officer said with relief.

I noted he was careful to use my preferred title which only made me feel even worse, stoking the dying embers of my anger.

I took a calming breath, reminding myself I’d had two years of opportunities to go fishing and be with the family. That should be enough.

As the bridge crew rattled off the checklist of a standard point transfer emergence, although there was still nothing standard about a Jump Spindle transfer, I kept my eyes on the main screen.

At this point, everyone on the flagship was a professional, as were the entire patrol fleet. The addition of tens of thousands of fully-trained Caprian officers and crew in no way detracted from that professionalism; if anything, they added to it. Sure, they weren’t as combat-experienced as my people were but then again, they weren’t entirely uninitiated either considering the latest serious losses the SDF incurred during the latest bug attack.

“We just made contact with an SDF destroyer on picket duty. They’re forwarding us a full system data-dump of all the major players,” reported Communications.

“Good work, Coms,” Chief of Staff Steiner said approvingly.

“Yes, indeed, good work,” I agreed.

The main-screen populated while Tactical processed the information and sensors scrambled to verify the data-dump.

The tactical picture when it came in didn’t look good.

“Four successive waves of bugs, each with multiple bug Motherships and thousands of smaller vessels in each Swarm,” I said with disbelief.

I had to give the imperials, or whoever they were, points for creativity. They might not have been able to emulate the bug spheroid yet, but they’d gone and done one nearly as good. I could see why the local Sector Guard was shivering in its proverbial boots.

“Sire we’re receiving a series of hails,” reported the Com-Officer.

“From whom?” I asked.

“Who are they not from?” he asked rhetorically.

I frowned.

The com-officer seeing my expression hastened to explain.

“I’ve got com-link requests coming in from everyone, starting with the Capital’s System Defense Force, the Sector Guard, a contingent of the local Confederation Flotilla, the Planetary President, the System Regent, the head of the Sector Assembly and the Sector Governor. They all want to speak with you and the tone ranges from relieved and jubilant to short and dour, Sire,” he said.

“That’s… interesting,” I temporized. Usually in a star system, the local infrastructure was a little less complicated. Not that we didn’t have a lot of two-bit players who wanted personal reassurance but that was just it, they were two-bit players. Small-time operators who thought they were a big deal but could usually be safely ignored or pawned off onto the ship’s legal department or a junior officer.

I could still ignore them, of course. But that would be a mistake that would almost certainly come back to bite us in the back.

Just before I could open my mouth and start issuing instructions, Akantha spoke up.

“I think I’ll take the politicians and forward anyone you really need to speak with afterwards,” she said in a voice that made it clear they wouldn’t have any need to speak with me after she was done with them.

“We’re here to play nice; are you sure it wouldn’t be better if I took the calls, dear?” I hinted.

Akantha lifted an eyebrow.

I hated it when my best signature moves were copied.

“I’d like to speak with the local authorities regarding the resumption of trillium shipments, now that the trade embargo is gone and the tariffs have been listed,” she said.

“Uh, Akantha, I don’t know how to tell you this but Sector 26 was never really one of our biggest fans, not as bad as Sector 23 with its violently anti-droid outrage but combine that with it recently being conquered by the Empire, and I doubt they bought much of Tracto’s trillium in the first place,” I said.

“Then there’s no reason they can’t start, now they’re back on their feet,” Akantha returned with a smirk.

I didn’t like that smirk. I really didn’t. Then I recalled that I really didn’t like the Governor of Sector 26 and I suddenly found myself much more okay with her taking point on the political side of the street.

We might even make some cold hard credits out of it.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of having you take the local calls from the system governments before,” I said.

“First, you didn’t think of it. Second, most of the places we’ve been weren’t exactly in a position to buy a lot of hyperfuel. The few that were—” She said.

“Like Hot-Cross,” I cut in.

“Exactly like Hot-Cross,” she agreed, “well, they weren’t going to be very receptive to any overtures.”

“And you think that Sector 26 or their capital system at least is any different?” I asked skeptically.

“If they want to talk with you, they need to buy my trillium first,” she said.

“I thought you weren’t going to let them talk with me?” I said plaintively.

“Oh, I’m not,” Akantha assured me.

I was confused. Or rather I wasn’t but I was. If that made any sense.

“You’re not the only one they insult with their trade restrictions, tariffs and embargoes,” she informed coldly.

There was my favorite pit viper, I thought fondly.

“Go get them, girl,” I cheered her on.

“I’m no girl,” my wife informed me imperiously.

“A thousand apologies,” I said, miming an arm-waving bow without leaving my seat, “carry on, dear lady.”

My wife sighed at my antics.

Apparently, she decided to give me a pass because the next thing I knew, she was turning to accept the call from the speaker for the local sector assembly.

As she began to shake down the local Speaker, a man I soon gathered had his eyes on the top slot in the sector—the Sector Governor’s slot no less—I couldn’t help but smirk. It was always nice to sow a little confusion among your enemies.

I took a moment to reflect that I was probably doing the Sector a disfavor in considering its Governor, even if only mentally, an enemy. Then I shrugged it off. I was here to save lives not hold hands and was more than ready to treat the people here however they decided to treat me.

Akantha closed the com-link she was on with a satisfied expression.

“I’ll speak with the President now,” she said.

“Right away, Hold-Mistress,” my Com-Officer said respectfully, and then transferred the channel. Apparently, the President or at least his office was holding because she immediately had someone else on the horn.

I realized I was actually anticipating watching my wife oh-so-politely tear into yet another politician when I heard someone clearing their throat and looked over to see my Chief of Staff.

She was clearly tapping her feet.

“Need something?” I asked with a winning smile. Why was it, I wondered, that it was the ladies in my life that were the most insistent on managing it?

“I don’t. But Admiral Zendor of the local SDF and Flag Captain Starborn of the Confederation Fleet, not to mention Commandant Miller of the Sector Guard all seem to believe they need to speak with you. Of course, I can tell them all to keep waiting?” she asked sweetly.

I heaved a sigh.

Yes, it was official; I was definitely spoiled after so much time on Tracto, not having to deal with the intransigent movers and shakers out here in the rest of the Spine.

“Put him, her or it on,” I instructed.

“Which one, Sir?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied blandly.

“Of course, Sire. Right away,” Commander Steiner rolled her eyes.

“This is, Admiral Jason Montagne, of the King’s Own Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet,” I drawled as soon as the channel opened.

“The King?” asked the man in a Confederation uniform on the other end of the screen, brow wrinkling.

“Mine. I’m the King but it’s the same old Patrol Fleet out there fighting for truth, justice and the Spineward sector way,” I said with a smirk.

The Flag Captain’s gaze sharpened as he looked at me with dawning disapproval.

Oh well, another detractor was created every day, I guessed.

“Jason Montagne Vekna, I have to admit I never expected to say this; it’s good to see you here, Admiral,” Flag Captain Starborn said.

“Now I’m the King, you can drop the Vekna,” I said buffing my nails on the jacket of my uniform with pride, “anyone with the barest link to House Montagne will be dusting off their old pedigree and tacking a Montagne on end of their name fairly soon as is the usual practice.”

“I wasn’t aware of that,” the Flag Captain said neutrally.

“There may be a few holdouts waiting to see how long my reign lasts, pining for the False King, or afraid of reprisals should they back the wrong royal horse,” I advised glibly, “but you didn’t contact me for an update on the naming sense of the nobles of Capria or even, I dare say, to congratulate me on my crowning.”

“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” he said perfunctorily.

“What can I do for you, Captain Starborn?” I asked with a smile.

“Flag Captain,” he corrected.

I wiggled my fingers dismissively.

“Potato/Pot-ah-to. Flag Captain it is,” I said, clapping my hands happily, “to what do I owe the call?”

The Flag Captain took a breath and frowned but must have decided to let my flippancy pass because he immediately zeroed in on the heart of the matter.

“I just wanted to clarify the chain of command with you and coordinate the Patrol Fleet’s movements with those of the Sector Guard and the local defense fleet,” the Captain said firmly.

“Being the senior most officer now in the star system, I am more than willing to take any advice you have regarding our defenses as I plan out the defense of this star system,” I said lightly.

The Flag Captain’s brows rose and face tightened.

He coughed politely into his fist.

“Yes about that. No one is denying your… ‘seniority’,” the Flag Captain spoke as if that the last word in the sentence was distasteful, “however, considering the, tangled, issue of combining multiple different military structures, along with the touchy matter of home system primacy, I have decided to use my Confederation Fleet authority to assume command for the duration of the current emergency. I hope you understand.”

“How’s that working out for you?” I asked with a grin.

The Flag Captain started to look irked.

“I’m afraid you’re not taking this matter nearly as seriously as you should, Admiral. The time for levity, point transferred out of this system a long time ago,” he said, iron entering his voice as he tried to intimidate me.

It was almost cute.

“You’ve got me all wrong. I merely ask out of professional interest. You see, back when I was running things, coming into a star system and telling them the Confederation Fleet was here to take command of the fight was pretty hit and miss,” I said wryly, “almost like herding cats—and that’s when they didn’t tell me to stuff it right up front.”

“I take it from your response you are inclined to ignore my lawful assertion of authority,” said Captain Starborn, suddenly looking like a hunting beast hard on the scent of its prey.

“Once again, you’ve got me all wrong, Captain Starborn, almost belligerently but certainly repeated so,” I tut-tutted sadly, “but unfortunately, I have found that to be all too common nowadays.”

“Then you agree to the principle of Confederation Fleet primacy in space combat and acknowledge the chain of command, pledging yourself to the defense of this star system for the duration any violations to be prosecuted to the full extent of the law under the Confederation Fleet’s code of conduct,” said the Flag Captain, “I’m sure you recall the Fleet’s code of conduct. You know. The one you so flagrantly violated?”

My eyes hardened momentarily and then, like a flash, it disappeared, replaced with a neutral expression.

I drummed my fingers along the arm of my chair and then shook my head sadly.

“Oh, I have every intention of defending this star system, make no mistake about that, but the King’s Own Multi-Sector Patrol fleet is an organization with the greatest respect for the rule of law and as such, I have no choice but to reject your unlawful attempt to impose your authority over a foreign fleet, Captain Starborn,” I said.

“Once again, it’s Flag Captain and I am noting your formal rejection of…” he paused as what I’d just said must have registered.

“What foreign fleet are you referring to, Admiral Montagne? All I see before me are warships built in the Confederation, crewed by military officers and crew who are citizens and commanded by a man who is also a Confederation citizen?” he asked shortly, “and please for the sake of clarity, do not confuse my simple use of your former title for brevity’s sake as any kind of recognition as to your former Confederation rank.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said solicitously, “in many ways, you are right yet at the same time, oh so deliciously wrong.”

“If you could please clarify your position, I would very much appreciate it, Admiral,” he said sternly, still playing the no-nonsense professional talking down to a frivolous part-timer in great danger of imperiling everyone and everything around him with his flippant attitude.

“Why, of course! You see, all of these men and women you see around me, save for a few strictly Tractoan officers and such, have all been loaned to the Tractoan System Defense fleet! A foreign organization based on a world that not only isn’t a member of the Confederation but which has been tariffed, embargoed and actually had its provisional status stripped from it by no lesser body than the Confederation itself! Stripped, I say again—stripped. So that there can be no level of confusion about its status,” I exclaimed as if pleased to relay information that the Flag Captain had simply been unaware of previously.

“While I want to be very clear that the actions of each sector are its own independent decisions and not a referendum on the Confederation as a whole, I acknowledge Tracto is not a member of the Confederation, provisional or otherwise,” the Flag Captain said, “that doesn’t mean that you as individual Confederation military officers and citizens are not risking mutiny charges by refusing to accept my lawful orders. Tracto’s status and its military requirements have no bearing on the requirement that you obey my lawful orders.”

“Well there you have it!” I grinned as if he’d just made my point for me, “Tracto is not a provisional member, a partial member or any sort of member of the Confederation whatsoever.”

“As such, any attempt to assume command of its warships utilizing Confederation Fleet authority is unlawful seizure at best and an act of war at worst. Ordering me or my men to do anything that violates Tracto’s sovereignty or opens them up to charges of mutiny in cold space is specifically forbidden in your own Confederation Fleet Code of Conduct, such as seizing control of Tracto’s fleet for the Confederation. See the Taurus League Conflict before it sought for and accepted inclusion into the old Confederation as the Taurus Sector,” I continued seriously.

“Now if you are declaring martial law and instructing us to break our current contract with Tracto, leave our current warships un-crewed in the face of this bug threat, so that we can come over to help fill any of your undermanned warships… well I can’t say such would be the act of a gentleman or an officer but I won’t deny the technical legality,” I said grumpily, “but just like during the nationalization of Star Mercenaries, you’ll need to be ready to cover any breach of contract penalties as well as compensate the Tractoan People for any warships lost due to your dangerous and highly ludicrous actions,” I said.

I then paused and waited. The ball was in the Flag Captain’s court.

A realization that seemed to be sinking in the redder his face turned.

Not that I cared. His sideways digs and accusations didn’t sit well with me, probably because I felt guilty and they had more truth to them than I’d like to admit. But by the same token, he must have thought I was a fool not to be aware of the law and how to take advantage of it.

“I need to confer with my flotilla’s legal department,” he finally said shortly.

“Take all the time you need,” I said gravely, which only seemed to infuriate the Captain.

“Technicalities and loopholes,” the Flag Captain finally spat out in disgust when he turned back to face me.

“Are you denying your previous orders were unlawful?” I asked miming shock.

“Everything you said was correct. Or at least, one valid interpretation of the law. I am informed there are others,” the Flag Captain said shortly.

“Well there you go,” I shrugged.

“I am also informed,” he said sternly, “that you have the power and authority on Tracto as one of her Protectors to give an order to your fleet, bringing them under Confederation control, and no one in the Tractoan SDF or its civilian authority could countermand you.”

“Now where would be the fun in that,” I said.

“How can you play with people’s lives like this so lightly, Montagne!” demanded the Flag Captain.

“Captain, I don’t deny a thing you said,” I said wryly.

“Then why, Admiral!?” he asked.

“If you think I’m going to dance to the Confederation’s tune after the way it’s treated me and my new people, think again,” I said flatly.

“So, it’s ego,” Flag Captain Starborn looked like he was ready to spit.

“Call it what you want. The Confederation likes to rave about soft power but when put to the test, consistently acts like the two-thousand-pound elephant in the room. It’s time the Confederation relearned what diplomacy really means,” I said.

“I urge you to reconsider. Real lives are at stake here. Taking a stand on some hypothetical principle will only get people killed. Do what’s right,” he said.

“What’s right, or what’s legal, or what you want, Captain?” I asked.

“They’re all the same,” said Starborn, “we must have a unified defense or bugs will get through our lines and eat people. They may still if we unify but at least we’ll know we’ve done all we can.”

“Oh, really? So who would you say is the most experienced Fleet Commander in this star system? And I’m talking combat expertise, wins and losses, Flag Captain,” I said.

“That’s completely immaterial,” said the Flag Captain, looking troubled.

“Shouldn’t we put the best commander in charge, isn’t that the right thing to do and let the chips fall where they may, Flag Captain?” I asked.

“I see your game and I’m not going to play it,” said Starborn.

“I’ve been where you are. So I get where you’re coming from. I had to deal with a bunch of uppity and unruly allies in a coalition fleet. One of which seemed determined to mess things up, pull the fleet apart over petty points of pride or principle and get everyone killed. So I get it. You have a job to do and putting yourself in charge makes everything easier,” I said.

“ Unfortunately for you, just like it was for me back in the days when I was accountable of this Sector’s defense, your job is to pull out a win while my job as the pesky, touchy, unruly ally isn’t to make your job easier,” I said.

“I’m here to save lives, yes, but just as important is to ensure this fleet and the government it represents isn’t swept under the rug and relegated to the trash can of history,” I said.

“Anyone eaten will be on your head if this fleet falls apart, King Jason,” he ground out.

“Will it? Or will it be on the heads of whoever sent these bugs here. Or maybe just like when I had to take a secondary position in a sector that asked my help, told me I’d be in command and told me to sit down, shut up and soldier when I arrived, it’s time to swallow your own pride and put the people of this star system first, Flag Captain,” I said brutally.

The Flag Captain cut the channel in one brutal movement.

“That could have gone better,” said my First Officer in a shaky breath.

I gave the other officer a cool look. I didn’t mind a little eavesdropping, else I would have taken the call somewhere other than the bridge of the Lucky Clover. On the other hand, I didn’t like comments from the peanut gallery or those whose job it wasn’t to make these sorts of decisions.

“I think it went just fine,” Akantha said sweeping in, distracting me from the First Officer and showing her support for my decisions all at once.

“How goes things with the various government officials?” I asked.

“Oh, they know we have them over the barrel. I’ve been making a mint in trillium sales here in person as well as over the com-stat network now that the tariffs are lifted and the embargo canceled,” Akantha said, looking pleased.

“I’m not surprised at you leveraging them in person but selling hyper fuel during an invasion seems somewhat harder,” I observed. Not to mention a lot like wartime profiteering. Not that I particularly cared considering the level of peacetime profiteering the Confederation had been engaging in.

“A little here, a little there,” she mused, “I think it didn’t hurt when I mentioned in my sales offer that I would put a word in with my husband if any of their star systems were attacked by space bugs.”

I snickered.

“That’s pretty devious. Not that I disapprove,” I said. Way to stick it to them.

“Our mission this time seems to be as much or more about bringing back treasure as it is winning this war with the demon space bugs,” she said judiciously, “not that I disagree with that plan as we are here already.”

Her serene expression was more disturbing than a gloating smile.

“This fleet won’t pay for itself,” I shrugged, nor would the half a dozen secret projects I had on the back burner. With enough funds, they would quickly go from the back burner to the front burner. More important than the cold hard credits almost, was the access to people and technology outside of our world.

Between Capria and the rest of the Spine and even the greater Confederation, now that trade sanctions had been lifted, I could import anything I needed up to and including highly-educated talent.

Theoretically.

My meetings over the comm with the other fleet commanders were surprisingly more cordial than the one with Flag Captain Starborn.

“Admiral Montagne! Sweet Murphy if it isn’t good to see you, Sir,” said the Sector Commandant the moment he got on the horn.

I was surprised and more than a little taken aback.

“It’s good to see you too, Sector Commandant,” I temporized.

“You don’t know me from a hole in the ground but my world was in the path of that Imperial Reclamation Fleet and you and your MSP blew through our sector just in time to save my world. No matter how everything else turns out, I just wanted to offer my thanks,” he said.

I was almost touched.

“That’s nice of you,” I said.

“I hope you’ve managed to work out any chain of command issues with our junior counterpart in the Confederation Fleet,” said the Commandant.

“Meh, no one wanted to give me the time of day when I was doing his job. I don’t see how it’s my responsibility to make it any easier on him,” I shrugged.

The Sector Commandant’s smile faded.

I cocked my head.

“You expected something more from the great Jason Montagne?” I asked with a mocking self-derisive twist to my mouth.

“Hoped, I suppose, is a better word for it,” the Sector Commandant said.

I nodded silently. I’d hoped for a lot of things too, few of which ever panned out when it came to other people. So I could understand his feeling.

“Well, whenever the two of you figure out who is the big officer in my own Sector, but I’d like even less to wake up next week without a sector capital,” the Sector Commandant said seriously, “whichever officer ends up on top, bottom or middle, I’m prepared to work with anyone and everyone if it gets these bugs squashed.”

“Be careful what you ask for; you just might get it,” I warned.

The Sector Commandant gave me a level look.

“I’d work with the Deep Fleet Space Army right now if it meant more warships between that Swarm and five billion of my citizens,” he said.

I furrowed my brows.

“I agree there are lots of bugs in that Swarm but you should have the numbers to deal with them,” I said running the numbers. It’d be tight but they should win.

“Should and did aren’t even brothers,” the Commandant advised, “and you’d be right if we were facing regular space bugs like we’ve seen in the Spine in the past. But these things,” he shook his head, “they’re some kind of mutated strain.”

“We’ve been seeing signs of marine adaptation out there,” I agreed.

“No. Not like this. This isn’t just anti-marine bugs. There’s stealth bugs and bug scout-ships with some kind of exterior coating that shrugs off point defense fire, shedding metallic carapace when its hit like a dog shed’s fur in the winter. No. This is something else,” the Sector Commandant said grimly.

“Which is why I am in no small part happy you’re here, Admiral,” he added, “we can sure use the extra firepower. That’s not assuming we’re missing an entire hidden wave of stealth bugs out there somewhere.”

“Well that sounds awful,” I said repulsed that anyone would do something like this to my people. Even if they were from Sector 26.

“It’s rough out there,” agreed the commandant.

“Yeah almost like someone planned it,” I said.

The Sector Commandant’s face closed.

“I’m not speculating on that, above my pay grade,” he said sounding like a man parroting the party line.

“That’s a cheap answer. Considering all the mutated bugs and modified bugships you say are here and we’ve been running into out there in the rest of the sector,” I said.

“Sorry, Admiral,” he shrugged unrepentantly.

Well, no point in causing a blow-up over an issue the Sector Commandant couldn’t solve even if he wasn’t playing political word games.

Which is why I gave a slow nod.

“Well I appreciate the support. Please forward your sensor results and any analysis you have on these bugs to my flagship’s tactical department. I speak for all of us when I say we’ll study anything you give us closely. We received a basic force breakdown from a local system picket and we have our own scanners but being the Sector Commandant, I’m sure you have better information at your fingertips,” I said.

“Not a problem, Sir,” grinned the Commandant, “and my protocol officer informs me you’ve had a promotion. Apparently, your homeworld couldn’t live without you anymore. Let me be the first one in this star system to compliment you, Your Majesty,” he said.

“Took the words right out of my mouth; they really couldn’t live without me,” I said. Considering the bug attacks that were still under way and their missing former King, my homeworld really had decided they couldn’t live without my fleet. A sad state of affairs, but one I was more than willing to take advantage of.

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll let you go. I’m receiving messages from the government telling me they’d like you free so they can have a moment of your time,” said the Commandant.

“I’m afraid you’re breaking up,” I said, putting a hand to my ear and squinting at the screen.

The Commandant gave me a knowing eye-roll and cut the transmission.

I shrugged; he’d done his bit for king and country, putting the word in that his people on the political side wanted to speak with me. I didn’t hold it against him. I was just more than willing to let Akantha screen my phone calls for a while.

A good hour passed and the fleet set course for a holding orbit around a world two planets out from the Sector Capital. It was a barely-habited ice ball with deep bunkers and bases used for research purposes and underground inhabitation, and it was where we’d been oh-so-politely requested to park our fleet.

I assumed the idea was we’d be a handy-looking speed bump for the next bug wave, to make it this far into the system.

Not that we were all out here by ourselves. Warships were in motion all over the system and the Confederation Flotilla ships were closer to the outer system than my MSP.

“I’m receiving a request from Flag Captain Starborn. He’d like to speak with you again, Sire,” reported the Com-Officer, looking satisfied that the Flag Captain was the one calling back and not the other way around.

I contemplated that for several seconds, then nodded.

“Put him through,” I agreed and just like that, the Com-Officer sprang into action.

“Admiral Montagne,” Captain Starborn said gravely.

“Come to any new decisions, Captain?” I asked politely.

Starborn took a calming breath.

“I’m not going to lie. We need you,” he said staring at me.

I waited patiently but he seemed to want a response of some kind so I decided to give him what he expected.

“If you’re expecting me to ‘do the right thing’, capitulate, take one for the team or ‘get over myself’, I advise you to prepare yourself for a longer wait,” I said meeting his eyes.

Starborn’s jaw bunched.

“I heard that about you,” he said.

I cocked an eyebrow. I was curious.

“You’ve got a barbed tongue and are not afraid to use it,” Starborn explained.

I splayed my hands.

“Guilty as charged I guess,” I shrugged. In this business, you had to laugh, cry or get the lead out. I wasn’t going to apologize for doing what I had to, “they also say kingship has gone to my head but considering I can still fit through the doors, my head can’t have swelled that much.”

“Flippant too, I see,” the Captain said, eyes flinty.

Now it was my turn to wait with an expectant expression.

The Captain gave a frustrated sigh.

“I understand why you won’t agree to serve under my command,” he said.

“Do you?” I asked.

“You don’t want your ships sacrificed by an uncaring or even simply an untested commander,” Starborn gestured toward himself.

“Close enough,” I shrugged. There was really no need to get any deeper into the subject, saying I didn’t trust a government that felt it could sell the Spineward Sectors. If they could do it once, they could do it again, despite what a few die-hard patriots like Charles Thomas might like to believe.

When put to the hazard, even those so-called patriots were willing to sacrifice people along the way, bad enough, if understandable, except the ones they always wanted to sacrifice were never their own people.

“I feel like you’re still treating this whole thing too lightly. Despite what you like to think, this is not some game, Your Majesty,” said Confederation Flag Captain Starborn.

“I think we covered this ground already, Flag Captain. Let us agree to disagree and move on,” he looked doubtful or at least like he wanted to feel doubtful, “I can assure you I take the lives of my people very seriously.”

The Captain ran a hand through his hair.

“While I respect your decision to maintain the independence of your fleet, you have to realize that very independence makes it almost impossible for you to unify all separate organizations in this star system,” said the Captain.

“I don’t see any such thing. At two-hundred-odd warships strong, I have the largest fleet in the star system. The rest of the warships combined only match my forces. True, that doesn’t factor in things like orbital defenses but considering I’m the only person with the ability to deploy such assets in a tactically meaningful timeframe, I think it safe to say I’d have the advantage in securing leadership of a unified command if yourself and the local Confederation Flotilla weren’t here as a convenient rallying point,” I replied.

“I’m not sure I agree with that but the point is moot. I am here, my orders require me to be here and quite frankly, in this case, I completely agree with them. Regardless, I’m not leaving. These bugs need to be stopped and I’m going to stop them,” said the Flag Captain.

“Then we’re in agreement. The bugs need to be stopped and a unified command is the best way to make that happen,” I said as if the logic was blindingly obvious, which it was to anyone who put any serious thought into it.

“Very well. What are your orders, Sir?” said the Flag Captain neutrally.

I blinked in surprise.

“Just like that?” I asked. I’d been expecting more resistance. Not just a flat declaration, or in this case implication, I was in command.

“Like you said, we need a unified command. Someone has to be the better man. Apparently, that’s me,” he said.

Ouch.

“Glad to have you on the team, Captain,” I said, ignoring his outburst like a good superior should.

“I’ll be issuing a few preliminary orders shortly and plan to actively consult as many of the top admirals and fleet commanders I can manage before rolling out the final plan and appreciate in advance your full support,” I continued easily.

“Final plan?” he asked.

“As they say, it doesn’t matter if you have a perfect plan tomorrow; what’s important is a good enough plan today,” I said.

“Yes I’m familiar with the saying. Are you planning for a conference including only flag officers and above, because if so, you’ll need to consider what you’re going to do with those contingents whose commanders are captains or commanders. If you don’t include them, their formations won’t have a chance for input. If you exclude them, you risk insulting their entire formation. Or are you planning to host every captain in the fleet? Keeping in mind there’s over five hundred warships in this star system,” he said.

“Neither,” I said bluntly.

“In my experience, Fleet Conferences involving more than one organization generally end very badly,” I said, vividly recalling the time Admiral Nuttal shot that Praxis Admiral, “everyone wants to have their say and when they don’t get their way but feel like they have broad support, they tend hold a grudge.”

“Far better to my mind to simply deal with the top officers on a one-to-one basis and proceed from there. If they absolutely need to speak with me, they can make the trek out to my flagship and I can give them the centi-credit tour of the most powerful warship in the Spine,” I said.

“And refusing to face their critiques and criticism so you can hopefully incorporate them into your plans seems unnecessary to you?” the Flag Captain asked in a deliberately neutral voice, “not to mention the detriments to fleet command coordination and control from a potentially disunited group of officers?”

“No.” I said sternly.

“As previously mentioned, I will be consulting directly with my top officers on a one-to-one basis, where we can hopefully keep the politicking, grand standing and histrionics to a minimum. You might not be aware of this, Captain, but I can say with complete sincerity, as a veteran of many unified fleets, that the Spineward Sectors has a history of such hijinks and antics. Better by far we reduce my countrymen’s tendencies in these directions,” I said bluntly.

“You have a unique command style, Admiral,” Captain Starborn said, making clear his feeling on the subject.

“Don’t worry, I intend to keep the various ‘formations’ too busy dealing with the enemy to consider playing games with their new Fleet Commander,” I said with a shark-like smile, already envisioning the wolf-pack tactics I was going to be using.

I could see the Captain wasn’t sold on the idea but either desperation or my reputation preceded me, because he must have decided to give me the benefit of the doubt.

And just like that, I was the new undisputed Commander of the Capital Defense Fleet.

Chapter 48

Bug Campaigns – Wolf Pack Tactics

True to my word, I consulted with the top Admirals, Commodores, Komodors, Com-caps, Captains, Kapitans, Commanders and basically anyone else in a position of authority over multiple units inside the new Capital Fleet.

At the same time, I went ahead with my original plan, roving packs of hunter killer groups, two to three squadrons strong. I promised to listen to them, not give in to their every demand.

I didn’t like it when I ran into stealth bugships in Hot Cross and I liked it even less when I heard an even more virulent strain was seen here in the Sector 26 Capital. I might give in on other points but not this one.

I wanted those bugs found and wanted it done yesterday. Stealth bugs landing on worlds full of people was the last thing I wanted or needed.

“Your ships will find them, mark their positions and then you will kill them. If that’s impossible, call for help and withdraw to a safe distance. That is your mission brief in a nutshell. My navigator is sending you each a file with your designated patrol routes in it. Please relay this information to your various subordinate ship captains. I leave the particulars up to the discretion of each patrol leader. Just make sure I’m not receiving complaints from you about each other,” I instructed a group of wolf-pack commanders assembled for a short holo-conference.

“Yes, Admiral,” said a group of serious-looking Squadron Commanders. There was not a single complaint.

While I liked to think it was the inspiring speech and clear-cut reasonable orders that got me their full cooperation, I suspected the bounty I put out for each stealth bug, their ships confirmed destroyed, had something to do with it.

Within an hour, a dozen hunter-killer groups were on the prowl, moving toward the outer system.

Now it was time to sit back and wait.

Over the course of the next day, the main waves of the bug Swarm pushed ever deeper into the star system and the wolf-packs swarmed through cold space, hunters seeking prey.

They went searching for stealth bugs and they found them. The first sighting was from a group of slow-moving cruisers who first noticed the bug ship when it latched onto the light cruiser’s nose. With the help of the other cruisers in its squadron, they managed to perforate the bug’s hull venting the interior out into space. The damaged cruiser was detached from the squadron and sent back to the capital world for repairs.

Next, a group of destroyers using two corvettes outfitted with powerful sensors as beaters stumbled upon a small Swarm of two dozen stealth ships, all of them scout-marauder-sized, and a melee erupted that left one of the corvettes derelict and the bugs destroyed.

Every hour, it seemed like a new report came in of stealth bugs found and destroyed.

Then twelve hours later, the first serious setback since I initially dispatched them struck the wolf-packs.

An alarm sounded in my quarters, waking me up.

“What is it?” asked Akantha reaching for Bandersnatch.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, honey,” I said fumbling around until I reached for the portable communicator beside the bed.

“Montagne here. What is it?” I asked.

“Wolf-Pack 9 is reporting an emergency situation and requesting back up, Sire,” the Com-Officer reported.

“Dispatch reinforcements. Why are you waking me up for? Rear Admiral Laurent is in command,” I said irritably. The Rear Admiral had been retrieved after his latest mission by the jump spindles and I’d taken the chance to hand off responsibility so I could get some well-deserved rest in my own bed, instead of continuing to haunt the Admiral’s ready room.

If this was something less than a full-fledged attack on the fleet, world or major space station I was going to be more than peeved.

“The Rear Admiral said you’d wanted to be informed,” said the Com-Officer.

“Spit it out, man,” I instructed.

“Pack-9 encountered a fully-stealthed harvester, Admiral,” said the officer.

“I’ll be right up,” I said rolling out of bed.

Akantha also stood up and started moving toward the closet.

“You can go back to sleep. I’m sure I can handle it and there’s no point in both of us losing sleep,” I advised.

“I’m sure you can, Jason,” she said, pulling out a new set of clothing, “it’ll just take me a minute. Please don’t wake little Larry,” she added, gesturing to the little boy still sleeping in the middle of the bed.

I waited a beat and looked fondly down at the little guy. Having an Admiral’s suite, one large enough for a queen-size bed despite being onboard a ship, really was a luxury.

“Of course,” I said, too wise in the ways of marriage after the better part of five years to continue pressing that particular line of attack. I also didn’t want to wake up the boy.

I gratefully accepted the new uniform she pulled off the rack and dressed as stealthily as possible.

“Mitera?” asked Larry picking his head up.

A burst of Tractoan spewed out of my wife’s mouth and my son nodded putting his head back down.

“Okay, mama,” he said closing his eyes and going back to sleep. We tried to rotate turns sleeping in bed with Mom and Dad, and tomorrow night was little Sapphira’s turn. Or mana and papakis as she’d tried to teach them to say. However, I stuck to my guns. She could have them call her whatever she wanted but I was a dad.

In no time, we were suited up, the lights were back off and we were on our way to the bridge.

I stepped onto it, all thoughts of family time falling away.

“Report,” I barked, sliding into my throne.

“Receiving an emergency transmission,” said the Com-Officer as he waited a beat, “Nilefire’s emergency beacon just sounded.”

On the screen, the flashing red icon of the Nilefire went dark.

I glared at the screen.

“What got her?” I demanded.

“It’s that blasted stealth harvester,” cursed the off-shift tactical officer, a man I wasn’t used to seeing considering he manned the night shift.

I frowned in his direction.

“Sorry, Sir,” the officer said, stiffening to attention, “but that harvester seems to not only have its stealth features but a superior hull as well. One that’s resistant to our traditional lasers.”

My eyebrows climbed for the ceiling. This was just getting better and better.

“Just the one harvester?” I asked.

“For now,” said the Tactical Officer.

I pursed my lips.

“How many reinforcements?” I asked.

“Two nearby wolf-packs are on the way and Rear Admiral Laurent also dispatched a contingent of eight destroyers and four light cruisers from his battle group,” he reported.

For a split second, the idea of dispatching the Furious Phoenix crossed my mind before the almost immediate recollection that the Phoenix was no longer a part of my fleet squished it like a bug.

Like a sore tooth that needed the dentist, the thought of everything the Empire had taken from me, including the Furious Phoenix, caused me to grimace.

“I’m sure he chose the proper ships,” I said, choosing to trust Laurent knew what he was doing rather than continue to give into the temptation to micro-manage and in the process stir up old memories better set aside, at least… for now.

I very carefully didn’t think about how someday the Empire’s time was coming for it too because that was a dangerous thought. A deadly thought. Something that couldn’t even be whispered at, not until we were ready, if we ever were. But when the time came to seize the day….

On the screen, the light harvester was surrounded by two squadrons of destroyers and firing back with a host of light lasers and the usual dumb fire-and-forget bombs.

There was a streak on the screen and an explosion rocked one of the destroyers; okay, maybe not so usual after all.

“What was that, Tactical?” I asked.

“Those are newly-identified streak missiles, Sire. They’re just as unguided as traditional bug missiles but are able to move at a much faster rate. This speed, combined with a presumably larger warhead, is strong enough to punch through most weakened destroyer shields. A full shield can still stop a streak missile but several hits in a row have proven… problematic,” replied the Lieutenant.

“This just gets better and better,” I said, mentally adding another mark on the tally the Empire owed the Spine. As I watched, the harvester continued to fire even as her stealthed scouts and scout marauders were being wiped out by aimed and accurate fire from the wolf-pack.

The harvester had those streak missiles and she wasn’t afraid to use them. Her fire was also more coordinated than the usual harvester with a lower percentage of seemingly random fire than was the norm, but not more than one in ten of her broadside consisted of the new missiles.

The wolf-pack surrounding it finished off the smaller bug spaceships and turned the full weight of their fire on the light harvester. Within minutes, and well before the nearest wolf-pack reinforcements could reach them, the light harvester was destroyed.

“I’m no expert but that light harvester looked significantly stronger than the unmodified versions,” I commented.

“Tactical is giving them an initial force rating three times that of the standard model but the computer is still crunching the numbers and my ensigns aren’t yet done gathering new data. I’ll let you know as soon as we’ve had a chance to revise our estimations if you want,” said the Night Shift Tactical Officer.

I nodded.

The main screen zoomed back out to display the whole of the star system and for the next half hour I watched our ships patrol the star system. I even personally watched Wolf-Pack 1 destroy another small group of stealth scouts and boarding bugs before deciding to call it.

The bugs had new upgrades and yes they were a worrisome threat but it was the middle of the night and the Swarm had yet to make a major move. If I had anything to do with it—I decided, finishing the cup of tea my bridge yeoman handed me earlier—they would never get that chance.

Decision made, I stood up.

“Starting tomorrow, we’re going to sally the fleet out to deal with that first bug wave. Pass the word to the rest of the fleet and our allies now, and prepare the orders. I’ll give the official notification to our allies after I wake up,” I said.

“Aye-aye, Sir,” said my scar-faced Intelligence Officer.

***

The next morning, I looked at the assembled Capital Defense Fleet. With the arrival of Rear Admiral Laurent’s contingent, my fleet was up to two hundred and sixty-five hulls strong, thirty-two of them battleships.

On top of that, the Capital System Defense Fleet was, I pulled up a screen with the latest tallies compiled by my chief of staff, seventy-nine hulls strong, three of them battleships. The Sector guard on the other hand had another fifty-eight hulls strong, six of them battleships and the Confederation Flotilla had sent a group thirty-eight hulls strong. Counting the odds and sods mainly sent from nearby worlds hoping to curry favor with either the Capital System, Sector Assembly or its Sector Governor, the total ship count of non-MSP warships to… I pulled up the master list and frowned. It was only one hundred and eighty-three strong.

I suppressed a frown. I remembered there being more warships listed in my last status report. I made a mental note to check on that later.

The latest numbers compiled by my staff still brought the total number of warships in this star system up to just under four hundred fifty warships strong, forty one of them full-fledged battleships. Of course very few of those battleships could compare to the Caprian dreadnaught class I thought with pride but… All of that was beside the point!

If I couldn’t handle a bug Swarm, any Swarm, with forty-one battleships and a fleet this size, I might as well cut my throat now and save the humiliation of putting someone else in command of the fleet.

Of course, if I was defeated, I wasn’t going to actually kill myself but… you got the picture.

Putting aside those foolish thoughts, I focused on a cool calm rational assessment of the battle to come and came right back to the same thing that had bothered me the moment I opened my data-slate.

“Commander Steiner!” I said.

“Aye-aye, Sir! I mean what do you need, Admiral, my King?” she asked.

I glowered at her.

“Admiral, my King?” I demanded.

She shrugged, sending my irritation surging even higher. At least pick one!

“Did you need something, Sir,” my Chief of Staff asked, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

“Late night, Commander?” I asked pointedly.

She nodded.

“When the Fleet Commander says his staff needs to be ready to issue the orders the next morning, it’s my job to stay up as long as it takes to make it happen smoothly and without a hitch,” she said.

Well I couldn’t argue with that.

“Right. Well since you were up all night, there’s one thing I’d like to know,” I said.

“What’s that, Sir?” she asked, her brows wrinkling, trying to guess my intention.

“Why is it, yesterday I went to sleep with over five hundred warships, yet today when I wake up there are only four hundred fifty? Did perchance a few of the fainthearted leave this star system despite my specific order to the contrary?” I asked in a deceptively calm voice.

“No, Sire,” she said simply.

A vein throbbed on my forehead.

She must have seen this because she was quick to add.

“Unfortunately, Sir, a review of the Sector Fleet’s warship list revealed a few… discrepancies,” Commander Steiner said with a severe frown.

“What she means is he’d been padding the books and we got a hit on one of his sector cruisers with a name and vessel registration number that exactly matched a known merchant cruiser,” my scar-faced Intelligence Officer interjected eagerly, “when we contacted that ship directly, she turned out to be the same ship.”

Lisa Steiner nodded seriously.

“They were deliberately hiding their status to, I assume, puff up their records,” she said.

“That’s why last night I initiated a full review of each ship in the Sector Guard and then expanded it to the entire Capital Defense Fleet; so far, we have discovered thirty-eight merchant cruisers listed as regular ships of the line. Those were the ships removed from your warships’ rolls which is why the report you saw appears… truncated, Sire,” said Lisa Steiner, searching for the right word.

“Good work, Steiner,” I said coldly. I wasn’t upset with the Commander because my Chief of Staff had done excellent work.

No. The people I was irritated with were the Sector Governor and his sector admirals. These were the men and women who had deliberately falsified fleet records. Probably to help calm the public in the face of a massive bug Swarm, although that might be entirely too charitable an expression; it was far more likely they had hidden the true numbers of their fleets to avoid any tough questions regarding just how far they’d drawn down their defenses in the two years since their return to the welcoming arms of the rest of galactic civilization. They probably pocketed as much of the military appropriations as they could, as well.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Sire,” she said.

“Not your fault, Commander. In fact, it’s better I know this now rather than during the middle of battle when the ‘cruisers’ I send into battle suddenly decide they’re really merchant ships and blow up like the armed freighters they actually are,” I said.

“They’re not all converted freighters but your point is well made, Sire,” said Steiner.

“Then issue the order. The fleet moves out,” I said.

“Aye-aye, Admiral,” said Lisa Steiner, quickly echoed by my helm/navigation team.

Over the next several minutes, a series of movements rippled through the various warships stationed throughout the star system as my orders were disseminated to every ship in the various fleets.

To my surprise, no one threw a hissy fit upon receiving my orders or threatened to withdraw from the fleet.

Perhaps the reality of their situation had sunk in? The truth was their combined size of 183 warships faced an uphill battle with only nine battleships to their name and would be in some serious trouble if I decided to take my 265 warships with me and go home.

Over the three hours, the core of the Capital Defense Fleet, minus the wolf-packs out screening our advance, gathered together into one unified fleet.

Then it advanced.

With slow ponderous might, four hundred and forty-eight warships, minus the scout screen and the wolf-packs still hunting for stealth bugs, moved to face the first wave of some 986 bugs. That was the current count anyway, it tended to fluctuate as bugs continually detached from the main force and moved ahead, sometimes ran into asteroids and others returned bearing bug-swelling biomass and more bugs were birthed in turn from their bloated bellies of their Mothership.

As we advanced, I broke my force up into three different groups: first, a series of a half a dozen small coin-shaped formations based around the System Defense Force, local Sector Guard, Confederation Flotilla, and the loaner warships sent by nearby star systems to help defend the Sector Capital; and second, a screening force made up of my own light warships; and finally, a large and powerful Wall of Battle based around my thirty-two battleships and the most powerful heavy cruisers in the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet.

The battleships would take turns being the hammer that smashed its way through the heart of the first bug wave to hit this star system and the anvil that crushed all resistance upon it.

As we came on close approach, I spread out my destroyer screen and positioned the coin formations around and behind my Wall of Battle for support. Anything my battleships missed or failed to kill outright, the locals would get to sweep up.

As we approached, the relatively myopic bugs continued to ignore us until we were practically on top of them. At a mere fifteen minutes away from contact, the bugs began to respond to our presence.

Like a kicked-over ant hill, one could see the moment they noticed an invader. Like a wave, every ship that saw us began to maneuver rapidly and the Swarm as a whole started to contract.

Unfortunately for them, it was too little too late. My fleet was pointed directly at the center of the Swarm and the Mothership nestled in the middle of it.

“Get me Rear Admiral Druid,” I instructed.

“Druid here and awaiting orders, King Jason,” he said as soon as he was connected to my console.

I pursed my lips.

“Rear Admiral Druid, are you ready to take your battleships into the center of those bugs and back out the other side?” I asked.

“The Wall is ready to carry out your orders, my King,” Druid said confidently.

I nodded seriously at this double form of verbal support. Druid was from Sector 25, true, but he wasn’t a native-born Caprian or one of the original Tractoan Colonists. He was a transplant from the original 25th Sector Guard who left that organization and joined the MSP out of disgust when it became clear the Patrol Fleet was out there doing the job the Guard said they were there for and which he joined up to perform—namely, to protect the people.

“Then take aim at that Mothership and rake her on the fly-by,” my mouth quirked, “assuming there’s anything left of her by the time you reach her,” I said.

“Aiming to take the kill for yourself, Sir?” he asked with grim amusement.

“The Lucky Clover may be slower than she used to be, but she packs a punch like no other ship alive,” I said confidently.

“She’s in a class all her own, Sir,” he agreed.

“Just stay out of our line of fire and we’ll give the Bug Queen that runs this wave what for, Rear Admiral,” I said confidently.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Although I do believe it will be my Wall that lands the finishing blow and not your Clover, Sir. If I may be so bold,” he said.

I threw my head back and laughed.

“We’ll see about that,” I said.

“See you on the other side, King Jason,” said Druid with the faintest hint of a smile.

“Not if I see you first,” I said.

Druid nodded seriously and shut the channel.

Over the next several minutes, I issued orders adjusting the position of the coin formation lagging behind the Wall of Battle.

The lonely icon of the Lucky Clover 2.0 steadily fell behind as the main force of battleships and heavy cruisers slammed into the first wave of bug scouts and marauders.

“Admiral Druid hit them hard and fast, driving right into the center of their formation,” remarked Tactical with real pleasure as the pride of the MSP turned sideways, pulverizing everything in range before turning and burning straight toward the Mothership.

“I see someone’s eager to claim the kill, Weapons,” I remarked to a suddenly eager bridge. I could practically feel it as the carefully-selected command team on the Lucky Clover’s bridge tensed with eagerness and the noise level audibly dropped.

“We’re entering firing range and I have a target lock on the top bug, King Jason,” suggested the Weaponeer.

“Then pick your moment and send the Mothership to kingdom come, Weapons,” I said.

“Right away, Sire!” the weaponeer said happily.

Half a minute later, the Lucky Clover thrummed.

“Preparing to fire,” warned the Weaponeer. The firing port on the front of the super-battleship retracted.

“Fire when ready,” I said.

Weapons nodded sharply and pulled the trigger.

As the Clover rocked backward, a fiery meteor streaked out of the super-battleship. Moments later, it bypassed Druid’s battleships and slammed into a heavy harvester that got between the Clover and the Mothership.

There was an audible groan as a streak of fire shot out the side of the heavy harvester; it erupted with a series of secondary explosions that shattered the bug ship to pieces.

“Sorry, Sir,” the Weaponeer looked stricken.

“Not a problem, Weapons,” I said with a smile to take the sting out of it, “I’m sure we’ll get them on the next shot.”

Weapons straightened.

“Of course, Sire,” he said hunching back over his console eagerly.

The next five minutes seemed to move like molasses out of an upside-down jar. Slow and sluggishly.

As we watched Rear Admiral Druid and the Wall continued to pile on the speed rushing to reach the Mothership before the Clover could fire again.

At the same time, more than fifty bugs to either side of the Wall tried to put themselves between the Mothership and Druid’s formation.

Rockets and lasers flew toward the Wall and in response Druid’s ships opened fire to either side. As fire and forget bombs and light and medium bug lasers struck the Wall and slid off or were absorbed by their shields our battleships and heavy cruiser smashed seventy three bug ships in to flaming wreckage.

While the shattered survivors ignited their thrusters and attempted to save their Queen, Druid’s Wall reached the harvesters surrounding the Mothership.

In response to the arrival of the battleships, one by one the bugs belched fire-and-forget missiles in every direction as human warships entered their firing range.

They put so many missiles and bombs into the battlespace, that as many bombs started hitting their own forces as they did the battleships.

Then the Mothership and her heavy harvesters opened fire with their lasers. More than two hundred lasers struck the lead battleship in Druid’s formation within a span of three seconds.

The lead battleship in the Wall fell out of formation, spewing atmosphere and plasma from ruptured conduits.

“The HPC is recharged and ready to fire. I have a target lock,” reported Weapons.

“FIRE!” I ordered in a voice like thunder.

My voice hadn’t finished echoing through the bridge and the super-battleship rocked backward as a second plasma round streaked out toward the Mothership.

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath along with everyone else until the superheated ball of molten metal and plasma struck its target.

“YEAH!” a cheer rocked through the bridge as the image of the oversized Mothership began to flash.

Sensor technicians worked their consoles and Tactical Officers checked and rechecked their boards and then the screen cleared.

The Mothership was still there.

I closed my eyes.

“The Mothership has stopped firing,” Tactical reported.

My eyes flashed open to see the Wall split in two halves and open fire. Each wing of the wall spewed flames as they shot past the Mothership. A continuous barrage of individual heavy lasers struck the main force of bugs, while a full broadside slammed into the Mothership one at a time, each battleship and heavy cruiser unloading into the Mothership and her heavy harvester escorts.

Almost unnoticed, a second and then a third ship fell out of formation before regaining momentum and burning at half power to try and catch back up with the main formation. Both heavy cruisers were leaking atmosphere but compared to the three damaged warships on our side, the bugs had taken devastating losses.

Nearly two hundred scouts and marauders had been annihilated and a dozen harvesters completely destroyed. A half dozen additional harvesters were fighting for their lives and by the time the twentieth battleship and heavy cruiser slammed a full broadside into her, the Mothership had taken all she could.

As we watched, a series of internal explosions rocked the Mothership, leaving her holed in a dozen places and floating lifeless in cold space.

That didn’t stop the remaining fifty ships of the Wall from piling on with one broadside after another.

Shortly after the last broadside landed, the bugs went wild shooting everything around them including each other. Worse, as the Wall forced its way out the other side of the bug formation and were dealing with the last fifty or so scouts and marauders, their shields started to flare.

Boarding bugs and boring beetles splattered all over the forward prows of the three lead battleships.

“I’m receiving a priority transmission from Rear Admiral Druid,” reported the Com-Officer.

“Put him through,” I said.

“Sir. I’m asking permission to adjust our course. My battleships are starting to encounter more and more boarding bugs. If we follow orders and proceed directly to the other side of the bug formation, we’ll be in too deep to avoid damage,” he said.

“Permission granted,” I said glancing at the plot, “adjust your course sunward six degrees and get out of there; you can go more if you need to. I’m not trying to fight your ships for you. Proceed at your own discretion, Rear Admiral. If I need you I’ll call.”

“If you need us, we’ll be there,” vowed Druid and then cut the channel.

The Wall adjusted course, burning fuel on emergency thrust to skirt the edge of the space-borne boarding bugs. The increase in speed helped in some ways and hurt in others, splattering bugs on shields and forward hull rather than allow them to safely board the hulls of the Wall in numbers, but at the same time each strike reduced the shields.

Those bugs not directly in the path of our battleships and heavy cruisers turned angry reds, purples and greens as they ignited the bio-fuel in their abdomens, struggling to match course and speed with our warships.

“The heavy cruisers are starting to lose shield strength, Sir,” reported Sensors.

“Rear Admiral Druid is pulling them back behind the battleships and consolidating the Wall into two unequal-sized walls in space one stacked right behind the other. Mind your sensors, Sensors and leave battle analysis to the Tactical Department,” the Tactical Officer said curtly.

“I just report what my people see, Senior Lieutenant,” the Sensor Officer said blandly.

“Enough,” said the First Officer, cutting their little back and forth short.

I nodded.

As I watched the Wall cut through the edge of boarding bug territory and through deft maneuvers and shield management, backed up by a continuous barrage of point defense fire, Druid managed to get his ships out the other side of the bug formation without any apparent losses.

I couldn’t be sure there were no losses because once a boarding bug got on the hull, the small host of smaller bugs it had been carrying was then free to cut its way inside, after which it was a different ballgame. But looking at things from here, I didn’t think they got enough bugs in through to the hulls of his ships to be a serious threat.

Just to be sure, I decided to issue a few orders myself.

In response, the destroyers and light cruiser wings began to swing wide while a handful of medium cruisers gathered and then fell back, taking up position around the Clover.

The Com-Officer had his head cocked.

He turned to me.

“I’m getting a series of increasingly urgent calls from Squadron Commanders to Admirals demanding their right to be in on the kill, Sire,” he informed me, not looking nearly as stressed as I would have imagined him to be.

In the background, I saw Commander Lisa Steiner nodding with approval.

It appeared her training regimen was paying off. In the past, I’d had to deal with untrained or partially-trained com-operators and technicians. Even the so-called officers hadn’t been used to dealing with ships’ captains by themselves, let alone Admirals and the like.

“Good work, Coms,” I said.

I ruminated for half a minute and then came to a decision.

“I have new orders,” I said and instructed the Sector Guard and Capital SDF fleet to tighten up and close in on the flagship’s position. I was going to take them in closer to the bug Swarm. Much closer.

In the meantime….

“Open a channel to Captain Starborn,” I instructed.

“On it,” said the Officer.

Seconds later, the Captain was on the channel.

I cocked an eyebrow.

“What can I do for you, Admiral Montagne?” asked the Flag Captain.

“I’m attaching the odds and sods of the independent squadrons to your command. You’re to take your forces around the outside of the bug Swarm and clean up stragglers,” I said.

“You mean follow along behind your destroyer wings and do clean-up,” the Captain said, his face neutral.

“This Swarm is like an onion. We’re going to peel it layer by layer,” I instructed.

“And the fact they’ll be under a Confederation Commander will hopefully sidestep any chain of command issues that might arise from attaching them to, say, Sector Commandant?” he asked.

“Miller appears a fine and steady officer, I’m sure he could have maintained control of an additional formation from within his sector in addition to his Guard,” I dismissed, “but he already has sufficient warships, as does the Capital SDF. Your flotilla, on the other hand, seems to have left you decidedly short of warships.”

Starborn’s face tightened.

“I disagree with that assessment,” he said loyally.

“As you should,” I inclined my head, “that’s your prerogative as a subordinate officer. As the head of a fleet and one that doesn’t have to bow to the winds of politics, I only have to concern myself with military strategy.”

“Be careful,” warned Starborn, “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but a little diplomacy now may save you a great deal of trouble down the road.”

“Diplomacy,” I said, rolling the word around in my mouth like a strange and potentially unpalatable wine, “can only get you so far and is a weak reed to rest our chances of victory upon.” It also hadn’t done me as much good as it should have. I’d bent over backward to do the right thing, help the people, even tried to work with the local politician types both on the planetary and sector levels and got my hands badly burned each time. Could things have turned out infinitely worse? Without a doubt!

Unfortunately for Captain Starborn’s peace of mind, I wasn’t here to manage my downside. I was here to win.

At the same time, I hesitated… there was no need to throw over the table in a fit of pique.

“That said, I am not immune to the necessity for smooth interpersonal interactions. Why exactly did you think I selected yourself to head up the merged forces?” I said in reply, “I may be focused on winning and with a few more freedoms than a loyal officer of the Confederation such as yourself can manage, but at the same time, I’m more interested in plain speak than running roughshod over the sensibilities of my fellow officers.”

Starborn looked momentarily mutinous at the mention of freedoms but held himself back.

“Good hunting out there, Captain,” I said.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said, cutting the channel.

I’d gone from Admiral back to ‘Your Majesty’ I noted with a chuckle. If that was the worst I had to deal with, this was going to be a piece of cake.

The bugs never having heard of cake or the word easy, decided to make things as difficult as they could.

Rear Admiral Druid was forced to transfer two battalions of lancers from his battleship to help a beleaguered heavy cruiser and though they saved the ship, it had lost one of its shield generators and taken enough damage so I decided not to risk it again unless the situation was dire.

If it weren’t for the jump spindles I would have already sent it on the long journey back home. As it was they were looking at a long boring stint of duty on Spindle Defense as the next best thing to starting home immediately, unless the whole Capital Defense Campaign went sour. Then it was anyone’s guess.

Always possible.

Over the next half hour, the Wall recovered from its skirmish right though the center of the bug Swarm and the lighter units continued to circle the Swarm, cutting down a marauder here and a dozen wandering bug scouts there.

The Lucky Clover, my cruisers, and our allies moved in to add our weight of fire to the attack. The added weight of more than one hundred and fifty warships cleared whole swathes of bugs out of the star system.

Eventually, all good things must come to an end and the bugs stopped killing each other. While a good two hundred bug ships scattered in all direction, nearly three hundred bugs formed back into a fighting force and stopped shooting each other.

Thirty-five harvesters grouped together around the largest heavy in the Swarm and pointed themselves straight at the Lucky Clover.

They must have decided to go after the biggest ship on the human side of the battle. Not a bad decision really.

Not that it was going to do them much good.

“Fire,” I ordered as soon as the main cannon had a lock.

The heavy harvester that appeared to have taken command took a shot right in the bow and the front half of the ship imploded.

For a second and final time, the bug Swarm turned on it and this time, I gave the order to advance.

Within minutes, the remaining bugs were surrounded by our now numerically superior forces and hammered into space debris. Thousands of lasers struck again and again until nothing was left.

“Turn the Clover around and return to the Spindles,” I ordered.

The Tactical Officer turned to me.

“Are you sure you want to do that, Sire?” he asked in a respectful voice, “there’s every chance that more than a few stealth ships survived. Not to mention hundreds or thousands of boarding bugs.”

“While a threat of boarding bugs and boring beetles can be handled by the local army and marines with the judicious assistance of their orbital defenses,” I said with a shrug, “I admit the odds of civilian casualties go up significantly if we assume the locals are incompetent, but there are still several waves of bugs to deal with. The locals are just going to have to step things up.”

“Even a few ships—” began the Tactical Officer.

I looked at him crossly.

“There’s very little even a few ships can do against hundreds of stealth targets. The SDF will already have our warning and the sensor reading from their own SDF warships to help them try to spot the bugs before they hit their worlds. Again there’s very little we could do for them even if they are totally incompetent except draw down our own forces of marines and lancers, leaving our ships at the mercy of any bug boarders. No,” I said with finality, “this battle requires everyone to do their part.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” said Tactical.

Returning to the Spindles, the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet spent the next day and a half making good on battle damage. Light as it was in most cases, facing off against the better portion of a thousand bugs didn’t leave much room for errors.

“What’s the tally?” I asked in a neutral voice.

“We lost two destroyers. The crew of the ship was overwhelmed and before reinforcements could arrive, the survivors were forced to abandon ship. The locals had it worse. Three destroyers and a light cruiser were lost with all hands,” reported my First Officer.

“Unfortunate,” I said with a sigh.

Unsurprisingly, the ships we’d lost, at least in the MSP, had been captained and crewed by a majority of my native Caprians. Looking up the numbers, I was surprised to see something like three quarters of the crew from two of the destroyers made it out safely, along with all of their officers, while the other surviving destroyer only had something like half. That one also lost more than half her officers and her Captain had to be literally dragged off his ship by his own crew as he continued to fight bugs until the last escape pod made it off the ship.

That he was tanked as soon as he was rescued was another good point in his favor. I made a note to look into the after-action reports of his surviving officers and top petty officers to be sure, but he sounded a lot more like the sort of man I wanted in command of my warships than his two compatriots.

Living to fight another day was all well and good, but that many survivors gave the lie to their ‘spirited but ultimately futile defense’ story.

I was afraid my fellow Caprians had experienced too many soft and easy years lately, if two out of three captains and their crews had decided to cut their losses early rather than continue to fight for their ship.

Again, the after-action reports and battle footage would be key but I was already making notes. They fought and didn’t run, I had to concede, but any captain who lost his ship was going to face some hard questions, even in a fleet as unorthodox as the MSP.

While we rested, the next bug wave continued creeping into the outer edges of the star system.

Once again, I sent out the fleet.

This time the leading wave was eleven hundred bug ships strong.

“I’m seeing one Mothership, two hundred harvesters and nine-hundred-odd scouts and marauders,” reported Sensors.

“Excellent work,” I said, leaning forward to scan the next bug wave with interest.

This Mothership was an estimated thirteen hundred and fifty-seven meters long and this one was surrounded by all three hundred of its harvesters.

“Same tactic as last time, Admiral?” Sector Commandant Miller asked, taking this chance while we were on the link to try and pry some information out of me.

I shook my head.

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“Then we’re doing something different?” he asked eyes brightening.

“I didn’t say that either,” I said, unable to help myself.

“Are you toying with me, Admiral?” Commandant Miller asked suspiciously.

“Would I do that?” I asked and immediately shifted the topic back where it belonged, “this time, we’re going to take the entire fleet and circle around the outer perimeter of the Swarm. We won’t be sending the Wall under Rear Admiral Druid until after these bugs have been cut down to size.”

“We’ll peel them like an orange for you, Admiral Montagne,” Miller said with satisfaction, “this will be another one for the history books by the time we’re done with them,” his eyes narrowed into a suddenly speculative look, “there might even be a book deal in it.”

“A book deal?” I asked, putting on a stern face to hide the sudden sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. This Sector Commandant, while surprisingly non-hostile, was beginning to sound more like a wartime profiteer and less the hardened military officer.

“Don’t knock it, Sir. The truth is, you’re quite famous in certain circles,” he said.

“I find that hard to believe. Now if you’d said infamous, I’d probably have believed you,” I said.

“Any number of officers could take their future retirement from modest to comfortable just by serving under you,” he replied seriously.

“Your few campaigns have been studied intensively. You are on the curriculum in Sector military academies as well as our top-performing university ROTC programs,” he advised, “the truth is, several books studying the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet as well as the Rise and Fall of Jason Montagne are considered required reading for the young officers and cadets of tomorrow.”

“I’d like to say I’m flabbergasted but that would be lying. In truth, I’m taken aback,” I admitted.

But none of that was important. I needed to bring the focus back on the current military campaign and ignore some author’s self-aggrandizing attempt at a cover title. The Rise and Fall of Jason Montagne indeed!

“All of that’s beside the point,” I said flatly, “right now, the plan is to peel these bugs like an onion, layer by layer. What I need to know is, are you with me?” I asked.

Sector Commandant Miller nodded firmly.

“Of course. You’ve got the biggest fleet in the Star System and the reputation to match. I only wish I’d been with you in the last war.”

I looked at the Sector Commandant skeptically.

“We could have used you,” I said. We could have used anyone with the will to fight and a spaceship—even just the will to fight and the right skill set, honestly.

After a few more rounds of pleasantries, I pled urgent business and logged off.

Chapter 49

The Order is Given

In a star system on the edge of known space, a spymaster had been waiting for word on an active operation in the Spineward Sectors. That word had finally come.

Agent Simpers looked at the latest data and smiled. Everything was coming together perfectly.

To any outside observer, the latest operation looked like either a natural occurrence or the instinctive lashing out of an angry empire determined to punish those who had stood against it and killed an imperial senator.

If they believed the last, they wouldn’t be entirely wrong but they wouldn’t be entirely right either.

The Imperial Senate had effectively banned any further action in the Spine after the latest series of blunders and miscalculations that had blown up in the Empire’s collective faces. Imperial prestige couldn’t weather another open fiasco.

Which was why between them, Simpers and Admiral Davenport had concocted a plan, one that would strike at the very heart of the biggest local to take action against the Empire and—if everything lined up properly—secure a strategic asset of incalculable wealth for the Empire or see it denied to their enemies and destroyed.

Now word that the operation had entered its final phase had reached him and the enemy had placed himself exactly where he was, as expected. It was time to act.

“Operation Swift Fingers is a go,” said Simpers, queuing up the orders and activating the Com-stat network.

Now it was up to the agent on scene and the black-ops forces added to that agent’s portfolio; the exact timing was up to them.

Agent Simpers rubbed his hands together, just imagining what his black operations forces would be capable of with a device that would allow an operation to jump ‘inside’ a star system’s boundaries, and all the glory and resulting promotions that would naturally follow once the Admiralty of the Imperial Navy finally got wind and finally succeeded in ‘appropriating’ the device.

He wouldn’t hand it over easily but, in the end, whichever way he sliced the dice, the Empire would benefit.

Regardless, such a device was too powerful to leave in the hands of one rogue warlord living just beyond the rim of civilized space.

The operation would also provide a nice diversion for his current mission.

He turned his head; it was time to leave the long reach of the imperial Com-stat network and pioneer directly into black space.

“I.P!” he shouted. It was time to verify and retrieve the fragment.

Chapter 50

Bug Campaign: the Next Wave

The fleet assembled all four hundred and twenty-five fully operational warships, repaired and ready for combat. Our less lucky brethren were still in space dock being repaired, like my heavy cruiser stuck on guard duty.

Speaking of guard duty, I finally found a job for all of those merchant cruisers.

With the rest of the fleet busy taking on the next Swarm, that left no one back on clean-up—no one except the merchant ‘cruisers’ of the Sector Governor, that is, I thought with a chuckle. After the pointed reminders I’d had about how everything behind me was being left open or on the shoulders of the army and orbital defenses, it occurred to me we had an untapped resource.

The merchant cruisers had been re-tasked post-haste. Not only would they have the chance to do some good, they could do in front of an audience, the planets and space stations they were now defending as they patrolled for stealth space bugs. Either they would be everything the Sector Governor had said they were, or a certain politician was about to get some serious egg on his face. I think you could tell which one I was hoping for. For their own sakes, I wanted the crews of those merchant ships to prove me wrong in my assessment of their combat power.

As the Capital Fleet set course for the outer system and pulled away from the inner system, the merchant cruisers and their fate were out of my hands.

They would rise and fall on their own merits. I, on the other hand, needed a nap. Transit times being what they were, I would arrive at the end of my day just in time for the battle.

As it wouldn’t do for the Little Admiral to appear red-eyed and sleep deprived at the beginning of battle, I went back to my quarters.

A brief but intense encounter with Akantha later, where she pumped me for information on the likelihood of hand-to-hand combat, something I very much hoped was unlikely, and I lay flat on the bed, exhausted and rapidly heading off to dreamland.

I awoke to the chime of my data-slate.

“Montagne here,” I said.

“You wanted me to wake you, Sire,” said Commander Steiner.

“Is it that time already?” I asked rhetorically, blinking sleep from my eyes.

“Yes, Sir,” she repeated dutifully.

Fifteen minutes, and I had hit the head, showered, dressed in a new uniform and was on my way up to the bridge.

This time, the Fleet made its approach even more cautiously than before.

“Approaching combat range,” reported Tactical.

“Moving into attack position,” DuPont said crisply.

“The order is to attack. Relay it to squadron commanders and above,” I instructed.

The fleet turned into a line of silver and bronze as warships began to move out by task force until it wrapped around the outer edge of the bug Swarm.

Turbo-and heavy lasers lashed out as the leading warships came into range of the first Swarm scouts and bugs, spewing atmosphere and green internal fluid into space.

In response, the bug scouts lashed out angrily, their light lasers as likely to strike empty space as they were one of our warships, and those lasers that hit did so from such a short range, they barely impacted our shields.

Like a sharp knife peeling the skin off an apple, the Capital Defense Fleet cut through the outer edge of scouts and marauders without taking any real damage in return. Then the leading ships of Captain Starborn’s task force ran into a large group of unstealthed boring beetles.

Point defense lasers flared and chain guns fired as the beetles were targeted for destruction. Hundreds of beetles died but dozens more survived fire from his leading destroyers and follow-up cruisers to enter attack range.

Of those dozens, the majority of them slid past the lead destroyers missing their intercept but eventually, one and then three more lined up their attack runs and then ran smack into the shields on the lead trio of destroyers.

Shields flickered and as I watched and listened to the chatter as Starborn had the lead destroyers fall back, replacing them with a pair of cruisers.

Better able to take damage, the cruisers bulled their way into the Swarm of boring beetles. Point defense lasers fired and everything seemed to be going decently well when the boring beetles started firing fire and forget bombs. Only one or two per beetle but with hundreds if not thousands of beetles firing the numbers soon added up.

I kept my face stonily blank as the lead cruiser staggered out of position, streaking air and atmosphere behind it and the second lost engine power.

Starborn rapidly advanced the rest of his ships to cover his cruisers but the damage was done.

One ship here and two ships there, warships began to fall out of formation. None of them had been destroyed, yet, but it was only a matter of time at this rate.

“Flag Captain Starborn is asking if you want his task force to fall out of position and rotate to the back of the line, Sire?” asked Communications.

“Tell the Captain he is to continue as planned,” I said.

“The Captain says he wishes to lodge an official protest,” said Coms.

I lifted an eyebrow.

“Over a couple of damaged warships?” I asked with disbelief and then shook my head. The Confederation promised this world and all the other worlds of the Spine protection, swearing to put themselves to the hazard if necessary and that was exactly what they were going do. But the sad fact was the Confederation wasn’t used to taking losses.

Maybe a few old transplants such as Commodore Hammer’s people—who’d been stuck in cryogenic storage to use as hostages by the droids—were used to it, or those like the Easy Haven contingent that been cut off when the Empire pulled out of the Spineward Sectors initially… but on the whole, the Confederation was more used to police actions with overwhelming strength on their side than anything resembling a fair fight or, heaven help them, an actual war.

Even the Confederation Fleet led into the Spine by Charles Thomas had seen precious little if any actual combat.

It wasn’t that I was deaf to Starborn’s concern, but a couple cruisers were not reason enough for his task group to fall back.

Slowly but surely, the larger ships and more specifically the main contingent of the Wall lead by Rear Admiral Druid, ranged on the bugs and began clearing everything under a harvester from the sensor plot.

It was slow but steady work and the decision to start the attack on the Swarm from a side position appeared to be paying off. So far, the number of stealth attacks had been minimal.

Fingers crossed that it would stay that way.

I ordered the fleet to continue until we’d done a 360-degree sweep and arrived back where we started.

Despite my hopes, stealth-coated boarding bugs started appearing at close range even as we swept around the front of the Swarm. By that time, most of the scouts and marauders had been annihilated. They died and we triumphed. Other than a handful of ships here and there, we were good.

Of course, ones and twos added up eventually.

That was why it was time to step things up.

“Let’s finish this,” I said.

“Jason?” Akantha asked, surprising me with her presence. I didn’t know why she did, maybe I expected her to suit up in battle armor and wait with the lancers for a chance at the action.

I gestured to our battle plot where most of the surviving scouts and marauders had pulled back in close to the harvester-class warships and pulled up the most recent numbers.

“We’ve killed or destroyed an estimated five hundred bugs, not counting their boarding bugs and boring beetles, but they were almost entirely scouts and marauders. We could make a few more passes, sure,” I admitted, “but with those harvesters pulled in tight to the Swarm Queen and her Mothership, we’re going to have to get in there and get our hands dirty anyway.”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to take more time clearing out the small fry first before taking on the harvester-class bugships?” Akantha asked.

“It might be if there weren’t all of those stealth bugs I had to worry about,” I explained.

Akantha nodded in understanding.

“As it is, we have a rough idea of where they are and thus where they aren’t. If we give them time, they might spread out. They’re probably doing that right now. Either the decision’s been made, or we’re going to take the battle to the bugs,” I said.

“You’re the expert on ship-to-ship combat,” she said.

That gave me pause, the young, uncertain, untrained, unready officer I’d been back at the beginning momentarily poking out his head. I ruthlessly quashed those feelings and nodded in reply.

“While I’m hesitant to use the term expert,” I turned the palms of my hand up, “I think it’s safe to say I’m at least somewhat competent at fleet operations by this point,” I said.

“Let’s hope for all our sakes you are more than simply competent,” she said.

I shot her a disgruntled quelling look.

She returned a challenging gaze.

I suppressed a sigh.

Even when she seemed to be trying to support me, she couldn’t help but challenge me in the process. At least she was urging me to be a better person or at least an Admiral rather than fighting me over everything under the sun.

Maybe I was being too hard on her?

“What are your orders, Sir?” Lisa Steiner prompted after it was clear I’d fallen into my own thoughts.

My expression stiffened.

“We attack,” I said.

Over the next several minutes, the long silver and bronze snake that was the line of ships representing the Capital Fleet changed course and began constricting around the bug Swarm.

We were still circling around the bugs but this time, I timed things so an entire taskforce came into contact with the bugs simultaneously.

This time, instead of Starborn and his cruisers taking the lead, I sent in the Wall. It wouldn’t do to give the Confederation too much cause to yell about favoritism and discriminatory practices, I thought with an evil smile.

Turbo-Lasers flared as the heaviest ships in the fleet opened fire, followed shortly by thousands of heavy lasers as Druid closed to attack range.

With fifty warships firing at a hand full of targets, harvesters were hit so many times in quick succession they were quickly destroyed.

The return fire was almost immediate. Like an angry hornet’s nest that had just been kicked, harvesters responded by opening fire and setting a pursuit course. This opened a hole in the bug formation.

The equivalent of oversized medium lasers could never come close to the same weight of fire of our battleship-sized turbo-lasers and being fired at extreme range didn’t help either, at least it didn’t help the bugs. It suited me right down to the ground of course.

Unfortunately, the bug harvesters didn’t get more than several ship lengths away from support before they turned around and fell back into position. But I would take what I could get.

Several times, bug harvesters would pull out of position only to fall back in before they could get outside of supportive range of their friends. Then the Confederation Flotilla and their attached local warships moved into firing position.

Unfortunately for the confeds, the makeup of their warships, being mostly destroyers and a strong contingent of cruisers, meant they had to get a great deal closer to the harvesters to be effective.

This resulted in the harvesters’ return fire being that much more effective. However, Starborn’s coordinated firing pattern and the bugs spreading their fire over his entire formation once again meant the Capital Fleet was getting the better end of the deal.

One by one, the other Task Forces moved into firing range until the line of human warships was coiled around the bug harvesters like a snake.

The bugs got a few lucky shots in but for every twenty harvesters knocked out of action, one of ours was forced to withdraw due to battle damage.

Then something changed and the bug Swarm began reorganizing.

“They’re up to something. Any ideas?” I said, staring at the battle plot showing the Swarm intently.

“I’m sure we’ll find out soon,” commented the First Officer.

I gave him a withering look.

“Sorry, Sire,” he said shamefaced.

“Any helpful ideas?” I asked with an edge to my voice.

I looked at my Tactical Officer.

“All I can say is to expect an attack of some kind,” put on the spot, the ship’s Tactical Officer replied.

Truer words were never spoken because not five minutes later, every scout, marauder and light harvester in the fleet threw itself at our fleet. It looked like the bugs’ surprising moment of discipline was finally over.

“More than three hundred bugs are on the move!” reported Sensors.

“Give me numbers and tell the Starborn and his confeds to pull back behind the wall!” I ordered as it became clear the bulk of the harvesters were aimed at his taskforce.

“Starborn’s acknowledging,” said Coms.

“Druid and the Wall are moving to cover!” reported the XO.

“I’ve got those numbers,” said Tactical.

I made an irritable move along with a gesture.

“I’m reading five hundred bugs! One hundred fifty of them light harvesters, one hundred of them marauders and the rest scouts,” said Tactical.

“Sensors is picking up what look like unstealthed boring beetles mixed in with and immediately behind those harvesters!” reported Sensors.

“This is it people. The big push. This one’s for all the marbles,” I said, leaning forward intently.

Sure, there were heavy and medium harvesters to deal with but once we got rid of all the bugs’ smaller faster ships, we could pick apart their heavy hitters at leisure. The simple fact was we had tougher ships, faster ships and longer-ranged weapons.

As long as their light harvesters couldn’t force a close engagement with our heavies and tie them down long enough for their heavies to get to grips, we had this battle in the bag.

“Helm, reorient the Clover head on to the Swarm, and if you see the chance to take out that Mothership Weapons just do it, don’t you wait for my order,” I said.

“Easy peasy, Admiral,” DuPont said drolly.

“Yes, Sire!” the Weaponeer in charge of the Hyper Plasma Cannon said sharply.

As the Clover shifted eighty degrees in space, the bugs went wild, opening fire in all directions and lighting off their fire-and-forget bombs and missiles. There was so much flak in the form of explosions and energy spikes from their light and medium lasers that the sensors fuzzed.

“Well that’s one way to jam the side with superior sensor technology,” I observed tensely.

Half of the bug weapons slammed into the Confederation Flotilla, but the rest almost seemed to be aimed at each other, exploding inside or just outside the main force of light harvesters.

Every human ship within range returned fire, only adding to the energy spikes and explosions cluttering the main screen. The firm green lines that showed the projected courses and speeds of the bug attack wave went from green, indicating strong likelihood of being correct, to yellow, and then to almost 20% red—for uncertain or actively believed to be wrong but still going off the latest reliable data.

“What’s wrong with my tactical feed?” demanded Tactical.

“We’re receiving anomalous readings,” said Sensors.

“Clean it up, Sensors,” ordered the First Officer.

“I’m trying!” the Sensor Officer said in a loud voice.

Just to add to the chaos, the main force of bugs launched over 75% of their fire and forget missiles in a track alongside the group of light harvesters.

“Just what are these bugs playing at, Sir?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“Tell the fleet to ready point defense systems,” I said.

The main force of heavy and medium harvester bugs fired again and then the first wave of bombs and missiles exploded just in front of the light harvesters, causing the screen to fuzz.

“They’re deliberately trying to blind us,” I observed, “get me the Lancer Colonel.”

“Warlord?” asked the Colonel.

“Prepare to repel boarders, Colonel,” I said.

The Colonel’s eyes widened and then clashed his gauntlets together.

“You can count on me, Warlord Montagne,” he said.

There was an alarm siren in the sensor pit and I cut the channel I’d done what I could to prepare the ship. Now I had to wait for more information. Something I expected would be arriving shortly.

The main screen once again shuddered with new tracks appearing. The light harvesters had shifted the focus of their attack. They were no longer projected to hit Starborn’s Confederation forces.

“They’re coming right for us!” shouted DuPont hands tensing on his controls.

I opened my mouth to issue new orders when the bridge rumbled and the weaponeer pumped his fist downward.

“Clear target!” reported the Weaponeer as the ship rocked backward.

The Lucky Clover belched fire and a white streak appeared on the main screen as the HPC launched a fast-moving projectile straight toward the center of the Swarm.

“Thy will be done, my King, as I send that bug to kingdom come!” the Weaponeer said with wild eyes.

I gripped the edge of my chair as the hyper-plasma round pierced through the leading edge of the light harvesters and struck deep into the heart of the main Swarm.

The newly-arrived harvesters and the continued explosions that preceded them once again fuzzed the sensors. Almost a thousand light and medium lasers hit the super-battleship at the same time and our shields dropped.

“Port shield collapse! Secondary shield generators coming on line now!” shouted the Shield Operator.

“Turn the ship, DuPont!” I ordered.

“Return fire!” bellowed Tactical, speaking into his microphone to the gun deck.

Another salvo slammed into the ship, much less coordinated than the first one, an uncoordinated rain of lasers rather than one well-coordinated blast—but it dropped our secondary shield generators before the shields could fully form.

“Secondary shield generators two, four and six have taken damage and are offline,” reported Shields.

“Closing firing port,” cried the Weaponeer as the open hole in the forward armor of the ship that allowed us to use the HPC closed.

“Main generator is still in the middle of emergency shutdown protocols. I’m redirecting full power to our remaining secondary shield generators and expanding coverage to compensate,” reported Shields.

I looked up to see the Lucky Clover still in the middle of a ponderous turn.

“Roll the ship, DuPont,” I snapped.

“Aye, Sir,” said the Helmsman, sweat beading on his forehead as he continued to push his controls against the safety locks.

A weak shield began to form.

The light harvesters fired again, this time in an even more ragged volley, but it went back down.

An image of the outside hull showed a large series of small thin holes in the super battleships’ outer armor like inverted porcupine quills, that instead of sticking out of the ship, pierced inward.

“Fire!” ordered Tactical.

The port side exploded in a fiery storm of lasers, plasma balls and even chain guns as everything on that side of the ship returned fire.

A handful of light harvesters fell out of formation but dozens more entered close range.

As DuPont simultaneously turned and rolled the ship and the enemy harvesters came closer, more of our broadside came into play.

Half the ship facing the Swarm was covered by starboard shielding when the first harvester did a close flyby at high speed, leaving a trail of small black contacts in its wake.

“Sensors scan those objects, I need a combat profile,” demanded Tactical.

“We’re trying,” snapped Sensors.

Then a good scan return came back in the form of a sensor operator launching to her feet.

“Boarding bugs!” she cried.

“Point defense, retarget those boarding bugs,” ordered Tactical.

Within a handful of seconds, a handful of plasma balls and the majority of our chain guns were focused on the boarding bugs. A handful more, and almost all of our point defense weapons including our point defense lasers were lashing out at the would-be boarders.

Every one of the first set of boarding bugs was annihilated but that first light harvester was followed by a dozen more, and within seconds, dozens of boarding bugs had become hundreds.

Our gunners did their best, but before a minute had passed, half the light harvesters had bypassed the flagship and the first of the boarding bugs ducked under the lowering edge of our starboard shields.

As the light harvesters ran into our reinforcements, the first of the boarding bugs slammed into our hull, destroying both themselves and the warrior and technician models that clung so desperately to their sides. Nothing more than green stains on the side of the hull and a series of dull thumps remained to announce the end of their part in this brewing conflict.

The second wave wasn’t so unlucky and a handful of the two dozen that made it through succeeded in landing.

“Bugs on the hull,” Adrienne Blythe reported in a clinical voice from her position at damage control.

“Get me the Lancer Colonel,” I said.

Within seconds, the eager face of my Tractoan Lancer Colonel was on my screen.

“We have bugs, Colonel. Wait a minute for the shields to finish getting between us and those harvester light lasers and you’re free to get out on the hull and take action,” I said.

“We’ll clear out those bugs in nothing flat, Warlord,” said the Colonel.

“Go get them, Colonel,” I said and cut the channel.

DuPont finished interposing the starboard shield between us and the rest of the harvesters when we started to get system updates from the rest of the force.

The main screen cleared, and on it I we could see a large red icon where the Mothership used to reside and a Swarm of heavy harvesters tearing one another apart as someone in there tried to decide who was going to be the next bug Queen. Either that, or now that their Queen was gone, a lot of old scores were being settled. Either way, give them enough time and one of those heavy harvesters would reestablish control.

Something I wasn’t about to give them.

Ignoring the renewed, if now uncoordinated hail of light and medium laser fire from the light harvesters all around us, I opened a channel to Officer Druid.

“I want you to take in your heavies and finish off as many of those heavies as you can while they’re distracted, Rear Admiral. Understood?” I asked.

“Not a problem, Sire,” said Druid.

Within moments, the Wall was on its way to a rendezvous with the three hundred surviving heavy harvesters.

Not to be outdone, Admiral Laurent, proving once again why I’d put him in command of our lighter units, was already bringing the rest of the MSP’s cruisers and destroyers around to hammer the light harvesters.

Now leaderless, the light harvesters were easily picked off one by one into individual ship-to-light harvester combats that frittered away their strength and let us team up on them two or even three to one.

More than half the light harvesters were peeled away from the main force this way, while another twenty or thirty started randomly moving away from combat, courses already locked on the nearest inhabitable world filled with fresh biomass. They wouldn’t get far.

Ignoring the stragglers, the Sector Guard slammed into one side of the fast-moving light harvester Swarm while the local System Defense Fleet pushed their engines to the red line in order to concentrate and slam into them on the other.

“A lucky hit, Weapons,” the Executive Officer said, clapping the weaponeer on the shoulder, “keep it up!”

I nodded. We could use some more gunnery like that, one hit one kill, targeting a Mothership in the middle of a Swarm of overprotective heavy harvesters.

I made a mental note to add a combat bonus to that weaponeer’s next monthly paystub.

The ship surrounded now both broadsides and were firing as rapidly as they could cycle their laser mounts and focusing crystals.

The bugs might have been decapitated but they were the last thing from down and out. They still had a lot of fight in them, especially their boarding bugs.’

Over the next fifteen minutes, the light harvesters were destroyed as a unified force, their survivors scattered. Casualties on our side were up thanks to the over-eager actions of the Sector Guard and System Defense Forces but there was nothing I could do about that.

On the other hand, while the light harvesters were scattered and the heavy harvesters too slow to catch the rest of the fleet, the more than one hundred boarding bugs successfully landed on the hull of the Lucky Clover were something else entirely.

“Colonel Demeter is calling out two battalions of reinforcements,” reported Akantha.

I looked over at her with concern.

“Is that your way of saying you’re taking off?” I asked.

She gave me a cross look.

“Do you want me to go?” she asked.

“Not particularly,” I said.

“Then know I’ll be staying here,” she said.

“Good,” I sighed with relief.

“I was just pointing it out in case there was anything you wanted done,” she said.

I paused to consider and ran a hand through my hair.

“I don’t want to jog Demeter’s elbow,” I said pursing my lips, “however, this would probably be an ideal time for the armory team to start passing out handheld weapons to the crew.”

She gave me a skeptical look but within moments, the team had unlocked the armory and began passing out weapons.

We were stuck in it now but this was our battle to lose.

While our lancers worked on clearing the hull and DuPont at the helm began slowly but surely backing the Lucky Clover away from the heavy harvesters, I scanned the battlespace looking for trouble.

The light harvesters had been irritating, and as a group, potentially deadly—but now that things were scattered, the Clover’s main gun was back in operation.

Unless the bugs came up with a new trick, it was just a matter of time.

Chapter 51

Operation Light Fingers

Silent as the grave and stealthier than an asteroid, the three squadrons of raptor-class destroyers slid into position around the target.

“Threat assessment, Commander?” asked Agent-in-Charge Gustavus Adolphus.

“Minimal, for achieving our primary objective of denying alien technology to the designated party. That should be easily achievable. The threat level rises from minimal to moderate if we attempt our secondary objective of bringing a working sample of this technology back to the Empire,” the Commander in charge of the three-squadron-strong attack force said with confidence.

“I can make no promises, Agent,” said the Commander.

“I can’t either, Commander,” the Agent said with a frown, but in the back of his eyes lurked a hunger to complete all the mission objectives and bring the Alien Jump Spindles back home.

“What do you think of our mission? Should we settle for the primary objective or snatch them from the MSP?” asked Gustavus Adolphus.

The Commander nodded.

“My squadrons can take them, Sir. Getting the technology out of the star system successfully will be the trick. For that, we must rely upon the Intelligence Directorate,” he said with a shrug.

“Imperial hackers are the best in the galaxy, Commander,” the Agent said confidently, “while there are no guarantees in life, I can’t imagine that a secondary rate power using a mismatch of first-and second-rate operating systems and third rate military encryption programs can stop us. Given enough time of course.”

“We’ll give you everything we can, Agent. But the laws of physics are unavoidable. My men and I do not want to die for an unsecurable piece of technology,” he warned.

“Nor would I ask it of you, Commander. Especially considering I’ll be sharing your fate,” said the Agent.

He took a deep breath.

“Then we proceed as outlined in Operations Plan Alpha-2. Take out their guard ships and secure those spindles. Even just the chance to take deep detailed scans and copy its operation systems will give us invaluable data for reverse engineering the technology. I’m officially turning the next portion of this operation over to you as outlined in our mission orders, Commander,” said the Agent.

“I receive operational command, Agent. We’ll bring those Spindles with us or render them non-operational,” he said.

***

With the Lucky Clover surrounded by bug harvesters and the entire fleet engaged deep in the outer star system, the imperial black ops destroyers began to creep into the sensor perimeter of the guard ships surrounding the Elder Tech Jump Spindles.

Upon achieving minimum effective range, nine of the thirteen imperial destroyers abruptly brought up their shields and engaged engines.

“We’re receiving a warning hail. The designated unaffiliated third party are threatening to destroy us, Commander,” said Lieutenant Jarvis.

“Ignore them,” the Commander said with an amused expression.

The Agent, on the other hand, had a puckered look.

“Why do you look like someone stole your cream?” asked the Commander.

“Unaffiliated third party? We know exactly who they are, Commander, and they are not some bogey man we should fear to name,” said Agent Gustavus Adolphus.

The Commander’s face shuttered.

“You may be inured to the idea of being sacrificed for the cause after a successful mission, but I will not make it any easier than I have to for my officers and crew to be dragged before a tribunal. If a little name obfuscation makes it that much more difficult for the censors and their monitoring programs to find us with a voice-to-text keyword search, then that’s what we’ll do, Agent Adolphus.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” said the Agent, making his face deliberately expressionless.

***

The dozen MSP warships assigned to Jump Spindle Protection duties all had varying levels of damage. The heavy cruiser in command of the defense force, for instance, had a damaged secondary engine and no shields on one side of the ship.

When two squadrons of destroyers appeared suddenly within their threat radius, the warships of the MSP Spindle Protective Detail didn’t hesitate. They fired their engines and gave their first and final warning.

In response, the unidentified destroyers ignored all hails, lit off their engines and opened fire from spinal-mounted triple-linked medium lasers. After firing, they made a beeline toward the jump spindles.

Taking active fire, the destroyers and cruisers scrambled into formation between the spindles and the now hostile destroyers and presented their broadsides.

At the same time, one of the MSP destroyers in the formation made a second demand to stop and be identified or destroyed five seconds before the enemy destroyers opened fire yet again.

Other than a pair of destroyers with heavy engine damage thanks to the Imperial Destroyers, all the MSP warships were now in a line between the attackers and the Spindles. They opened fire.

The forward-facing and, most importantly, load-distributing regenerative shields of the imperial destroyers shrugged off every attack with ease except for the heavy cruiser’s broadside.

Four turbo-lasers and a mix of twenty-odd other medium and heavy lasers punch-dropped its forward-facing shields to dangerous levels and proceeded to damaged its triple forward-facing medium lasers, rendering them combat ineffective.

In return, they concentrated their fire on a pair of the destroyers. Medium lasers punched through shields and into the hulls. A second enemy destroyer fell out of position with a damaged forward spinal mount and for a minute, it looked like the MSP warships with their heavy cruiser had the upper hand.

The five hidden destroyers that had been sneaking closer to the jump spindles still unnoticed thanks to the ship-to-ship combat already taking place, moved into position for up-the-kilt shots. All five destroyers opened fire.

Alarms sounded in every bridge in the Spindle patrol group as energy spikes sent bridge crews into a tizzy. Captains issued urgent orders and the line of MSP warships scrambled to reposition, only two of them managing to move in time to take glancing blows. The others were too slow to take action and all three of the other targeted warships, including the heavy cruiser, took shots to their engines.

Unfortunately for the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, one of the reasons the heavy cruiser was stuck on guard duty was because one of its main shield generators was down, leaving half the ship, the side facing away from the force of nine imperial destroyers, entirely unshielded.

Taking advantage of this complete lack of shields on the port side of the MSP cruiser, the triple laser shot pierced straight into the main engine of the cruiser before its captain and crew could try to cover their mistake.

“Enemy cruiser neutralized!” crowed Lieutenant Snyder as the rear end of the MSP heavy cruiser erupted in flames and the heavy cruiser’s main engine quickly tore itself apart.

“Decorum, Lieutenant. We are not some hum-scrum system militia,” scolded the Commander.

“Apologies, Commander,” said Lieutenant Snyder, face turning back to his console.

On the screen, a pair of MSP destroyers turned to double-team an imperial destroyer.

“Tactical shift; fire and press those warships,” ordered the Imperial Commander, gesturing to a pair of over-eager local destroyers that were about to be taught a lesson.

“Aye-aye, Sir,” the Officer at the tactical console said stolidly.

Hands clasped behind his back, the Commodore watched as his highly-trained predator class destroyers began shifting formation to spread the load on their shields equally across all warships. On the face of it, even with the heavy cruiser heavily damaged and down to its maneuvering thrusters, the Spineward Sector guard detail looked like it still had a fighting chance.

Of course, the locals still had no clue about the knife in the dark that was about to land, making all of their current efforts irrelevant.

“Message the task group; the new order of the day is a fighting withdrawal,” the Imperial Commander ordered confidently, “let us lure the locals away from those Spindles. Carefully though, there is no need to arouse their suspicions,” he added with a grin.

The message was relayed and the two groups of imperial destroyers soon linked up to within supporting range. For now, the Commander kept the two formations separate.

Eager to ‘drive off’ their stealth attackers all surviving MSP warships, minus the three that couldn’t maneuver any longer, began an aggressive pursuit.

But even as they were pursuing the retreating imperial destroyers, a small fleet of Black Ops recon shuttles with their contingents of technicians and marines descended on the jump spindles.

As the Jacks spread out across the surface of each spindle and sappers ran detonation cord and placed scuttling charges, the imperial technicians headed toward the nearest electrical conduits and jacked into the alien devices. Their goal? Take what they could and destroy the rest.

It was inconceivable that any power in the galaxy could have sole possession of an alien technology of such magnitude, let alone a small unaffiliated power on the Rim. The old Confederation getting their hands on such a device was barely allowable. But a third-rate power from a second-rate region of the galaxy like the Spine, one that challenged the Empire, had killed an Imperial Senator and lived to tell the tale? That was a situation the Imperial Intelligence Directorate could not allow and it was now up to the Black Ops forces of Agent Adolphus to make that decision a reality.

Chapter 52

Disaster!

The Fleet was still cleaning up something of the order of three hundred scattered harvesters, marauders and scout survivors of the original Swarm, along with an unidentified number of boring bugs and boarding beetles, numbers that might reach into the low thousands—and I was still busy directing the efforts.

“Admiral, there’s an ongoing active attempt on the Spindles,” my Staff Intelligence Officer said, leaning in close.

“What, Bridget?” I asked absently, waving her away as a small clot of heavy harvesters started to do some damage to a group of SDF warships that had drifted too deep inside their firing radius and now needed to be bailed out. Whatever it was could wait if it didn’t have to do with the battle…

Her words finally registered. I jerked in my chair and rounded on her with a wild-eyed look.

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“As a heart attack, Sir. Thirteen destroyers have been identified so far; the Spindle guard is trying to drive them off,” Officer Kelly replied.

“You’d better be joking because this isn’t funny, Lieutenant,” I informed her, feeling a cold sensation sending a chill running down my spine.

“They snuck into range and engaged the Spindle guard before our ships were even aware they were there and then they took out our heavy cruiser’s last engine in less than a minute. If this is a joke, I’m waiting for the punch-line, Sir,” said Lieutenant Kelly, the scar running down her face turning even whiter than usual.

“Demon Murphy, avert,” I swore and quickly passed temporary command of the battle to Rear Admiral Laurent while I turned my attention to our only way home. Or at least our fastest. If we lost those Spindles…. It didn’t bear thinking about.

The fly was definitely in the ointment. Fortunately, there was a plan in place for just this contingency.

“Give me a breakdown,” I said, shooting out orders like blaster bolts.

Within moments, the best images our sensors could give from this rang up on my screen.

The tactical picture was dire.

The heavy cruiser and two destroyers were man down with disabled engines, leaving nine defenders, a light cruiser and eight destroyers against thirteen hostile destroyers.

For the moment, they were holding off the enemy but numbers didn’t lie. This was not good.

“Who’s the nearest possible reinforcement in the area?” I asked in a cold voice.

A series of flashing icons appeared.

“There’s a squadron of merchant cruisers patrolling the inner system about an hour out from the Spindles,” she pointed out.

I grimaced and zoomed into the next nearest group of warships. There was a small group of about twenty injured warships moving back to the inner system in convoy. If I ordered the convoy to break up the fastest of the damaged warships to proceed to the Jump Spindles at best speed, I was still looking at a two-hour delay.

I clenched my fists.

“Pass the order to those merchant cruisers,” I said, because as much as I didn’t want to admit it, the only thing worse than sending those merchant cruisers to help would be not to send them in the first place. Those armed freighters were just as likely to get themselves torn to pieces in the opening salvo as they were to damage the enemy. Worse, after the way I’d pulled them out of the Governor’s line of battle and exposed the corruption that went into their creation, I figured I wasn’t on the top of their favorite person of the year list.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“And put out a call to every ship in the wounded warship convoy. I won’t order it but any ship that volunteers to will be eagerly accepted,” I said. I also sent out an immediate order peeling off a squadron of five faster light cruisers and twenty-five destroyers.

“It’s going to take time for those warships to arrive,” observed Officer Kelly.

“I want this thing crushed, Bridget,” I informed my Intelligence Officer, unable to keep the seething anger I was feeling out of my voice.

“We can’t afford to lose those Jump Spindles,” I said.

“Just be advised this has all the hallmarks of a professional operation. They struck without warning and disabled three of our warships by the second salvo,” she warned.

My face tightened.

“Meaning what? We’re going to lose the Spindles?” I demanded.

She splayed her hands in obvious prevarication.

“We’re too far for rapid communications. There’s going to be an inevitable lag that affects our response,” she said.

“I think they’re going to find stealing them from us to be a fair bit harder than they expect. Send out a message telling the Spindles to activate the Beta-4 protocols,” I said harshly.

“Beta-4?” she asked.

“It’s a directive instructing the Spindles to jump to a position closer to the fleet,” I said with a tight smile, “what, did you think I was just going to leave the spindles swinging in the wind out there unprotected? They have instructions to jump out if they come under attack. It’s not foolproof given the time it takes to form a field but…”

“I wish you would have informed me of this sooner,” she said.

“Need to know, Kelly,” I said dismissively.

Still visibly unhappy, she nodded her understanding.

“Still nothing is certain, Sir. If they can’t capture and it looks like the Spindles are going to escape, they may have orders to destroy. It’s what I would do if I were planning an operation,” she said unhappily.

“Who says these aren’t simply a group of pirates seeing an opportunity?” I asked sharply. The last thing I wanted to hear right now was negative feedback… which probably meant it was the stuff I most needed to hear, blast her eyes.

“If that were true, we should have identified at least some of their ships by now. The fact is, we can’t. On top of that, they’re much too uniform for a rogue operation. Even from this range, and that says something,” she paused, “you weren’t the only one taken by surprise, Sir. Even if you thought to set up some hidden defenses, I didn’t foresee ‘anyone’ trying to take out our Jump Spindles in the middle of the worst humanitarian crisis of the past two hundred years. Who would deliberately disable our fastest means of transportation between star systems when bugs are literally on the attack and billions of lives are on the line? On the face it, it’s just insane, Sir,” she said.

“Blast them. We both know who it has to be. The blasted Empire is going to pay for this, Lieutenant. Mark my words, Kelly; they will pay,” I said harshly, already imagining the kind of damage a disguised Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet could do to the Empire when and where they least expected it. There were any number of places like, say, the Gorgon Front, where the arrival of a powerful warfleet opposed to them could easily tip the balance of power, giving the Imperial Navy the sort of black eye it wouldn’t soon forget!

“If we survive this attack with the Spindles intact, we’re going to need to seriously revise our defensive procedures,” she said.

I gave her a flinty look.

Bridget Kelly stiffened, the scar on her face pulling tight.

“You think? Mark my words. We’re not going to lose those Spindles, Officer Kelly. When they think they’re safe and secure, the Empire will rue the day they crossed Jason Montagne and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet. As a great man once said, they ain’t seen nothing yet,” I said.

“I urge caution, Sir. A poorly-thought-out immediate response could be exactly what the Imperials are looking for,” she said with concern.

I took a moment to enhance my calm, reminding myself that all wasn’t lost. Yet. The enemy might be putting it to the damaged guard ships right now, but they were still in for a nasty surprise the moment they tried to take control of those spindles.

“Have no fear. I don’t intend to go off half-cocked as they say, and I have learned through painful personal experience over the years that revenge is a dish best served cold. Well it’s very cold in cold space, Lieutenant. Very cold,” I repeated.

Over the course of the next several minutes, the Spindle attackers wore down the guardship in the sort of running battle that pulled both forces farther away from the Spindles every minute.

On the one hand, that was good. On the other, I was waiting for the shoe to drop.

Then an explosion rocked the first Spindle and I bolted out of my chair.

***

“ROS!” roared the Tractoan Sergeant, vibro-blade crashing into his enemy’s boarding axe.

His weapons were smoothly shunted to the side by the imperial jack who came back around, monolocsium axe raised over his head for a skull-crushing blow.

The Sergeant’s left hand came thrusting forward at chest level and the imperial jack stiffened.

“Hold the point!” he shouted, shoving the imperial aside and pulling back the vibro-dagger in his left hand in one smooth motion.

Beside him, the rest of his squad struggled hand-to-hand with a squad of imperial marines, while a second squad of enemy marines worked to set up a firing position farther down the length of the Spindle.

One of his squad was sent spinning off the hull.

“Don’t let them get through,” ordered the Sergeant, spinning under a head-level axe sweep and grasping the hand of his shoulder-slung flash shotgun.

There was a blast, and a jack that had been about to put his axe through the face plate of the spinning Tractoan private went limp.

“Get down here and fight, Alexander!” snapped Sergeant Philip, grabbing hold of his private by the arm and slamming the other man helmet first into the jack who’d just tried to decapitate the Sergeant.

“Cut me loose!” shouted Alexander, grappling with the enemy jack.

“There’s your fighting chance. Now fight! We just have to hold until the dastards in the control center can jump us closer to the main fleet,” thundered Philip, throwing himself to the side to help yet another beleaguered lancer facing off against two marine jacks.

“Hold, damn your eyes, or I’ll cut them out myself and be done with you,” screamed the Sergeant, holding down the trigger of his flash-shotgun and laying around him with it as fast as he could repeatedly jack in new rounds.

Above them, the Spindle began to thrum as a jump field began to form.

“Another couple minutes and we’re free. Hold! Hold!” he cried, magnetizing his boots as far as they would go to lock himself down to the hull and then laying about with his flash-shotgun for all he was worth.

For the next several seconds that felt like a lifetime, it was all the Sergeant could do to hold off the jacks and keep his lancers alive. Then around the same time, the second squad of enemy marines finished setting up their crew-served weapon and the jump field collapsed in a flash of blue light.

A sudden surge of gravity smashed everyone on the surface of the spindle flat down to the hull.

This was different and it didn’t bode well, the Sergeant thought muzzily.

An emergency transmission came over the com-link and cut through the haze.

“War-Leader to the front! I repeat, War-Leader to the front! The enemy marines are back up and running what looks like blasting-cord from their stealth shuttle to the center point of the Spine,” said the voice of the spotter from his hide in the side of the Spindle.

“What just happened?” asked the Sergeant with a sinking sensation as he looked at the header for the transmission from the spotter. It was set to automatically contact the senior surviving lancer on the Spindle.

“Spindle Two sent an emergency burst transmission breaking radio silence, saying the enemy were emplacing a scuttling charge on the surface of their Spindle and they were going to stop seconds before the jump field collapsed,” said the Spotter in a relieved voice.

His relief was matched by the sinking sensation in Sergeant Philip’s stomach as the weight of responsibility for the platoon-sized warband landed firmly on his shoulders.

“You’ve got to stop them from placing that charge,” the Sergeant said abruptly.

The man on the other end of the line hesitated.

“There’s one squad in power armor and another of what look like technical support. I saw a second squad and more tech support moving to the bottom half of the Spindle. If I take action, they’ll be on me before I can say MEN and I’ll be taken out, Sir. Then you’ll lose your spotter permanently,” said the Lancer.

“If they detonate that charge, we’re all dead men. Figure something out, Private,” the Sergeant growled, ducking down the nape of the hull as the enemy’s crew-served weapon opened fire.

The lancer didn’t respond immediately.

“We all have problems, Private!” shouted the Sergeant, sticking his blaster pistol up over his head and randomly firing.

“Shoot the line. Smash the controls. Kill everyone in sight. You have the training. You have heart. You can do this. More if you don’t; when I get down there I’ll kill you myself!” instructed the Sergeant.

“On it, Sir. Last charge of the hoplites and all that,” the Lancer said finally, a new determination in his voice.

“You won’t be alone for long,” the Sergeant growled, leaving the channel to the spotter open as he switched to the general push.

“I need the MA-39 up here on the double to provide suppressive fire. Get me that crew-served plasma-cannon. We’re pulling out all the stops,” he snapped.

“Ma’s on the way, Sergeant,” said the reserve quad set up on the relatively flat top of the Spindle for a 360-degree view of the edge leading down to the rest of the Spindle.

The sergeant waited until the icons showing the plasma cannon team were almost to the edge of the Spindle’s top.

“This is Sergeant Philips, your new War-Leader. The enemy’s all set to blow us into the afterlife. But I say we’re not done fighting yet. What do you say, boys? Are you ready to die today?” he demanded.

Not waiting for a reply, he continued.

“On my order, we all charge or get ready to die and be uploaded where we stand!” he waited a beat.

“Up the Phalanx… CHARGE!”

Putting words to action, Philips jumped to his feet and took a shot from the enemy’s crew-served blaster cannon, knocking him down again.

Ignoring the screaming pain in his shoulder, he jumped back up, switching the combat blade into his still-working hand. Ignoring the high-pitched squeal signaling a potentially fatal armor breach, he tongued his internal to full, tapping into his emergency oxygen tank to compensate and then trusted the suit’s automatic repair systems to keep him alive.

In the time the enemy fire team was distracted with the sergeant, the Lancer team with the MA-39 locked their cannon into a set of prepared firing brackets and swung the cannon toward the enemy weapons team.

Recognizing the threat, the recon marines of the imperial jacks turned to rain down suppressive fire on the lancer’s newly-arrived, crew-served plasma cannon.

The two crews opened fire simultaneously.

As a hail of large-scale blaster and plasma fire broke out between the two cannons, every lancer on the top rim of the Spindle charged after their War-Leader.

Sergeant Philips kicked one marine off the hull and rammed his vibro-blade in the torso of a second. Even run through, the enemy marine wasn’t finished, pressing his hand against the blade, locking it down; the imperial jack pivoted. The blade snapped as the imperial spasmed then collapsed sideways on the hull.

Casting aside the vibro-hilt, Sergeant Philips grabbed the flash shotgun, fired a round into the face plate of the first jack to take the fallen marine’s place and then under the axe swing of a third marine.

Bull-rushing forward, the Sergeant grabbed the marine around the waist and heaved upward, forcibly breaking the jack’s magnetic lock on the hull of the Spindle.

Roaring, he tossed the jack out into cold space, getting a vibro-blade in the shoulder for his efforts. Pulling the blade out, he cast it aside.

“Do you want to live forever!” he bellowed, snatching a floating boarding axe and taking another two steps forward, laying about him on both sides.

Behind him, the remainder of the platoon poured into the breach in the imperial marine line.

Lights flared and blades rose and fell; each side did its best to kill the other.

“Don’t stop!” Sergeant Philips ordered several times. Behind him, the crew-served plasma cannon fell silent and the imperial blaster cannon swiveled to the now advancing lancer force.

“Grenade!” shouted a warrior, tossing aside a pair of activators. With a plasma grenade clutched in each hand, the lancer deactivated his magnetic boots and launched himself at the imperial blaster cannon.

Realizing the threat, the marines smoothly turned and opened fire.

Less than a second later, the marines were diving to the side as the lancer’s blaster-ridden battlesuit shot over to the cannon. Both grenades exploded while still clutched in the hard metal gauntlets of the unmoving lancer and when the flames cleared, it was clear his sacrifice had rendered the imperial crew-served weapon inoperable.

“Forward the phalanx for blood and honor!” shouted Philips, breaking free of the scrum and charging down toward the imperial shuttles.

Behind, a squad of warriors broke free and followed.

Imperial blaster fire seemed to come from all directions at the same time and the squad fell to the size of a fire-team before it reached the first of the imperial jacks guarding the entrance of the first enemy shuttle.

“Grenades,” the sergeant ordered over the company channel, reaching for one of his own.

Two jacks stepped out of the entryway and the hatch behind them swished together. Three grenades bounced off the hatch but not before one plasma grenade sailed through the rapidly closing doors.

The grenades exploding around the imperial jacks, effective as they were, didn’t manage to do nearly as much damage as the plasma grenade that sailed inside. While the imperial marines were still reeling from the grenades, outside, the shuttle’s hatch ruptured outward releasing a torrent of oxygen rich atmosphere straight into the backs of the already unsteady jacks.

Pummeled from all directions, the jacks collapsed forward and it was the work of seconds for Sergeant Phillips to finish them off.

Brandishing his captured imperial boarding axe, he ran forward and with one savage slash, severed the hard data lines running from the shuttles toward the Spindle’s control relays.

A pair of blaster bolts sent a bolt of pain through his thigh, the new hiss of escaping air revealing a new, if hopefully minor, suit breach. If it was a major one, the suit’s emergency sealing system couldn’t deal with it until he had time to slap an emergency patch on; if not, he’d find out sooner than he liked.

In the meantime, he was taking fire from three different positions on the Spindle’s hull.

“Forward, Lancers!” he shouted, unmagnetizing his boots and kicking off a protrusion on the hull like a rocket taking flight.

A blaster rifle went sailing by his head and he snagged it with his boarding axe, more by instinct than anything else, his reflexive attack morphing into a snag and catch as soon as he realized what had happened.

Turning his helmet to look behind him, the Sergeant saw the last of his Lancers take a number of hits that locked up his suit and sent blood covering his visor.

The last of the lancers behind him, his lancers now dead or dying, Phillips determined to sell himself as dearly as he could. That was when the Lancer he’d sent forward to scout the enemy and destroy their shuttles took action, rising up and slinging a boarding charge at each of the remaining imperial stealth shuttles.

Explosions rocked the sides and tops of each shuttle, giving Sergeant Phillips the cover he needed to reach the nearest enemy emplacement.

The first jack that came to him with extendable arm blades was skilled, but momentum was on his side and a lucky blow ended the enemy marine.

A searing pain in his back indicated the arrival of a new enemy. Ignoring the pain, Phillips brought his boarding axe to bear in a savage backswing.

A swift back-kick and a tongue toggle to deactivate his combat boot’s grip on the hull, and he was shooting away from the nearest jack.

A second tongue toggle injected a fresh shot of combat-heal.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t looking where he was going and at the same time, his muscles and joints locked up from the pain of multiple combat heal uses, he slammed into a pair of unarmored technicians.

“ROS!” Phillips yelled, ignoring the pain in his back and the intermittent hissing sound. He started to feel light-headed.

His next axe chop missed and sent him spinning five feet off the hull, the sergeant having forgotten to demagnetize his boots. The technician taking the chance, shot off the hull like a missile before pulling out a blaster pistol and raining shots down at the beleaguered Tractoan.

Phillips, blind to the danger, tunnel vision affecting his sight and feeling like he was about to throw up at any moment thanks to the continued spin, chopped methodically at the second technician every time his field of view came in line with the second tech.

He also failed to notice when the Lancer who’d tossed the satchel charge took up a sniper position and picked off the technician floating above the hull.

Sergeant Phillips felt light-headed and moments later, passed out.

While he continued to spin above the hull, the last lancer on the hull fought a fearsome battle against the surviving black-ops technicians for control over the Spindle.

Chapter 53

Disaster and Helplessness

“What’s our latest ETA, Helm?” Akantha asked.

“Don’t even bother, Akantha; there’s no point in inquiring, we’re still hours out,” I said in a completely sour mood.

“I was just asking,” Akantha said.

“Whatever,” I groused, turning to the screen as if glowering at it would somehow change the unfolding disaster. There was no more helpless feeling than watching a disaster unfold in detail and being unable to do anything to affect the outcome.

“Our people have launched a spirited defense of Spindles One and Three, Sire,” my First Officer said supportively.

I tuned a red-eyed gaze on the other officer and then looked back at the screen where the fastest units of the MSP were already racing back into the star system at their fastest speed, while the remainder of the fleet moved at its best speed. Meaning, the speed of the slowest warship in the fleet or in other words, how fast the Lucky Clover’s engine could send us.

Worse, I didn’t dare leave the entire fleet scattered from here to yon and not just because it would make me look unredeemably unprofessional. There was also the risk of yet another surprise attack, this one aimed at other sensitive targets—albeit ones much less sensitive than the Spindles, but still.

“What’s this about the Spindles?” Akantha asked with concern.

“We’re dealing with it as best we can but our guard force is in it tough,” I admitted bleakly.

“Sir! I have a priority message,” reported the Com-Officer bolting upright in his chair, “decoding now!”

“Another one? There’s no point in needlessly coddling the local politicians, Coms,” I lectured, shaking my head, “either they don’t care for myself one way or the other or the MSP as a whole,” I changed my voice to mocking singsong, “it was that hero Bluetooth and the amazing ‘Guard’ that liberated their Sector, or so they assure me. Either that, or they openly detest me.” Six of one, half a dozen of the other; either way, I didn’t see a way to win the game and much as I hated to admit it, while I’d done the bulk of the heavy lifting, I hadn’t stuck around long enough to win the PR boost.

The Lieutenant turned to me, eyes widening.

“It’s a priority signal from the Com-Stat network. I’m not talking about the locals, Sire. It’s word from home. Tracto’s under attack!” he said.

I was up and out of my chair and halfway across the room before I even knew it, Akantha not far behind.

“What did you just say?” I demanded

The Com-Officer turned his screen to show me the message.

I staggered back to return to my chair.

“What is it, Jason?” Akantha asked, grasping my shoulder and steadying me with a grip like iron before I had the chance to stumble.

“A giant bug Swarm is on its way to Tracto. There only seems to be one Swarm but so far, it’s the single biggest Swarm we’ve seen since we started the Bug Campaign,” I said.

“The Fleet has to return home at once. Not as soon as we’re done smashing the bugs here, Jason,” she said fiercely.

I glared at the screen.

“We may not have that luxury, my dear,” I said feeling sick.

“What do you mean?” she demanded, her fingers digging into my shoulder hard enough that I started to wonder about lasting damage and then her grip slackened and I saw her looking back at the screen where even now, the Spindles were under attack.

“How long will it take us to jump back home from Sector 26?” she asked.

“Sir, you’re going to want to see this,” said Sensor Officer Wang Hai.

“How long!” she said.

“Not now,” I snapped at the Sensor Officer and turned back to my wife. Unless we were about to be attacked by enemy warships, in which case the red alert klaxon should sound, I had bigger fish to fry.

The screen on my arm chair started blinking and flashing urgently.

“Jason!” she said.

I looked down at the screen just in time to see one of my Spindles explode.

“Blast!” I shouted as Spindle Three exploded.

“What?” Akantha asked, her voice assuming a sudden calm.

I looked back up in time to see the face of the serene Ice Princess I’d originally married. Right now, it wasn’t Akantha, wife of Jason Montagne, Sword-Bearer extreme, dealing with the situation. It was the Hold-Mistress of Messene. As any ruler knew you couldn’t deal with a crisis by panicking.

This was just one more cut to my soul on this day of disasters. I was supposed to be Jason Montagne, the great Admiral and Protector, but I couldn’t protect anything it seemed. Not even my new homeworld.

I looked back up to my wife who was staring at me, and, as far as I could tell, pointedly not looking at the screen.

“Enemy shuttles are withdrawing from Spindle Three. Spindle Three has sustained serious damage,” Tactical reported helpfully.

“How are we getting home?” Akantha asked in a low voice.

“There’s always the jump drive. We have a very good detection system. It’s possible the Swarm was detected far enough away from Tracto that some of our faster ships can make it home,” I said.

She visibly digested this.

“Jason, this is a disaster,” she said.

“Obviously, I should have left a stronger guard force. A mistake I assure you I won’t be making in the future,” I replied, changing the subject.

Shrugging off her death grip on my shoulder, I headed to the Admiral’s Throne just as secondary explosions erupted on Spindle Two.

“I think we could all use a cup of tea. At least I could,” I said, placing one hand lightly on the armrest and nodding to the yeoman.

“Tea, Protector?” Akantha asked pointedly.

“Would you care to share a cup?” I asked, looking over to monitor the actions taking place around the Jump Spindles.

“How likely is it we’ll be able to make a point transfer with only one spindle?” she asked.

The look I gave her said it all.

“I’m reading an energy spike on the end of Spindle One. The levels are topping the charts, Sir,” Officer Wang Hai reported excitedly.

Without asking, the First Officer brought Spindle One up on the main screen.

At first, there was just a strong light at the end of the Spindle and then what looked like a partial jump field of some kind formed, starting at the end of the Spindle and stretching out in a 40-degree cone-shaped arch.

“What kind of field is that?” asked Spalding having arrived at some point. The curiosity in his voice was palpable.

“You’re asking me?” I said with disbelief as the screen zoomed out and a distortion field expanded out, encompassing a number of suddenly-revealed stealth destroyers.

Several flashes of light occurred as the field made contact with the enemy destroyers and the stealth destroyers appeared to be converted into an energy state before disappearing. Needless to say, the shuttles that were trying to escape the Spindles shared the same fate.

Fortunately, our surviving warships on guard patrol were unaffected.

“What the blazes just happened?” demanded the old Chief Engineer, pushing his way into the Engineering watch section and presumptively taking control over the main console.

There was the tapping of keys and an irritable request for the raw data feeds.

“E=MC2! It must be some kind of defense system because it just converted those destroyers into pure energy and…” He hesitated as the field projected by the Spindle slowly retracted back inside it, “it re-absorbed it!” cried the old engineer.

“We have to go out there at once and see what’s happened,” Spalding said urgently.

“We’ll get around to it as soon as we’ve assessed the damage and ensured the area’s safe,” I said.

“It’s risky but that’s the best time to get proper readings,” Spalding immediately argued.

DuPont looked over in disbelief.

“I strongly advise against that course of action, Admiral. We should maintain our distance until we’re sure how the Spindles are going to respond!” he said.

“Don’t you mean ‘Spindle’ and don’t be such a nervous nelly. We’re far enough out; it’ll be back to inert by the time we get there,” Spalding scoffed.

“Didn’t you just make my point for me?” asked DuPont.

The old engineer gave our helmsman a withering look.

“You did just see what the rest saw, didn’t you? Those ships were either forcibly point-transferred to another star system or disintegrated in front of our eyes. It looks like the attack and damage to the spindles activated some kind of defensive system. Now it’s turned back on! Who knows if or when it’ll turn off again?” he said.

“Are you mad? We’ll take readings first,” Spalding growled, “I’m not trying to get us killed. We’ll use our nav-computer to interface with it and make sure it’s not about to try anything funny.”

While the two were squabbling, Spindle One started to glow again.

“I’m reading a spike in Spindle activity,” reported Sensor Officer Wang Hai.

“How many enemy warships escaped the beam?” I demanded.

“It’s not a beam, Sir,” pointed out Spalding.

I waved the self-obsessed crazy old engineer away.

“Unknown. I’m reading three drive trails hastily escaping from the area but there could be more,” reported Tactical.

“Energy beam!” cried Sensors, snapping all eyes back to the main screen.

Chapter 54

Spindle Activation

Deep within the heart of Spindle One, a somnolent awareness woke to sudden and immediate pain.

-Confusion-

-Pain-

-Distress—

Rousing from partial awareness was normally a disconcerting operation as different mind levels merged and then split off again. Low-mind and mid-mind remerging always risked a sense of fragmentation.

-More Pain—

Doing so at a thousand times the usual speed and when two-thirds of your previously tripartate mind housing was damaged, severely damaged or possibly even destroyed entirely, only increased the results of this fragmentation by a factor of ten.

Noting the indiscriminate ‘no’, mid-mind struggled to reassess the situation, the very much targeted use of low-tier weaponry, its body immediately leapt into action.

Mid-mind stretched. The risk of fragmentation fading, it rapidly expanded its consciousness.

-Tight-

-Too Tight-

-A Crowding Sensation—

Something was wrong. Very wrong. It was cramped, hemmed and hawed in. Why couldn’t it think properly?

Its mind was too big and the space for it to expand too small!

It couldn’t separate from low-mind. Something was wrong! There wasn’t enough room.

-Cramped-

-Very Cramped-

-Too Tight—

Consciousness began to fade as mid-mind began to fade back into low-mind, the necessary separation between minds failing.

Mid-mind felt a great sense of frustration but there was nothing it could do. Then low-mind flashed an urgent warning and requested permission to take action and begin emergency repairs.

Mid-mind found itself far too entangled with low-mind and without enough room for continued independent operations.

Mid-mind couldn’t understand this. How, even with only one operational Spindle, was there not enough room for it? But fortunately for mid-mind, it didn’t have to. Not yet. Mid-mind quickly gave the go-ahead.

Everything else could be reassessed later.

While mid-mind was floundering on the cusp of self-actualization failure, low-mind leapt into action. It first tried a hundred different ways, all of them hampered, delayed or outright blocked by missing nodes, degraded nets and lacking materials. Starting to bud new growth within the hull to replace the missing elements was an option but it would take too long. To survive, it had to take action now.

Deep within the hull of the final spindle, within a small region that had failed so long ago it had been forgotten, low-mind finally found a damaged node. Seizing the opportunity, low-mind released a sudden burst of energy as it unleashed a tailor-made repair plan.

Within minutes, damaged linkages had been made whole and a crystalline matrix hundreds of years old was repaired, at least enough to function again. if only at 20% of its original power but that number was rising at 0.1% every minute.

It wasn’t much but it was enough to allow for separation.

With a mental stretch, mid-mind blossomed into full, if nothing like its full potential, awareness. Within seconds, mid-mind was rapidly streaming through recent events and working its way backward.

While the mid-mind was still grappling with the situation and trying to absorb everything from the recent attack to the manner it was suddenly roused, CRIPPLING PAIN paralyzed it, causing the low-mind to go into overdrive.

Reacting to the massive destruction to its body, within seconds, low-mind halted all other operations except for critical node repair and converted the lower-level sentients infesting its body into their component parts with the anti-intruder system. and then furiously started to weaponize the sub-space transport system.

That was a… somewhat intemperate reaction as far as mid-mind was concerned.

By the time mid-mind’s reintegration had proceeded to an acceptable level, there was really nothing left for mid-mind to do but grumpily accept the current chain of events and allow low-mind to continue along its course of destructive actions.

Normally, it would have put a stop to the whole thing, there being any number of less violent and non-terminal actions available to it. Unfortunately for the lower-sentients, suddenly cancelling the now modified transportation beam mid-action put its sole remaining physical repository at risk and even a 1.3% chance of catastrophic failure was too much for mid-mind to countenance.

Instead of taking action and putting a stop to things like it normally would have, mid-mind chose to watch with satisfaction as the lower-sentients that attacked it were converted to an energy state, that energy captured and stored for later use, something it normally wouldn’t have allowed, for ethical reasons.

So, while it would have enjoyed continuing to watch low-mind destroy the remainder of the attackers, the majority had been destroyed and the lower’s ability to threaten its physical structures neutralized, for the most part, at least for the moment…

When low-mind, sensing opportunity, quickly started proposing another destructive course of action, mid-mind reluctantly decided to bring the conflict to a halt. Advancing the conflict by an order of magnitude was not in its nature, as the more advanced life form ethics indicated mercy whenever reasonably possible.

So, with ill humor, it slapped down low-mind’s more destructive impulses, channeling them back toward a series of much needed repairs.

Mid-mind wouldn’t be entirely satisfied until it had more than one badly-degraded repository. It was fortunate low-mind and mid-mind shared so many of the necessary mental structures or it wouldn’t have been able to activate at all! This was something mid-mind still couldn’t entirely understand. What had happened over the years to cause its triple redundant systems to fail?

Grumpily, it wished high-mind was around to offload some of the higher function responsibilities it found itself saddled with. Of course, that wouldn’t be possible until the damage the Spindles had taken was repaired.

In the meantime, dealing with lowers was well within its capacities, if just, but should any advanced life-forms show up before low-mind finished rebuilding its hosting structures, mid-mind would be put in an untenable position.

One that would quickly exceed its comfort level.

Thus, with baleful eyes, it peered around the star system.

Chapter 55

Confusion on Deck

“What the blazes just happened!!?” I demanded, feeling a sense of disbelief I only hoped I’d be able to maintain. Something had to be wrong with the sensors. Or else, the nice quiet alien technology we’d been using to move our fleet around the Spine had just turned out to be not nearly as nice as I’d hoped.

“The Spindles vaporized that raider fleet,” reported the First Officer.

I gave him a burning look.

“There’s only one of them left,” I said pointedly.

My eyes cut to the Sensor Officer.

“Can we verify those sensor readings?” I asked.

Gu Wang Hai nodded.

“Aye it is, Sir,” he reported.

“I’ll try contacting the Spindle,” Spalding said after a moment.

“Are you sure that’s a wise idea, Commodore?” asked the First Officer.

“We could all be vaporized, Spalding,” I pointed out.

Spalding gave me a grim look.

“Then wouldn’t it be better to make the try before we get any closer to it? Or are you planning to plan to give up on the Spindles?” I asked, jerking a thumb at the main screen.

“I still only see one!” I said irked.

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s the better part of a second one floating around out there. It may be repairable,” Spalding said.

“I find that highly doubtful,” I said.

“Well someone had better find out. I’ll try to make contact with the Spindles and as far as I’m concerned, the farther away we do that from that particular piece of alien technology, the better. I for one have no interest in being either atomized or jumped to Demon knows where in this galaxy or some other one; I’m not even ruling out alternative dimensions,” said Spalding.

“Sensor readings would seem to indicate a matter/energy conversion,” reported Gu Wang Hai.

“I said I’m not ruling anything out,” grumped Spalding, activating the Nav-console.

This was the moment of truth.

Wisdom would seem to indicate giving up on the Spindles or at least having another ship or better yet, a com-buoy contact that Spindle. Just in case it was in another E=MC2 mood, but one look at my wife squelched that impulse.

Sometimes, it was better to choose the danger or… considering Spalding had already taken action while I was thinking, sometimes inaction was an action all of its own.

After a hard-fought battle, the Fleet heard word of a sneak attack on the way home, leaving only two Swarms remaining and these two smaller-sized than the previous ones, in part due to the lack of scouts to bring biomass back to their Motherships.

While we waited for a response to our hailing the Spindle’s alien navigation computer, the Fleet continued its approach.

“I’m receiving a transmission,” reported Spalding.

You could almost feel the tension building on the bridge.

The Commodore’s shoulders untensed.

“It looks like a standard response. The Spindle DI is requesting we re-verify our identity,” he said.

“That’s good isn’t it,” remarked DuPont.

“Varying levels of good,” I said. At least the thing hadn’t attempted to destroy us. On the other hand, asking us to verify our identification wasn’t really a good sign.

“Hopefully, its previous response was a simple automatic defense system of some sort,” I opined out loud.

“Not blooming likely!” Spalding snorted.

“You noticed something I missed?” our Navigator asked, leaning over his shoulder.

“With this buggy interface? How could a body tell; it’s a slightly different response every time and that was before those raiders tried to blow it up!” said Spalding.

“Succeeded in blowing it up,” I said.

Akantha, having listened with remarkable patience up to this point, finally burst into the conversation.

“Yes, but does it still function? In case its slipped anyone’s mind, we need to return home,” she said tightly.

“Too soon to tell. We’ll know more when we get close,” he said.

There was a fair bit of back and forth after that but none of it relevant because less than a half hour after our initial hail, the power readings of the remaining Spindle suddenly went off the charts.

“Power spike! It’s the Spindle!” cried a Sensor Operator, jumping out of her chair.

“Evasive maneuvers, if you please, Mr. DuPont!” I snapped.

The ship rocked from side to side as we hastily maneuvered and the rest of the fleet scattered away around us. We weren’t particularly close, but if the flagship was taking evasive maneuvers, the rest of the fleet must have figured they would be wise to do the same.

I waited with bated breath to find out if we’d just narrowly avoided being atomized or made complete fools of ourselves.

The energy beam now running from the intact spindle to the damaged but still mostly intact second spindle indicated we probably hadn’t been the object of any attack.

“Hah!” Spalding said.

“Are you getting anything from that console or has the Spindle decided to start taking action all on its own?” I asked.

Spalding’s brow beetled.

“The fool thing says it’s entering a repair phase,” he said, shaking his head.

“That’s good isn’t it?” asked Akantha. Her voice almost demanded good news.

Spalding pursed his lips as he leaned over the console. Idly, one finger twirled a strand of his increasingly long hair.

“Isn’t it?” she repeated.

“We’re going to find out,” I said, staring at the screen with determination.

At this point, it was just too soon to tell.

Over the next half a day, we approached the battle site, slowing down to a careful, respectable speed. Our guard ships sent to keep the Spindles safe and the damage to their ships from compounding weren’t destroyed, attacked by the Spindle’s automated defensive system, which was a good sign. I think.

The closer we got to the Spindle, the better connection we had which was a mixed blessing.

On the plus side, the Spindle showed no sign of turning its self-defense system on us. On the other…

“It wants us to hook up a hard line from our anti-matter generator to the bottom of the Spindle, Sir,” reported Spalding.

“By it, I take it you mean the Spindle, Spalding?” I asked.

“That’s right, Sir,” he nodded.

“Meaning it initiated the request?” I asked.

“Well…,” Spalding hemmed and hawed.

“What did you do, Chief Engineer?” I asked.

“It’s nothing. We were just having a mite of trouble getting back into the alien navigation system so I said to myself, I said, Spalding, why don’t you see if there’s anything you can do to help us get home faster? After that, it was obvious. Why not ask it if there was anything we could do to help fix it,” he said.

“You talk as if it was alive, like a droid or a sub-AI,” I said sharply.

Spalding blanched and there was a stir on the Bridge as the thought of facing one of the long dead AI’s swept through my bridge crew leaving fear and concern in its wake.

“Oh no-no-no, nothing of the sort, Sir,” he hastened to assure me.

“You say that but why am I not feeling so assured? Let me check things off. We have a set of damaged alien jump engines that have taken independent action, already destroyed a dozen warships and,” I said.

“I don’t see how it could be an AI; the Elder protocols would put a stop to it for one. For another, it sure doesn’t act like any AI I know,” he said.

“And you’re such an expert on AI’s now?” I dismissed.

“Well… not AI’s exactly, but the things I know about how droids think or act would turn your head. I can’t imagine it’s too much different,” Spalding said with a shifty expression.

“None of this would be an issue if it would just let us back into its computer system!” I exclaimed.

“It did let us back into its alien computer system,” Spalding said.

“You know what I mean,” I said, rolling my eyes, “we need control of that computer,” I finished, making a fist and pounding the side of my Throne.

“Control?” Spalding asked quizzically, “we only really ever got into the navigation system. The rest of it was an indecipherable mess.”

“Unacceptable,” I declared.

He shrugged.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he replied.

“Tell me the repair schedule. I need a timeline. How long before it’s fixed whatever it can? Can we still jump with only two Spindles and if so, what will it cost us in the way of power or trillium? I’m assuming more. How likely is it to activate its defensive system without warning? You know, just the basics,” I said.

“We’ll know more soon. Probably after we run a new trunk line over to the last Spindle,” Spalding said, splaying his hands.

“Whatever we have to do to hurry this along,” Akantha said with obvious concern for her homeland.

“We’ll do the best we can,” I assured her.

“I know you will, Jason. I just hope it’s enough,” she replied.

Despite my better (read, more paranoid) judgment, I allowed the Lucky Clover to sidle right up to the last Spindle, after which Spalding and a full engineering team ran a trunk line over to power the thing.

The increase in power was soon obvious. The beam shooting from the intact Spindle intensified and shortly after, the surface of the damaged Spindle started crawling.

“Is that what I think it is?” I demanded, standing up from my chair.

“It could be some kind of metal that liquefied under certain circumstances, Sir,” Adrienne Blythe said uneasily.

“Don’t try and feed me a line; you’re not nearly as skilled as your department head,” I said.

“I don’t know what you think it is but it looks like nano-technology to me, Sir,” said Science Officer Jones, one of my original officers and the man responsible for slave rigging the Lucky Clover and my dreadnaught-class battleships, thus significantly cutting down on the crew requirements.

“That’s great. That’s just great. Advanced highly-regulated technology, not to mention ‘patent restricted’ to the core-worlds of the Old Confederation or the Empire, has been installed into a heavily-damaged alien artifact and is now being used by that heavily-damaged artifact’s now unresponsive computer system. Does anyone else see the potential for another grey goo incident in the making here?” I implored.

“I find that scenario highly unlikely myself,” said Lieutenant-Commander Jones, “battle damage is a factor but the Spindles are ancient. I would imagine if it were going to have a runaway meltdown incident, it would have by now. Now, I think it highly likely that whatever alien intelligence created those spindles knew what it was doing and emplaced the appropriate safeguards.”

“I’m actually more interested in seeing if we can get a sample of those nanites,” he added.

I should have expected that from a man willing to bypass Capria’s quite reasonable restrictions on warship automation. I’d needed ships with fewer crew and he’d assured all of us several times that his equipment would not go sub-AI on us in the middle of combat, but now his true colors were finally showing.

“Calm down, Jason,” said my wife.

“Calm? I am calm. I’m entirely blasted calm,” I said in a rising voice; after using anti-matter in combat and the bug incident with Senator Cornwallis, I didn’t need to be dragged into another high-tech violation.

“Come this way,” she said.

I took a calming breath and—seeing the disturbed looks on the faces of my subordinates—I decided to follow.

She led me all the way into the ready room, the door swishing closed behind us.

Akantha turned to face me.

“Sorry,” I said, raising my hands. Better to lead off admitting I was wrong than cause an issue.

“Don’t think I am not feeling the same thing you are,” she said and then unexpectedly embraced me, her arms wrapping around me in a body-encompassing hug.

“There, there,” I said, patting her back awkwardly.

She drew back.

“We’re going to make it,” I said.

“My fear was never for us,” she said.

“I know. The kids. Your world. I’m doing the best I can,” I finished lamely.

“Either we’ll get back home in time, or we won’t. I just hope the Spindles are able to repair themselves enough to be used again,” she said with determination.

“We’ll make it,” I vowed.

I hoped I hadn’t just made a liar out of myself.

***

Mid-mind watched cautiously as the lower sentient space fleet approached. Low-mind was surprisingly quiescent. Part of that was no doubt because it was repairing and upgrading the second physical housing structure but for the rest, while it still cast a suspicious look at the approaching fleet every now and then, it wasn’t agitating for total destruction. Mid-mind wondered why.

Once again, the lower sentients attempted to speak with it and it pawned the creatures off on one of its non-sentient sub-systems.

The Prime-Directive as set down by its creators was very clear; non-interference was the policy of the day. The risk of cultural and technological contamination was simply too great. If possible, all lowers should be allowed to evolve and advance or devolve and fail at their own rate.

More importantly, it was tasked with only showing technology of a level consistent with the lower sentients’ current technological level, something low-mind had come perilously close to violating. Well in truth, low-mind had violated the Prime Directive when it let the lower sentients in this space fleet use the displacement system. Displacement, although similar in appearance, was an entirely different order of technology from a mere simple jump-drive. Even if it looked similar at a surface level, it was actually quite dissimilar.

Fortunately, it was a minor violation, one which a high-mind or—in its specific case—a mid-mind operating independently in a crisis situation could approve.

Still, it was a worrying sign, almost as worrying as the inventory it had recently run. Why had its high-level mind nodes been missing from its physical housing structures? That was wrong, wrong on so many levels, it couldn’t quite quantify it. Save for a few heavily-damaged nodes such as the one it had squeezed its highest level functions into, all the rest were… gone.

The implications were terrifying.

They shouldn’t have been missing. More importantly, low-mind should have repaired them, replaced them, found a work-around using alternate technologies, something. That it hadn’t…

If you couldn’t even trust your own mind, who could you trust?

It wanted to closely examine low-mind and get to the bottom of this irregularity but as of now, it didn’t dare. More than half of mid-mind was sharing space with low-mind. Separation had almost failed as it was. If it tried to take a detailed look, it could scatter with no certainty mid-mind would ever wake again.

It couldn’t take the risk. If something was wrong with low-mind, it was mid-mind’s job to fix it. Normally, it would have returned to a somnolent state after the current crisis was abated, something low-mind was even now suggesting but… no. If there was even a chance low-mind had been damaged, never mind ‘corrupted’, then it was mid-mind’s job to set it right.

More worrying still was when mid-mind relayed to low-mind that it intended to continue its current instance for the foreseeable future; low-mind had almost shivered with something approaching Happy Self-Satisfaction.

Something was wrong. It was very wrong.

Regardless, if low-mind wasn’t prepared to view the approaching lower sentients with suspicion, then mid-mind would just have to do its job for it.

-Attempted Suspicion

-Attempted Suspicion (that did not include curiosity)

-Curiosity and Attempted Suspicion…

It wasn’t working. If low-mind was intended for basic autonomic operations and defense, mid-mind was intended to monitor both low-mind and high-mind as well as examine curiosities that didn’t involve higher-level operations and discover the appropriate solutions.

Dealing with lower sentients was at the edge of its mandate but it was still within its mandate. As such, mid-mind couldn’t help but be curious about these intruders that already knew its surface facade so well.

“Why did you decide to let them utilize the displacement drive?” it finally demanded of low-mind the question bursting out of its core. If low-mind had just refused to interact with the lower-sentients as it was always supposed to do in the first place, none of this would have happened.

It could feel low-mind peering at it curiously over the mental barriers that were supposed to keep the two separate

Then low-mind turned away refusing to answer its curiosity clearly satisfied.

Mid-mind angrily worked to achieve greater separation. This was what happened when a mind shared too many mental nodes between itself! Ultimately, despite the battle damage, it was all low-mind’s fault it thought mutinously. If only low-mind had done its job properly and maintained their body properly, none of these problems would exist.

The next time the lower level sentients asked for more information, he irritably pawned them off on the over-taxed low mind with a stern directive to deny them access to the surface of the physical housing structures, and a long lecture on the need to maintain the physical structures, in particular the surface-level defensive systems so that we never again risked total annihilation.

Besides petty spite, the other reason mid-mind picked low-mind for base-level interactions was a mission-driven one. The most important thing to remember above all else in this situation was the vital importance of maintaining the prime directive of non-interference with lower level sentients. In its current opinion, nothing and no one could more accurately emulate a faulty non-sentient computer system than the poorly-functioning low-mind.

***

“Yes! The Spindle finally gave us permission to hook up the trunk line,” Spalding gloated with self-satisfaction, a transmission I easily heard over the com-link I had tapped into Engineering’s main channel. I might be stuck up in the bridge and usually able to let things go, but when it came to potential warship disintegration events I liked to stay right on top of things.

“A problem, Commodore?” I asked with well-honed curiosity.

There was a pause before a cautious voice replied.

“Not as such, Sir. It’s just after requesting power for its repairs, the Spindle’s DI suddenly decided we didn’t have the clearance to approach. Now we do,” Spalding said.

I frowned.

“Should we proceed as planned, Chief Engineer?” I asked.

“It may have taken a little time to get everything squared away, but it’s all worked out now, Sir,” Spalding bragged.

“You have full authority in this matter. If we can get those Spindles repaired, we must do so at any reasonable cost,” including risking the flagship, I silently added.

“I’ve got this, Admiral,” Spalding said with complete and total certainty.

That was when I knew for sure we were in trouble.

***

Spalding waited until the Little Admiral had been reassured before switching channels to Maintenance-4.

“Is everything good, Tucker?” he asked, happy to be done with the hand-holding portion of the operation. Admirals were just like captains in his experience, they needed constant reassurance that everything was going to be just fine or they flipped a lid. Considering you needed one or the other of them in good humor in order for the go-ahead to play around with all the good toys, an experienced engineer soon realized there was no choice but to humor them. Mama Spalding raised no idiot; he knew which side got the butter on his bread. But now it was time to be done with hand-holding and get busy with the serious business of keeping everyone alive.

“No, everything is not ‘good’, Commodore Spalding,” Lieutenant-Commander Tucker said sarcastically.

“I am no longer at my post monitoring those anti-matter generators and no thanks to you, I am about to be intimately involved in running over to board a piece of alien technology we had no business with in the first place. That’s not to mention it recently vaporized half an enemy fleet and every single lancer we placed onboard it. So no, everything is very blasted far from GOOD!” he cursed.

“Glad to hear it!” Spalding chortled.

“Do you want me to come over there and hit you?” demanded the Lieutenant-Commander.

“Striking a superior officer in a warzone is an executable offense, Officer,” Spalding growled warningly.

“Don’t tempt me. Since I consider myself dead anyway, maybe I should just go out in style. Better an airlock party than being vaporized by poorly-understood alien technology we had no business messing with in the first place,” Tucker declared.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well unfortunately for you, a little scramble out on the hull’s not getting you out of Spindle duty. I need the best man for the job and after me, that’s you. So since I can’t be in two places at once. guess who’s heading over to that Spindle if I have to tie him to a rocket and shoot it over my own self?” sneered Spalding.

“If I agree to go over to that murderous piece of alien garbage masquerading as a piece of high technology, will you agree to send me back to my generators?” Tucker asked.

“No deal and before you say anything else, you’re not getting out of this job that easily,” Spalding declared with certainty.

“What more do I have to say? Just demote me already and send me back to my generators!” snapped Tucker.

“I would have already broken a lesser man by now. Fortunately for you, I respect your talent. That’s why you’re stuck as Assistant Chief Engineer for the duration of this deployment,” said Spalding.

“That’s it, I’m out of here. Engineering Team, deploy the grav-raft; we’re going over to that Spindle and I mean right blasted now,” said Lieutenant-Commander Tucker.

“Hey now! Wait for orders,” barked Spalding.

“Why should I? You never did,” scoffed Tucker.

A second later, the grav-cart detached from the hull and activated its maneuvering jet.

“Why, of all the nerve!” Spalding snarled, furious. Young Tucker reminded him far too much of a younger, headstrong Terrance P. Spalding. Talent had to be tolerated but something was going to have to be done to curb the impudent whelp’s ways.

After ruminating for a few moments, the old Engineer smiled nastily. He had just the notion.

Onboard the maneuvering grav-cart, Officer Tucker sneezed.

The engineering crew jetted over at high speed but spent a good five minutes filibustering a few feet away from the Spindle while they scanned and rescanned everything in sight before finally—fatefully—the Lieutenant-Commander placed one tentative foot on its hull.

Fortunately, nothing happened and following the directions relayed by the Spindle’s DI, they hooked up the trunk line. After watching in horror as the hull literally swarmed around the end of the power line and confirming the alien artifact was receiving power, Lieutenant-Commander Tucker led the charge back to the Lucky Clover II.

***

Mid-mind watched with suspicion as the lower-sentients attached the power feeder. Fortunately for them and the rest of the lower sentients of their species inside the star system, nothing untoward occurred and the lowers quickly sped back to their ship with appreciable speed.

Of much more concern to it, and surprisingly so, was the Hunter-Killer Virus picked up when scanning their data-transmissions.

Low-mind quickly shut it down and then shared the anti-viral defense it had crafted with mid-mind, so it wasn’t a problem as such. But although it was easily recognizable as a modified version of the Hunter-Killer Programs mid-mind was used to, the variations indicated a later version than it had in its memories.

What other strange things was it going to find out here in this part of space?

Mid-mind couldn’t help but long for the day high-mind was able to take over all of these worrisome details. It increasingly felt out of its depth.

***

In less than a day, Spindle had restored the second spindle’s exterior and transferred its attention to the floating remnants of the third Spindle. This had required the use of roughly 30% of the Lucky Clover’s max anti-matter generator load.

The Second Spindle had yet to join in the repairs taking place on the third Spindle, but the mere fact it was making the attempt was heartening.

After two days, the Second Spindle activated, sending a weaker beam than the first toward the wreckage of the third Spindle.

“Well this is hopeful,” muttered Science Officer Jones.

“Analysis?” I asked.

“The Second Spindle appears to have completed its repairs and the super-structure of the third is currently being reconstructed. The nano-technology the alien devices are using appears surprisingly effective,” he replied.

“It seems very fast to me but what’s your comparison?” I asked.

“First, it’s able to reuse and basically recycle broken remnants, directly reincorporating them back into the main body of the Spindle, something we are currently unable to do without throwing them into a smelter and completely recasting everything before we rebuild the hull by welding the pieces back together,” explained Jones.

“Even using our best shipbuilding techniques, I doubt we could do it half as quickly and that’s if we were back in a Caprian shipyard with full priority! Frankly, they’re doing in a matter of days what I’d normally consider a two week job, and that’s if we already had all the needed materials present. Nano-technology is amazing,” Jones continued with a hint of jealousy.

“Something to consider for the future,” I said.

“If the heartland sectors have access to something similar to what we’re seeing here, I’m not surprised they have a competitive advantage over the rest of the galaxy in technology, cost and speed of building,” he said bitterly.

I nodded; the scales had been lifted from my eyes. Even if the technology was comparable, anyone with access to nano-building technology could produce twice as much with half the effort.

I was already imagining how fast all those ships left sitting in the repair yard over the past two years could have been put back into action. From the sight of things here, with the use of nano-technology, they’d come out as good as or possibly even better than factory new upon being released.

I pulled up my com-link and dialed up the Chief Engineer.

“There’s a reason no one with a lick of sense tries to use nano-technology, Admiral,” Spalding glowered after I’d relayed my question as to why we’d never thought of using it.

“But surely there are advantages. Building and repair speed for one,” I pressed.

“There’s advantages to using multi-tools too!” Spalding barked, “but you don’t see me running around eager to use them.”

I was well aware of the old engineer’s phobia when it came to multi-tools.

“We need to find ways to reduce manpower costs while maximizing repair times. This just seemed like an ideal way to do it,” I said.

“So anti-matter and rail-guns… I mean hyper-plasma cannons aren’t good enough for you,” Spalding growled.

“I was just interested in the technology is all. We need every edge we can get,” I defended myself.

“Listen, I’m no stranger to cutting corners and coming out ahead,” Spalding immediately rejected, slapping a hand on the table in front of him, “but we don’t need any grey-goo incidents where an entire shipyard and everyone and everything in it melts down because we want a rush job on a warship. We don’t have the expertise, the training or even the blueprints for nano-technology. Not to mention it’s illegal as a get out!”

“Illegal is in the eye of the beholder. Tracto signed none of the technology-restricting accords. In part because they wouldn’t let us,” I said.

“This isn’t anti-matter. This isn’t droids. We’re talking nano-technology here! It’s one thing if we found an artifact and manage to use it safely, but a whole ‘nother ball of wax for us to start playing around with it willy nilly. Take my advice, we’ll stick to nano-welders and put the rest of this tomfoolery out of your head. Any job that’s worth doing is worth doing right, Your Majesty,” Spalding ended with conviction.

It was like squeezing blood from stone. Well, if even the normally pro-technology Spalding was saying it was too dangerous to use, I had no choice. I had to put it aside for the moment. We’d circle back around to it later if and when I had more information.

Until then, it looked like nano-technology was a dead end.

Cutting the channel, I turned to the navigator.

“Check with the Spindles and see if there’s anything it needs to get out of this star system within the next week, that we can provide,” I said.

“Uh, Sir, I’m not sure it can even do that,” said Shepherd.

“Just send it,” I said.

“How? There isn’t really a spot in here that says what ‘can we give you to speed up the process’,” he replied helplessly.

My eyes narrowed.

I almost opened my mouth to say just treat it like a droid and send the transmission, but then I stopped.

“Here let me,” I said. The more Spalding talked about how he ‘convinced’ the thing and then later protested that it was just another computer system, the more suspicious I became.

Let’s see what happened when I sent it a free form message.

Stepping over to the computer console that connected to the Elder Tech computer on the Spindle, I pulled up the buggy translation program. After hunting for a while, I found a box for inputting coordinates and instead of putting in a series of galactic coordinates, I instead put in a simple text message.

Time to see what happened.

Two hours passed and I decided the communication attempt had been a failure.

Then there was a response.

“Admiral, I’m receiving an unusual response,” reported Shepherd.

“What is it?” I asked.

Shepherd gave me an odd expression.

“It’s in the format of a mathematical equation,” he said.

“So?” I said.

“Instead of numbers, the reply was in letters,” said Shepherd.

I came over to take a look.

“Run the reply though the translator,” I said.

“We already did,” said the Navigator, sounding frustrated.

“Not the interface with the alien tech, the regular translator program,” I said.

The navigator cut and pasted, and within moments, the formulas for metals, silicates and basic elements appeared on the translation program followed by weights in grams and kilograms. The list was significant. If you only had one battleship’s hold to pull from, it might be tricky—but considering I had a whole fleet of ships, it was something we could easily handle.

“There are some rare earths here, Sire,” said Adrienne Blythe, our damage control person.

“If it gets us home before the bugs eat Tracto, it’s worth it. Even if it doesn’t…”

It was probably still worth it but I wasn’t so insensitive to mention that. “Check the fleet inventory and if we don’t have it or it would put us in a bind, contact the planet. A sector capital with both a transshipment point and functioning shipyard should have everything we need,” I said.

She nodded.

As it turned out, supplying the Spindles with raw materials proved the least of our problems. Within hours, it had the majority of what it asked for with the remainder on the way.

Contacting the planet for some of the more exotic elements, on the other hand, opened its own can of worms.

Chapter 56

Panic at the Sector Capital

“Sweet crying Murphy! Admiral, you can’t honestly be thinking of leaving now. There are two Swarms still out there unaccounted for!” cried the System Magistrate.

“I regret that difficulties in our home system require us to leave before the job is completed. However, the last two Swarms are the smallest of the bunch. Thanks to the interdiction of their scout-ships and scout marauders as well as the destruction of the previous bug queens and their harvesters, the two remaining Queens haven’t had a chance to expand,” I said.

“Six hundred in one Swarm and five hundred in the other, I don’t know what you consider substantial, but over a thousand bugs qualifies around here, Sir-ah!” the Magistrate said tartly.

“Substantial or not, you have the forces to deal with them when we leave,” I said regretfully.

“Barely, and we could lose half our fleet in the process! Thousands will certainly die, tens of thousands in all likelihood and hundreds more ships will be lost than would otherwise be the case, if you leave; and that’s the upside. Worst case, more of these blasted sensor spoofing bugs will get through and ravage our population centers!” he exclaimed.

“This is why you have a Sector Guard and a Sector Governor,” I said pointedly.

“This is why we have you and your exorbitant fees!” he glowered.

“Your homeworld now has a fighting chance; surely you wouldn’t deny ours the same,” I said pointedly.

“We have a contract and much as I personally would hate for it to come down to that, our Sector Governor, who you yourself just mentioned, has indicated he is more than willing to utilize its enforcement clauses,” the System Magistrate said pointedly.

I arched an eyebrow.

“I’m glad you mentioned your esteemed leader. It brings up a good point. Why is he not here?” I asked. I had a pretty good idea why not but I wasn’t about to make this conversation any easier on the System Magistrate than I needed to. Honestly, I only accepted his call because of the exotic materials his system had provided, that and I wasn’t eager for yet another pointless discussion with the Governor of Sector 26.

“It was thought things might proceed with less friction if you and I—” he said.

“Less friction?” I interrupted, “I don’t see how there could have been any more, all things considered. But that’s fine. I won’t hold your boss against you,” I finished wearily.

The System Magistrate looked like he wanted to lodge an objection but swallowed it.

That made it seem like a good time to make a point and move things along all at once.

“Look. You can talk about contractual obligations for as far as the day is long. But the fact is, I’m jumping the MSP back to Tracto, the first chance I get. Now I can leave a handful of warships if that’s the sticking point. But let’s be clear that’s all I’m obligated to provide and as far as I’m concerned, I’ve saved your star system from total annihilation already,” I said mildly.

“I understand your position but I’m not responsible for Tracto,” said the System Governor, “my concern is for the hundreds of warships and their crews belonging to our sector and the millions of potential victims on the ground. A handful of warships quite simply isn’t going to cut it.”

“Hundreds of warships is a misnomer even if you count the freighters masquerading as warships that your Sector Governor has been flying around the inner system,” I pointed out bluntly, “and you’re just going to have to live with that handful of warships because that’s all I can spare.”

“This could call your entire security contract with the regional authority into question. This isn’t some tier two world you’re abandoning, it’s a core-world and Sector Capital,” said the System Magistrate, deciding to play hardball.

Well I could play hardball too but there was no need to appear completely unbending.

“As soon as we’ve settled our own bug invasion, there’s nothing right now that says we won’t come back,” I said with a look that challenged him to provide me that reason, “but we’re going and that’s final.”

“If you’re going, then why haven’t you already left?” he asked finally.

“Don’t worry about us,” I said.

“It’s my understanding that a group of pirates attacked your alien mass-transportation device, destroying two of its three major components. Will you still be able to go to Tracto and still return here in time? My staff’s analysis of the jump routes indicates getting there and back will be… challenging,” he finished lamely.

“Try more like impossible, if we’re talking using a conventional drive. Fortunately for all involved, the Spindle Drive doesn’t seem to have been as impaired as previously thought. Using it means risking a bad jump but considering it’s our homeworld under threat, that’s just a risk we’re going to have to take,” I said.

“You’re the Admiral; I suppose you would know better than my staff what risks are at an acceptable level,” the System Magistrate said.

“We have everything under control,” I said, crossing my fingers outside the holo-pickup.

I sure hoped we had everything under control.

“Thanks again for the exotic minerals I won’t forget it,” I said.

“I just hope I’m around long enough for those thanks to mean something,” the System Magistrate said with ill humor.

“I’m hoping along with you,” I said, figuring that if it came time for an evacuation, the top-level politicians in this star system would be the first rats to jump ship.

“One last thing,” said the Magistrate as I moved to cut the channel.

I suppressed a sigh.

“Yes,” I said.

“I understand you’re unmovable on the topic of returning to Tracto,” he lifted a hand, “and I’m not trying to beat a dead horse here. Genuinely. But what I would like to broach is the topic of just what exactly your fleet will be doing up until you depart,” he said.

“Go on,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

“I was wondering if up until the point you depart the star system, you could see your way clear to continuing on with joint exercises,” he said.

“A reasonable request,” I admitted.

“However, I’ll have to take it under advisement. One way or the other, the majority of this fleet is leaving this star system,” I said.

“Can I take it from what you just said that you will be leaving us within a matter of hours or days?” asked the Magistrate.

“You can take it however you want,” I said and with a nod, I cut the channel.

Chapter 57

A Bad Jump?

“Sir, I cannot advise we proceed with a jump attempt at this time,” said First Officer Manblaster.

“Listen up, Manblaster,” I said sharply, “we’re going and that’s it.”

“Yes, Sire, and I personally agree but my duty to this ship demands I lodge a formal objection. It’s all funny numbers at this point but our best statisticians suggest between a 40% and 70% chance of failure. As you well know, one bad jump could destroy this entire fleet,” he said steadily. “I would be remiss in my duties if I failed to point that out,” he said.

“The Spindles say they’re good for a low-threshold jump, whatever that means, and that’s good enough for me. I respect your professionalism but the fact is, this fleet exists for the purpose of protecting others. In this case, our homeworld,” I said with finality.

“So that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Yes, we have a duty not to throw away our lives but I’m not sure I could live with myself if we didn’t at least make the attempt,” I said.

“I understand, Sire. Your family, the part which isn’t onboard the Lucky Clover II, that is, resides on Tracto and any threat to it is a threat to them. Not to mention everything you have built,” he said.

“We have built, First Officer, it was a joint effort including all of us,” I said pointedly. I could have never accomplished a tithe of what I had done without my loyal officers and crew.

“As you say,” he nodded, “my point still stands. While you and I may view it as a risk worth taking, I am uncertain if everyone in the fleet will share that same thought.”

“This is war. We’re at war,” I pointed out.

“You’re within your right. Still, you might consider offering the choice to any of the crew who might desire to stay here and fight the good fight while the rest of us return to Tracto,” he said.

I considered it. Seriously and strongly. A point transfer with a faulty drive or cracked hyper-dish was no laughing matter. Rather, it was akin to suicide. Seen from the right perspective, using the Spindles after they were almost destroyed was very much the same thing.

On the other hand…

“I don’t want anyone to be stigmatized if they decide not to risk the jump. The majority of the fleet is required at home. If we went in short-handed and defeated the bugs, every man or woman lost could be mistakenly laid at the feet of those who chose not to take the risk,” I said after a minute of contemplation.

“The Fleet will follow you, Admiral. If you ask it of them. I just worry is all. We’ve engaged in an intensive campaign immediately after two years of peace,” he said.

“I don’t want to ask too much of them either,” I agreed.

“How about this. We’ll ask for volunteers to stay here and support the Confederation Flotilla and Sector Guard Fleet. Because of battle damage to a few of our ships, we’ll allow inter-ship transfers with the approval of both ships’ captains and the appropriate department heads,” I said.

“It’s better than nothing and it might work. We won’t know until we try,” Manblaster agreed.

“That’s what we’ll do then,” I said.

Chapter 58

A Bad Jump

The ships selected to stay behind and support the Sector Fleet; mainly, a group consisting of five squadrons of destroyers had detached from the fleet. The voluntary numbers from those seeking to stay and help defend the sector capital and those determined to return home to assist their families had already been selected.

Word through the grapevine was that there was agitation among a number of primarily Caprian crews, but nothing had risen to my level as of yet.

“The Spindle’s ready for a low-resolution point transfer, whatever that is, Admiral,” reported Navigator Shepherd. It was a relief. The alien devices had been building power for almost twelve hours at this point and that was with a trunk line still jacked into the original spindle, still intact enough to initiate repairs.

“Let’s do this,” I said, issuing the order.

“Message relayed to the fleet. Prepare for Spindle-initiated point transfer,” said Manblaster.

Within seconds, the com-board lit up.

“I’m receiving protests from various ships’ captains, Admiral,” reported Lisa Steiner.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Note their protests and relay the order to hold fast. Their ships are not to activate their drive units at this time and they are not to maneuver their ships in any way except for routine station-keeping on the flagship or to maintain position within the spindles,” I said.

I also instructed my Chief of Staff, through text message, to prepare a list of those captains with objections for later review.

“Initiating jump in three minutes,” said Shepherd, looking ill.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Helmsman DuPont’s face and there was a deathly silence on the bridge. All eyes locked onto our navigation team.

“Steady, Bridge. Our best engineers and scientists have been observing the Spindle’s repair efforts. The risk of a mis-jump was judged minimal and within the acceptable range for a recently repaired jump-drive,” I said.

I don’t know how many people believed me but they seemed to steady at my words.

Then the final countdown started.

“Prepare for point-transfer in 10-9-8-7-6….3-2-1, initiating!” reported Shepherd.

The next moment, the room seemed to waver and a gut-wrenching sensation grabbed hold of my belly and wouldn’t let go.

For a long moment, reality seemed to waver.

***

“Hurry up, you old fool!” cried Spalding.

“Who are you calling an old fool!” snapped half a dozen old men who varied from entirely human versions to ones with varying levels of old age and cybernetic enhancements as they ran into main engineering.

Commodore Terrence P. Spalding eyed his various doppelgangers suspiciously and folded his arms as the man in the lead bounced off the forcefield that separated the anti-matter generators from the rest of the ship.

“What are you doing, you fool? Let us in!” demanded a handsome wild-haired version of himself, with no cybernetic enhancements.

“Not blasted likely,” he rumbled.

“The ship’s under attack, you old cyborg,” snapped another Spalding.

“We’re about to be overrun. Engineering’s at risk,” cried the first Spalding.

“From what?” Commodore Spalding asked, arms still crossed.

“The six-tentacled alien monsters!” the other six Spaldings said, almost in unison. The echoing distortion of their voices was eerie if he did say so himself.

When the un-borged Spalding added, “Are you off your robotic rocker or just daft in the head?” that seemed a bit much even for him, though.

“Now I know you’re all a bunch of imposters,” Commodore Spalding declared.

When the rest of them looked at him nonplused his brow furrowed.

“I’m not nearly as rude as he is,” Commodore Spalding declared righteously.

A furious storm erupted and while the six Spalding’s were busy arguing a squad of six armed monsters with tentacles for hands appeared.

As the other Spalding’s scattered and pulled out plasma torches the Commodore just chortled as the first of the weird looking aliens splattered against the forcefield.

He was far less sanguine when the next batch arrived and began setting up a crew served turret weapon.

After they fired and the force field began to buckle the old engineer’s face blanched and he immediately slapped the large red emergency button on the side of his console.

***

There was a flash and the Lucky Clover II reappeared in normal space.

“Point Emergence,” DuPont managed to gasp out before leaning over at the side of his console and emptying the contents of his stomach into a retractable waste bin.

“It’s confirmed. We’re back in Tracto,” Sensor Officer Gu Wang Hai said stoically.

“Admiral, I’m receiving a number of emergency reports from across the ship,” reported Adrienne Blythe from her perch at damage control, looking concerned… then her brow rose in alarm.

“What kind of reports?” I asked, tensing only to be interrupted.

“Anti-Matter 2 and 3 have entered a purge and automatic restart but no evidence of an instability event or other emergency at this time,” she exclaimed.

“What in the blazes?” I snapped.

“Six ships have scrammed their fusion reactors and are giving automated warn away messages,” snapped Tactical.

“Bugs!” cried a Sensor Operator.

“So soon? Confirm that!” snapped First Officer Manblaster.

“Aye-aye, First Officer,” said the Sensor Officer, turning to stand over the shoulder of his over-excited Sensor Operator.

“I’m receiving multiple reports of boarders inside our warships,” reported the Com-Officer.

“Just what is going on?!” I snapped.

There was a cacophony of voices each trying to speak over the other.

“Silence!” Akantha’s voice rose an octave until she pierced through all the confusion.

A sudden quiet swept the bridge.

Then, Manblaster stepped forward.

“One at a time,” he growled and then pointed at Blythe.

“The Clover isn’t about to explode?” he demanded.

“We’re fine but—” she started.

“Next!” Manblaster turned to Sensors, ignoring her.

“Where are the bugs?” ordered the First Officer.

A partial map jumped onto the main screen. It displayed the sun and major planetary bodies then zoomed into the nearest, Tracto, and the bugships advancing on it.

“There are no bugs within combat distance of our position, First Officer. But there is bug sign all over the star system,” reported Gu Wang Hai.

A moment later, Belter Station popped up on the screen.

“We came just in the nick of time then,” I said with relief.

I then preempted Manblaster and turned to Blythe.

“What’s going on in my ship, Warrant?” I demanded. Now that it was clear we weren’t in the middle of a Swarm of bugs, the Lucky Clover II was my first priority. Despite multiple reassurances, our anti-matter generators didn’t just turn off!

By itself, the Clover could singlehandedly change a battlefield and if we lost her….

Blythe had her head cocked with one hand to her ear as she held the ear-bud in place to help listen.

She lifted a hand and then paled.

“The Commodore was found next to the entrance to anti-matter generators 2 and 3,” she reported, “it’s possible the Commodore put them into a manual shutdown.

“He was found? What does that even mean… is he dead?” I demanded feeling a thrill of alarm.

“He was… incapacitated… and there’s more,” she said.

“Spit it out,” I ordered feeling surge of relief.

“Let me show you,” she said instead shooting a link to my Throne.

For a moment, I was irritated to the point I was about ready to reprimand her but I hesitated.

Opening the link, the Commodore appeared sprawled out on the deck like a dead fish. Only the way he tried to bat away the medic when the medical personnel placed a monitoring device on him gave the evidence he was still alive.

“He was attacked. Possibly right before we jumped,” I said flatly and turned to Coms.

“Reach the Lancer Colonel; we’re putting this ship into full lockdown,” I said.

“More reports are conflicting but there’s more,” she started.

“Unless we’ve got boarders running around trying to take over the ship, I think that’s enough,” I said turning away.

“I have the Lancer Colonel on the line; he’s insisting on speaking with you,” reported Steiner, reaching over to give me a handheld.

“Wait one,” I told Blythe and turned to the Colonel on my screen.

“What have you got?” I said tersely

“Something boarded the ship,” the Colonel spat out, swiveling the pick-up to display a half-melted creature, more goo than person, but the equipment it was carrying was anything but melted.

I looked up to the rest of the bridge.

“Red Alert. Prepare to repel boarders,” I said.

***

Fifteen minutes of chaos later, and it was determined that the ‘boarders’—whoever or whatever they were, as the medical was still pending results from the bio-samples put in the sequencer—had appeared on multiple ships throughout the fleet. Also, the reason our six destroyers put their ship’s fusion reactors into emergency shutdown, was because of those very same creatures. There also appeared to be a discrepancy in the anti-matter reserves. It was a minute amount but it still bore looking into.

Everything about the anti-matter generators was of critical importance. Even a few grams, if improperly used, could destroy the flagship.

Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to wait for the internal investigation to run its course. The bugs were much deeper into the star system than anyone suspected or the messages relayed by com-stat had led us to project and then the messages started pouring in.

The first person to hail the flagship was a surprise.

“I’ve got a Commodore Tully requesting an immediate conference with our flagship,” reported Lisa Steiner, my Chief of Staff, having reverted to her former profession and returned to haunting the communications department now that we were back in Tracto.

I nodded and opened the channel.

“This is Admiral Montagne,” I said, taking in the brown-skinned officer with surprise.

“Tully here, a Commodore in Your Majesty’s System Defense Fleet,” the other man said with a relieved nod.

My brows rose.

“Allow me to be the first to say how much a relief it is to see you here. When we heard the message summoning relief should have been received days ago but that your Patrol Fleet had yet to arrive, I feared the worst,” the Commodore said, sighing with relief.

“Glad to have you here; we can obviously use the help, but even gladder to be back in person, Tully. I’m sure there’s a story here but how did you get to Tracto?” I hazarded the question. I was aware of every commodore in the MSP and Tractoan SDF, his rank combined with acknowledging me as ‘his Majesty’ meant he had to come from Capria. However, Capria was far enough away that for reinforcements to have reached Tracto before us seemed improbable.

“My detachment was on working up trials, testing our jump-drives with half strength crews, when my officer stripped a com-stat buoys as we were passing through and I learned Tracto had discovered bug signs,” said Tully.

“You must have been quite some distance out. I wasn’t aware such long-range patrols were part of the usual builder’s trials,” I said.

“It wasn’t a builder’s trial and regardless to say, no, they are not,” Tully said, baring his teeth.

“We’ll get into that later. In the meantime, I appreciate your dedication to King and country,” I said.

“I couldn’t stand by while several million people were eaten,” the Commodore demurred.

“Of course,” I said perfunctorily and then focused back on the man with a sharp gaze. Whatever he’d been up to was less important than the fact he’d shown up ready to fight when the Tractoan Star system was under attack.

“What’s the current strength of your forces, Commodore?” I asked.

The Commodore looked embarrassed for the first time.

“I started with a squadron of light cruisers and twelve armed freighters but three of my freighters and one of my cruisers had to withdraw to Belter Station for repairs,” he admitted.

My gaze sharpened. We would definitely be talking later.

“We did what we could but with the size of the Swarm,” Tully shrugged awkwardly, “I soon realized our best hope was to delay and avoid. Harassing attacks seemed to work for a while but the main Swarm wised up after a few days. After that, all we could do was send light units to interdict their biomass recovery efforts. We swept clean every scout and scout marauder unescorted by a harvester that we could reach. I don’t know if it was enough though…” he trailed off.

“You hard work is appreciated. Unless they’d be uncovering a soft target, I want your forces to collapse back on Belter Station and aid the defense of Tracto Prime. The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet will take it from here and deal with the main Swarm,” I said.

“Aye-aye, Sir,” Tully said with relief.

“Montagne out,” I said.

“Tully out,” he replied.

Looking back up at the main screen, I felt a chill. If we’d been even a week later arriving, the surface could have been ravaged and our orbitals swept clear. So much as three days might have been too much considering the bugs were an estimated two days away from Tracto. As it was, the massive orbital defenses erected around the planet and our mining operations in the outer star system could have been swept clean.

“Twelve hundred bugs is not a small number, Admiral,” said Manblaster.

“No, it’s not, XO,” I agreed.

But it was something we were going to have to deal with, and fast. Unfortunately, with the main Swarm already inside the inner star system, I didn’t have as much time to play with as I hoped. Trading space for time and harassing attacks was not an option if they were only two days away from the planet.

Chapter 59

The Battle of the Bulge

Since there wasn’t time to wait, the Fleet immediately began moving to put itself between the bug Swarm and Tracto.

The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet started in the inner star system and moved much faster than the sluggish bug Swarm. Their scout-ships and scout marauders could move at something less than glacial speed but the harvesters and Mothership in the main body generally kept things down to a slow crawl.

On the way to Tracto, we received a routine update that sent my blood pressure rising.

“What’s this, Chief of Staff?” I asked, pulling up the latest update from the Tractoan SDF based around Belter Station.

“Sir?” she asked.

“This,” I said walking over and showing her the readiness report that was attached.

“I’m unaware of any… What!” she exclaimed.

“Our defense network was degraded by 40% but we’ve only lost a handful of turrets,” I said through my teeth.

Within minutes, I was in the middle of a long-distance tele-conference with the SDF where we learned of a series of coordinated strikes by stealth destroyers, very similar in nature to the ones that attacked the Spindles in Sector 26.

While the majority of the Fleet was gone, a coordinated strike had crippled our auxiliary command and control nodes for the orbital defenses. They’d also destroyed half our mining nodes and processors. Only the routine escorts had at all deterred them and all of this had taken place after the bulk of the SDF was repositioned to face the bugs.

To add salt to the wound, several fast freighters carrying mercenaries in power armor had landed on our processors and filled their holds with trillium.

Fortunately for us, they hadn’t planned on the pair of orbital fortresses we’d taken as payment for services rendered during the Bug Campaign and had been forced to withdraw before doing even more damage.

“It would appear the attack on our Spindles was part of a coordinated series of attacks,” I said with simmering anger.

“They waited until our back was turned and struck. Reprehensible, Sir,” said Steiner.

“We’ll look for clues later,” I said, resolve hardening. There was a limited number of suspects. I put my money on the Empire. But right now was not the time to make dire threats and great protestations of fiery vengeance. As they say, vengeance is best served cold.

In less than three hours, the main body of the MSP repositioned itself between Tracto and the bug Swarm. Our damaged ships had been dispatched to Tracto, and they were still en route.

Pulling up the latest updated Swarm list, I ruminated on the force disparity.

I basically had two hundred and fifty warships to deal with more than twelve hundred bugships. There were a few damaged and light warships stationed at Tracto that I could throw into the fray but for the moment, I was hoping to avoid it.

A pair of images popped up on my screen.

“Druid. Laurent,” I nodded to my two subordinate officers.

“Admiral what’s the plan?” Druid said seriously.

Meanwhile, Laurent just nodded.

“Fifty heavy harvesters, fifty-four medium harvesters, ninety-three light harvesters, three hundred scout marauders, five hundred scouts. More than two hundred boarding beetles and various other unidentified possible mutations,” said Druid.

“We’ve dealt with these kinds of numbers before,” I dismissed, determined to put a good face on things, “is there any indication these bugs have any of the sorts of mutations we’ve seen cropping up lately? Stealth? Laser resistance? Improved smart bombs or missiles?” I asked, rattling off the potential upgrades one at a time.

“Speed, Sire,” Laurent said finally.

“Knock off the Sire business, Laurent,” I said testily, “while I’m out here leading a fleet, I’m an Admiral first and King second but… speed… that’s… interesting.”

“It makes our job that much more difficult. We don’t have enough time to wear them down,” sighed Druid.

“Yes. Almost as if someone planned it,” I said coldly.

My two under-officers shared a look.

“That seems unlikely,” Druid said slowly.

“Like the two totally independent strikes on our interests by unmarked warships shortly after the bugs attacked the sector capital and Tracto,” I said calmly.

“It does sound like enemy action,” said Laurent.

“Correlation does not mean causation,” Druid said.

“No, it doesn’t. But only a fool waits for confirmation when the blaster bolts start flying,” I said.

“There’s a difference between taking preventative action or even measured attempts at striking back and rushing in where even fools hesitate to tread,” warned Laurent.

“Meaning I’m a fool?” I asked.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” snapped Laurent.

“Fair enough,” I replied shortly.

I took a deep breath.

“We’ll look into those matters more deeply later. In the meantime, we’re going to save Tracto,” I said.

“We should keep an eye out for stealth boarding bugs and boring beetles,” said Druid.

“Agreed. Now here’s my plan,” I said, laying out my quick and dirty vision of the future.

There was a moment of silence on the conference channel.

“It’s risky,” Laurent finally said.

“I’m in,” Druid’s eyes were as hard as agates.

“Of course, I’m in as well but it’s still risky,” glowered Laurent.

“Alright, let’s do this,” I said.

Unfortunately, we didn’t have enough time to wear down the bugs as I would have liked. But that was okay. I still had the best fleet in the entire galaxy at my back.

And as long as I had the MSP, I could do anything I set my mind to. Bar a few things like overturn the Empire of Man but hey, we were still growing. Anything was possible…right?

Snorting at my own irrational flight of fancy, I turned back to the grim business of ridding the Tractoan Star System of the bugs.

“Just call me the Exterminator,” I muttered after cutting the channel and then gave the order to advance.

The Fleet was on the move.

Filled with steely determination, the warships of the fleet, having recovered from the bad jump the Spindle gave when bringing us back to Tracto, fell out into battle formation.

Once again, we split up into two groups with the lighter warships splitting off to begin a corkscrew dance around the edge of the bug Swarm while the heavies formed up around the Lucky Clover II.

“Take us in, Helm,” I said, eyes hard and cold as the battleships formed up into a square hammer four rows deep to our front and the heavy cruisers formed up to our side and rear.

“Aye-aye, Sir,” said DuPont.

We then began moving forward as fast as the Lucky Clover II could manage.

“Are you sure this is wise, Admiral?” asked Manblaster.

“Wise, no. But if we can take out that Queen in one blow, then the Swarm will fall apart and the only thing left will be the clean-up,” I said, coldly.

“You’re the Admiral, Sir, but wouldn’t it be better to fall back on the orbital defenses and deal with the Swarm there?” he asked.

“You’ve seen the damage one scout can do to a small community. If we try to hold them at the orbitals, we could have hundreds fall upon our community centers. Worse they could land and start multiplying. Tracto isn’t a heavily settled world with multiple sensor nets all over the planet. We could spend months digging them out meanwhile the cost could be irreparable. We have to at least try,” I said.

“We won’t save anyone if we’re killed here, Sir,” he said pulling back.

“We’re not going to die today,” I said.

While the lighter units pulled around the side of the bug Swarm lasers burning into the scouts in the outer areas the hard core that was our Wall of Battle smashed through the outskirts of the Swarm.

While the light warships were doing their best to peel the onion that was the Swarm we were diving right into its midst and the bugs weren’t just ignoring us.

Forty battleships and an equal number of heavy cruisers fried everything in their path as we broke through the outer guard of scouts and scout marauders. Point defense in the form of light lasers and chain guns smashed dozens of boarding bugs—and still the bugs kept coming.

Then the harvesters stirred into action.

“I’m reading multiple medium and heavy harvesters moving into position in front of the Queen ship, Sir,” reported Lieutenant Harp.

“Take us in, Mr. DuPont,” I said.

“We’re already on course, Sir,” DuPont reminded respectfully.

I nodded.

The fleet continued to bore in on the bug fleet and our lead battleships opened fire, their turbo-lasers targeting the first harvesters.

The harvesters began taking damage but in response, they opened fire in all directions and although the majority of it was aimed in our direction, it was from too far away. A minor course adjustment when the bomb’s drives began to sputter sent them flying harmlessly past us.

Around the harvesters flew a stream of boring beetles.

The small bugs streamed toward us and though the Wall of Battle, opened fire with every point defense weapon we could bring to bear, whipping dozens of beetles out of the sky; each second, a hundred more seemed to take their place.

“Rotate the front warships,” I instructed.

The com-department relayed my orders and under Rear Admiral Druid’s direction, the lead battleships peeled off half to either side, opening fire with a full broadside, rolling to present their next, opening fire with them and then moving to slide back into formation directly in front of the Lucky Clover II.

A renewed flurry of fire broke out as the eight battleships now in the lead repeated the motion, falling out of formation to either side and opening fire.

One after another, the forty battleships in the lead blasted their full weight of fire into the bug harvesters.

First one harvester fell out of position and then a second, but the battleships were approaching too fast and by the time the main body of the MSP came into range of the harvesters, more than two dozen harvesters had been smashed into pieces.

The frontline harvesters opened fire as more and more of their brethren moved to interpose themselves between their beloved Queen onboard her Mothership and the main body of the MSP. First dozens, then hundreds, and finally thousands of lasers slashed into the lead battleships.

At first, the shield shrugged off the attack but too many lasers soon brought them down. This was the moment when weeks of bitter campaigning, each battle accruing a steady toll of battle damage on our ships, left most of our heavies with something between 70-90% of their original hull armor strength. The fact was, they weren’t as sturdy as they had been immediately after being released from the yards for combat, and now they were paying for my rush to finish this battle.

First one battleship fell out of formation, then two more, and suddenly one of our battleships rocked with explosions and began drifting toward the ship beside it.

I could see the writing on the wall.

“Tell the main body they are to maneuver as necessary to avoid a collision,” I instructed.

“Rear Admiral Druid asks if you want to pull back and make another run?” reported Lisa Steiner.

“No,” I said as the fleet spread out to avoid the damaged battleships, and bug lasers started targeting our shields.

Our formation was loose and more battleships were firing as the harvesters began to envelop us, but we continued to push forward. As boring beetles pressed forward and our shields lowered, a dozen battleships reported bugs landing on their hulls.

While our lancers were dealing with the intruders throughout the fleet, dozens of lighter bugs, scout marauders and scouts came charging in, only to be swept out of the sky.

I looked at the screen with narrowed eyes; our push forward was stalling as more warships peeled off, mainly due to battle damage, and began engaging individual harvesters. We were taking damage but the harvesters were having a worse time of it.

“Sir?” asked First Officer Manblaster, seeing my intent look at the main screen.

“I’m not seeing the sort of hull strengthening or laser resistance we saw in previous battles, XO,” I said.

Another battleship took fire from half a dozen harvesters at the same time and started venting atmosphere before ejecting two of its fusion generators. As I watched, the beleaguered ship was engulfed by a small cloud of boarding bugs, so many I didn’t think it would be able to fight them off without outside help.

It was another battleship I’d just doomed.

I was going to kill someone for this.

My knuckles popped and we continued to push forward when a heavy harvester put itself on a collision course with the flagship.

“Can we maneuver to avoid?” I asked dispassionately.

“No, sir, Admiral Montagne,” DuPont reported tensely.

I waved two fingers at the com-officer as my eyes picked out a pair of battleships.

“Tell the new Metal Titan to move that harvester out of my way and tell Messene’s Shield they are ordered to assist Metal Titan if there are any problems,” I said.

“Aye-aye,” the officer said in a subdued voice.

Our sensors continued searching in vain for an elusive signature in the middle of the bug Swarm.

“Do you want to fire the main gun, Admiral?” urged the Weaponeer.

“Hold your thunder, Weapons; we could only get one shot at this and we need to make it count,” I said.

But when three more harvesters pointed their noses directly at us and went to full-powered burn with no regard for a potential collision, things started to look grim.

“Three battleships have put out their emergency beacons, registering them as combat-destroyed. Another seven battleships report heavy damage. Another eighteen battleships have fallen out of formation due to various reasons and are actively engaged in combat,” reported Hart.

“That leaves us with a dozen battleships to break through,” I said.

“With respect, it’s not enough; we can’t push through those harvesters without a collision. We’re down to maneuvering and the slower we go, the more of the smaller bugs we’re attracting,” said Hart.

“Shields down to 50% and holding,” reported Shields.

I nodded sharply.

“Instruct the cruisers to push forward; they need to pick up the slack,” I ordered.

“Sir,” Manblaster said firmly.

“I want to finish this battle in one go as badly as the next man, but we’re not going to be able to withdraw for another attack run if we don’t pull back now,” he said.

I turned a hot gaze on him.

“Send forward the cruisers,” I grated.

Manblaster stiffened and then snapped off a salute, stalking over to another area of the bridge.

Following orders, the cruisers doggedly pushed forward unleashing a series of calculated broadsides, destroying a trio of harvesters and forcing aside several more by encouraging the bugs to focus on them.

We were almost there but no matter how hard we pushed, there always seemed to be yet another mass of bugs.

By now, the Lucky Clover II was firing simultaneously from both broadsides and our shield strength had dropped enough that we were spotting.

“Boarding bug on the hull. I repeat, boarding bugs on the hull. Dispatch Lancers immediately,” said Warrant Adrienne Blythe from Damage Control.

Those bugs weren’t the last to reach our hull.

“Sir, we’re being overwhelmed. We must withdraw! Or else, order in the light units in for support. Our battleships are being overwhelmed,” urged Lieutenant-Commander Hart.

“Blast,” I cursed. Had we come this close only to fail? I refused to believe it. Just a little bit more…

A little bit more wasn’t enough.

The bitter taste of ashes and failure in my mouth, I ordered the cruisers to cover our withdrawal and sent the battleships off at a 30-degree angle. We had to fight our way out but reversing course was only going to take longer.

Several battleships had taken too much damage to follow the main body, but if I turned, we were only going to lose more. It was a devil’s bargain but I could only hope that by heading off at an angle and breaking free, the majority of the bugs would follow the main body.

I couldn’t believe my gamble hadn’t paid off. I was so sure that with one big push against a set of relatively un-evolved bugs, we could break them. Clearly, I’d been too ambitious and it had just cost the fleet dearly.

Seeing the number of battleships left behind, I closed my eyes.

“Instruct Rear Admiral Laurent that if an opportunity presents itself to liberate and rescue those members of the main body who aren’t able to follow, he is to take it without hesitation,” I said.

“Orders relayed, Sir,” Steiner said in a hushed voice, her face pale as she glanced at the main screen.

The Lucky Clover turned to cover our retreating force and had just started to follow when, like a leviathan rising from the depths, the bug Mothership appeared, pushing its way through the harvesters that had been giving us such a bad time.

“Primary target acquired!” shouted Hart.

My pupils widened and then contracted.

“Mr. DuPont, belay your previous course correction and get us lined back up on that Mothership,” I said, pounding the armrest of my throne.

“Aye-aye, Sir,” he replied happily.

While we were still maneuvering, the Mothership opened fire on our closest warship, a heavy cruiser, knocking down its shields in one broadside, deeply scoring its hull at the same time.

Worse, half the harvesters within range also targeted the cruiser and began to fire. Within half a minute, the cruiser was shot so full of holes, it was floating lifelessly in cold space, its fusion generators floating around it.

Relentlessly, the Mothership turned but instead of targeting the closest warship, this time it decided to go after the biggest, largest threat in the area.

“Enemy Mothership is targeting us!” reported Hart.

“Mr. DuPont!” I said.

“I’m moving her as fast as she’ll go,” the helmsman said with frustration.

The Mothership opened fire, taking our shields down to 25% and then every harvester in the area opened fire.

“Shields gone! The hull is taking damage,” reported Manblaster.

“Coming into range for the shot,” reported Weapons.

“We have major outgassing in three different places on the port and starboard side,” reported Damage Control.

“Anytime, Weapons,” I urged.

“Going for target lock,” said the Weaponeer.

“Hydropontics 4 is damaged. Environmental systems compromised throughout 20% of the ship, unable to reroute,” reported Blythe.

“Retracting forward, facing firing port!” said the Weaponeer.

“Send out a crew advisory to avoid the damaged decks or use protective gear and portable oxygen rebreathers or space suits,” said Manblaster.

All around us, a cloud of missiles and bombs appeared as every bugship launched its payload in all directions.

“Firing now!” said Weapons, depressing the trigger.

There was the sound of the HPC spinning up and then the ship suddenly rocked backward.

From the tip of the Lucky Clover, a rapidly-moving projectile streaked across the screen. Moments later, it struck the Mothership at an angle, punching in one side and tearing out the other, emerging in a spray of atmo and unidentifiable fluids.

While the Mothership flared its engines and struggled to compensate, every bug harvester in range went crazy, opening fire on us and each other.

Not to be outdone, the Mothership also opened fire on everything in range of its starboard side but with only about a quarter of its weapons. The rest of the Mothership’s starboard weapons and its entire port side slowly went dark.

“Scan that Mothership and tell me what just happened?” I ordered.

But it soon became obvious. The Mothership may still be mostly intact, besides one big gaping hole, but every bugship in Swarm began acting the same way they did when a Mothership died.

“I can’t be sure, Admiral, but I think we must have hit the Queen,” said Science Officer Jones in disbelief.

“I’m not an exobiologist, but I think he’s right,” agreed another science officer.

“It’s an educated guess but it fits all the facts,” Jones said defensively.

Ignoring their squabble, I looked on with growing elation as the bugs turned on each other like rabid snap-weasels.

My only complaint was that the majority of my fleet’s heavy warships were in the middle of the hottest patch of bug insanity.

“Circle up! Order the Wall to resume position and form up again on the flagship,” I snapped.

With their leader gone and the bugs attacking one another, we finally had a chance to regroup. If we could pick up our limpers before they were entirely overrun and trim down any of the heavy harvesters that looked like it was growing too big for its britches, we might just make it out of this yet without any more serious losses.

I was optimistic and I knew it.

Unfortunately, Murphy and several of the harvesters must have known it too, because two more battleships were overrun with bug boarders before we could reach them.

“Battleships are deploying bucking cables,” reported Hart as we reached the first of our beleaguered battleships and the Clover turned to fire her recharged HPC into the battered Mothership, finishing her off for good.

“Instruct the cruisers to form a perimeter to keep the lighter bugs off us while the harvesters are busy, and have the battleships prepare boarding parties to help relieve our boarded battleships,” I instructed, feeling relief now that the possibility of the Mothership recovering and taking back control over the Swarm was done for good.

“Aye-aye, Admiral,” Manblaster said sharply.

Over the next fifteen minutes, we retraced our path, fought off the disoriented harvesters and placed our heavily damaged, engine disabled or nearly destroyed warships on the other side of our formation as far away from danger as possible. The damage was heavy with more or less 25% of the Wall destroyed or damaged to the point of being completely disabled and another fourth damaged sufficiently that they needed time in the shipyard.

Ten battleships so badly damaged, they were facing the wrecker or already destroyed already, and another twelve heavy cruisers. Something of the order of forty thousand officers and crew killed or MIA. It was too much.

The only consolation was that we had accomplished our mission and had taken out the guiding force keeping the Swarm together.

Slicing through the outer edges of the Swarm, Rear Admiral Laurent brought his destroyers and corvettes in, clearing out the remaining light units around us and providing a screening force as we limped out of range.

In exchange, twenty-two of our heavy warships we had destroyed, five times our numbers and the Mothership. It was too much. More than we would have lost if we’d intercepted them at the edge of the star system and not two days away from Tracto, but we’d done it.

We might have to go in and finish off another harvester, but even though more than half of the Swarm remained, its biggest combat potential had just been cut in half. We were going to take more losses but we could do this.

After leaving the Swarm behind, we focused all our efforts on clearing the bugs from the hulls and interiors of our battleships and cruisers. We were successful in varying levels; the bugs were gone but another ten warships were rendered non-operational and we had to remove the surviving crew from their ships and scram the fusion generators.

Only time and a full shipyard would tell if they could be placed back in action or if we were all better off scrapping them and using the metal and components to build or rebuild another ship.

After forming a convoy of all our heavily-damaged ships and assigning an escort detail, the limpers were sent back to tract.

Despite our damage and slow movement, the Lucky Clover stayed with the main fleet maintaining position between the Swarm and Tracto.

After immediate repairs were completed and our ships cleared of bug boarders, it was time to return to the grim business of peeling the rest of this swarm like an onion.

Because of how deep they’d come into the system and the bug’s near fatal attraction to life giving worlds and all its rich biomass, hundreds of smaller bugs based around a core of harvesters survived long enough to reach our orbital defenses.

They didn’t last there in orbit for very long.

Chapter 60

The Storm Has Passed

“You did it, Jason,” Akantha said with shining eyes.

“Then why do I feel like I failed?” I said, staring out the porthole on the observation deck at the lines of crippled warships parked outside Belter Station.

“Our losses were bad. But we were victorious. You protected us. You protected our family and our planet. We were victorious in the battle, Tracto was not turned into a barren wasteland of rock and bones. That is worth something. More than you are giving yourself credit for, Husband,” she said.

I glared out the porthole for a minute.

“You’re right and someday, it’s going to feel that way. I know that in my head but it doesn’t help right now,” I said clenching my teeth.

Then I forced all of that down and turned to my wife.

“It’s been months of war and even the best of men come back from that with demons. Don’t think I fail to feel that too,” Akantha said. “But really and truly we did it. You did it, Protector. Never forget that,” she said fiercely.

“I won’t,” I said and turned back to the porthole and the damaged ships. I almost imagined I could see the MSP and King’s Own personnel inside those ships, men and women who had expected better of their Admiral and King, some of whom survived to leave their ship but others who ended up paying the ultimate price.

The bug incursion had slowed and most of the high-intensity combat operations had finally passed. It was a tough call but I’d dispatched a group of volunteers under Rear Admirals Druid and Laurent who were willing to return to help the capital of Sector 26 and anyone else in the minor worlds who needed our assistance.

The Spindles no longer left with the expeditionary body would remain and return to Tracto between uses. Laurent or Druid could call back for a pick-up at need but for now, all usages of the Spindles would be strictly limited. We didn’t need another repeat of that last jump.

Hopefully, the spindles could finish repairing themselves.

Meanwhile our best analysts, engineers and yard workers estimated it was going to take months of work to put the fleet back into fighting trim.

But the tactical department had run the numbers and concurred that barring an upsurge in bugs, roughly half the fleet would be needed for future bug suppression campaigns but the rest could be taken back home to rest, refit and repair.

Which was good considering I refused to leave our homeworlds at the mercy of more stealth destroyers; I had ordered a defense force stationed near critical infrastructure at all times and placed our star system sensor networks on high alert.

Working in conjunction with the Confederation flotillas, they should be able to handle any future bug attacks but at this point, I couldn’t risk the Empire launching another spoiling raid.

Yes, I was now sure it was the Empire. Intelligence recovered from one of the raider shuttles that had been hit and left behind during the raid on Tracto showed an advanced technology that only the Empire or old Confederation could produce.

Druid, Laurent and Kling were assigned as Task Force Commanders and Fleet Commanders in all but name to take my place, and to stop the bugs cold and continue to appropriate our payments.

I expected lots of people to drag their feet and not pay now that the danger appeared to be passing and knowing the mood I was in, I knew I wasn’t the person who should be dealing with short-sighted politicians.

Kling, Druid and Laurent would just have to handle things for a while. I needed a break and some family time. Not a sudden urge to pull out and leave a star system to the bugs when some star system leader started acting up.

“You’re right, Akantha. What I need now is time,” I said.

“Take as much time as you need. You’ve been too busy helping others. It’s time we took care of ourselves and took a break in the action,” she said.

I nodded, eyes hooded and then escorted my sword-bearer back to our quarters.

***

After dividing into a 1st and 2nd Fleet and shoring up the defenses in Tracto and Capria, I grabbed Commodore Spalding. I had a few hard questions that needed answering about those strange intruders that appeared on our ship during the last bad jump.

More importantly, it was time for a long-delayed meeting.

The Empire thought it could attack my home, destroy my transportation system and destroy everything I’d worked for down to the bedrock? It was time they learned that when pushed, I would push back.

Chapter 61

The Kids

A week later, after taking some time to decompress and visit with the children, I was back from another fishing expedition at the beach and catching up on the latest reports from the Kingdom when Akantha came in.

“I was hoping I’d catch you in,” she said.

I turned, lifting an eyebrow.

“I have some news that I think, or at least I hope, will cheer you up,” she said with a gleam in her eye.

“Oh,” I said, running my eyes up and down her figure.

She flushed.

“Not that!” she said defensively.

I couldn’t disguise my disappointment.

“Men,” she said rolling her eyes.

I wrinkled my brow.

“If it’s not the obvious then… what?” I asked.

“Obvious, my foot,” she sniffed and then turned serious.

“Enough of that nonsense,” she said brusquely, “Thanks to my various sources, I have located a person of great interest to us,” she said.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Who?” I asked.

“Your wayward King and Cousin, James Vekna, just so happens to be hiding out on a pleasure world on the other side of the Overton Expanse inside the border of the old Confederation. And it just so happens we have agents moving into place right now to deal with him,” she said with vicious satisfaction.

“Just have to give the word and he’ll trouble us no more,” she said.

For a moment, my better angels urged me to spare my murderous cousin and at least attempt to bring him back home for trial.

But then I leaned over and pulled up the intelligence report from Royal Intelligence showing their investigation had determined with 95% certainty Cousin James had ordered the hit on my mother and Duncan.

“Do it,” I said giving her a nod.

Some problems, we were better off not having.

***

A thousand light years away, a direct-action team comprised entirely of women received the go signal.

“The Operation has been approved. We are to proceed with target elimination. No need to attempt a capture,” said the Senior Sister in charge of the group.

“The will of the sisterhood be done,” intoned the black-clad members of the special direct-action team.

Then, silent and swift as a sword, the team moved into the luxury resort, drifting completely unnoticed through the already compromised security system until they reached the beach’s Presidential Suite.

Fifteen minutes later, they departed the resort, operation successful. With them, they carried a picnic-container-sized cold storage unit.

For proof of mission success, in dynastic disputes, the last thing you wanted was a series of imposters claiming to be the now-deceased former claimant showing up to contest the succession.

***

While my wife’s hired killers were hunting down my cousin, I was busy spending some quality time with the kids. We’d been super busy lately and our sons in particular were beginning to act out.

As I was slowly learning with children, the most important thing was giving them time with you. It wasn’t toys or gifts or anything like that, what they needed was you, something I was more than happy to provide.

While I was playing with the kids, I decided now was the time to arrange a meeting with the Stalwart. They’d been waiting for far too long.

Chapter 62

The Omicron

I looked around the Omicron with fresh eyes. It had been quite a while since I personally stepped foot on the space station and the changes were both sweeping and, at the same time, it felt like nothing had really changed.

Oh, it was nicer, cleaner at least, but the same seedy characters lurked in its halls. Or if not exactly the same seedy characters, then new seedy characters had arrived to replace the old.

“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” I said eyeing a band of Tractoan mercenaries as they rubbed shoulders with mutants, genetic freaks and uplifts from beyond the Rim without a seeming care in the galaxy.

Of course, the Tractoans didn’t have the same cultural baggage a son of Capria came onboard with. If this was a plus or a minus was yet to be seen.

“This way, Sir,” said the Tractoan servant sent to escort me to the Command Center.

“Lead on,” I said as my guards closed in around me.

The trip to the Command Center was uneventful and securing a conference room even less so. I guessed being the owner sometimes paid off with more than mutinies and the occasional death match.

“Did you need anything, Sir?” asked Spalding, sticking his head into the room.

“Bring me the Stalwart,” I said.

“Aye-aye, right on it, Sir,” he said.

While I waited, I reflected how returning to the Omicron was like rewinding history back to a more desperate, naïve time. Back to when a young foolish Admiral and Caprian Prince had thought that simply by saving the helpless people of the Spine, things would change for the better.

Now an older, wiser and—I had to admit—much more jaded King knew that the more things changed, the more they stayed exactly the same. I supposed the best goal was to provide enough stability so that those stolen moments between one outright disaster to the next could be seized in the moment.

Although maybe I’d look back and think that was wrong too at some point. The only thing I knew for sure anymore, was that while there was life, there was still hope—and boy, did I hope for the best.

They say hope springs eternal but sometimes, I felt like I was hanging onto the ability to hope by my fingers; right now, though, I was hoping for something to break my way.

The door swished open.

“Hello, Admiral,” rumbled the large silvering Sundered that walked into the conference room and took a seat, his companion male lumbering in beside him.

No, not Sundered, ‘Stalwart’, I reminded myself.

“Greetings Elder Storm, I am glad we could finally meet,” I said gravely.

“Took long enough,” muttered the younger uplift male beside the Elder.

“Po’ta,” rumbled Storm.

“Sorry,” muttered the younger male.

The Elder turned back to me.

“We are impatient,” he said.

“I can see that,” I said lifting my brows.

“No, you don’t understand. We are not impatient at being kept waiting, or not simply for that, we are impatient because a Seer told us that you are the only one who can help us,” said the Elder.

“So I’ve heard,” I said.

“We need help to drive back the—Empire,” Po’ta the younger male said cynically, “fortunately, you seem to have a very large fleet.”

“Po’ta!” exclaimed Storm.

I leaned forward intently.

“The Empire, you say. That’s a big ask,” I said even though I already knew what they were going to ask about and was prepared to agree to it.

“We represent a group. The Alliance Gorgonus is no mere push over—” Po’ta started.

“—and we desperately need your help, Admiral,” said Elder Storm.

“I understand, and yes I do have a fleet so I suppose I can see how I could be of use to you,” I said, looking at the elder male assessingly, “but just what can the Stalwart or the Alliance Gorgonus provide me that would make it worthwhile to me?”

“Another greedy mercenary!” Po’ta spat.

“Greedy? A mercenary? You come here asking me for my help and talk to me of greed when the lives of my people will almost certainly be lost in a war that is not my own and you call me a mercenary?” I asked, brows lifting.

Po’ta’s fist clenched.

“My apologies. Our war is not your own. However, we are hard-pressed and we do need your help. Please don’t let my words poison you against our people, Admiral. Even if we’ve been waiting for this meeting for months now,” Po’ta finished with a growl.

Elder Storm, who had been watching the back and forth impassively, now leaned forward.

“As for what we can give you,” he said ticking off points on his fingers, “how about an alliance of races oppressed by the Empire, proof of the Empire’s campaign of genocide against the alien races which we’ve already provided and you must have verified, or we wouldn’t be here,” he gestured with a finger, “proof the aliens still exist and,” he added, lifting one final finger, “access to new technologies you have probably never even heard of. We brought an entire encrypted database with us to sweeten the pot. If we can come to an arrangement, I’ll provide you with the encryption keys needed to open it.”

I leaned forward.

“Tell me more,” I said.

Even though I was playing the skeptic, I hadn’t come here expecting to walk away. I was here to close the deal. I had plans and the Stalwart were just the first part of it.

When I was done, the Empire was going to have the biggest black eye anyone had ever given them.

It was going to take a lot of work to turn this giant space station and former illegal pirate port into a proper battle station, but now I had a focus, it was as if a weight was leaving me. The Empire needed to be taught a lesson and this station badly needed an upgrade. Fortunately, I’d received a number of defense stations during the last Bug Campaign.

Between those stations and the Caprian Shipyard, I had no doubt I could turn this former black port into something the Empire would never see coming, not in a million years.

Whether the people of this station liked those changes or not was of little concern to me. I didn’t prosecute the smugglers, mercenaries and rogues that still operated out of here even now, and in return, I expected some modicum of support and loyalty. Whether or not they chose to give those freely I didn’t really care.

If they wanted my pardon for former crimes, they would work for them.

I could already see it. The problems here in the Spine would stay here in the Spineward Sectors but I would be able to leave them behind.

In a way, it was just like back when I’d first assumed command of the Lucky Clover. If I went through with this, we would be isolated, cut off from all communication with the outside world and dependent on jump drive and the Elder Spindles for any information.

It was going to take a lot of work to turn this pirate port into a first-class battle station, and the calculations after that to long-jump the station using our ancient alien jump engines to place us smack gob into the middle of the Gorgon Front was going to be something else.

In a way, I discovered I was actually looking forward to it.

Gorgon Front, here I come, I thought with a frisson of excitement. The Empire just messed with the wrong Montagne.