Admiral's Throne

by Luke Sky Wachter

  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 hold-out 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 te
chnical, 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 b
ack.

  “Ha! Take that, you infernal beast,” Spalding chortled, mentally slapping himself on the back, even as he unloaded the pulse-rifle at point-blank 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.