Admiral's Challenge (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 8)

by Luke Sky Wachter

“Ha,” Akantha mocked harshly, “and here I thought you came to speak over matters of note. Why else would you have requested my audience? If it was not some service as Warlord, and only that of a common warrior in my service you thought to offer, then despite knowing my preferences you still insist on wasting my time, Warrior Nikomedes?”

  Nikomedes looked at her for a long moment with a slightly whimsical—and more than slightly disconcerting—expression on his face.

  “Slaughter-cat got your tongue?” Akantha inquired with false politeness.

  “I can see now that speaking matters from the heart was an error; I apologize,” the Warrior-Warlord said. “I should have cut right to the center of the gourd from the beginning; I know your preference and still I blundered.”

  Akantha snorted.

  Nikomedes voice hardened, “What was not an error was coming here today.”

  “Then speak, ‘Warrior’,” Akantha said, leaning forward tensely, “tell me what is on your mind and let us have this little reunion over and done with so that we can speak again later—under more pleasant circumstances.”

  “Akantha, I know I am not worthy—” he started.

  “You are right—you’re not,” she said icily, “save us both the trouble and withdraw. Now!”

  Nikomedes took a deep breath and, for a moment, his face twisted as if in great pain. But the moment was gone in a flash and when again his eyes cleared and met hers all that was left was an unwavering certainty and a raging fire in his eyes that were those of a man sure of his cause.

  “Let me be plain: I do not desire to deprive you of either your Heirs or your Protector,” Nikomedes declared fervently.

  “Spoken by another man, I would find that hard to believe,” Akantha said, skeptical despite her words to the contrary, “but, if true, you have my gratitude.”

  “I do not desire to leave you without a Protector, because I would be that Protector, my Lady,” the new-minted Warlord said fiercely.

  “And so we get to the meat of it,” Akantha said, her worst fears—the very reason she had insisted on Jason increasing his training regimen with the blade—made manifest before her very eyes. Because for every Nikomedes out there who desired her hand, there were ten, a hundred—a thousand!—more waiting in the wings. “And yet, what if I said that I am already with Protector and very well-pleased with his actions?” she asked firmly.

  “I would not leave you without a Protector because I would be your Protector, Lady Akantha,” Nikomedes repeated levelly. “You know that is why I am here, just as you know that in your heart you are not as ‘well pleased’ with your current Protector as you would let on.”

  “You doubt my word?!” she flared.

  “I have seen the records of your journey from Tracto to Elysium, as well as participating personally in the culminating Battle,” Nikomedes said evenly. “How many times did he risk not just his life, not just the lives of his war band and Fleet, not just ships and equipment, but your life as well? How many times, Akantha?!” he asked in a tone that was dangerously close to a demand. But more concerning than the tone was his use of her familiar name—a name she had, long ago, asked him to call her by, though he had seemingly refused to do so…until now.

  “You are a warrior; of all people, you should understand that great gains are presaged by the potential for great losses,” Akantha said passionately. “Thanks to him we are stronger than we have ever been!”

  “Not yet, we aren’t—and not until more of those battleships are out of dry-dock,” Nikomedes said pointedly, proving that there was indeed more going on behind his eyes than he had ever previously revealed, “at this exact moment, we are still weakened.”

  “You would quibble over such details, like a merchant haggling over a bag of weevil-ridden flour?” Akantha asked with disbelief. “And you would say this despite the thousands—nay, tens of thousands—of new recruits who have flocked to his banner? The fact that we have battleships to repair—a process which will be concluded within the month—is entirely due to his leadership, as well as the very reason you are here today. The fact that we have no pressing enemies hounding our gates is the only reason you, and those like you, feel free to attack us now.”

  “I would never attack you,” Nikomedes said with a sad expression, “and it pains me that you would paint me with such a brush. It is your Protector I believe is failing you, and it is only he who I would replace. If I was your Protector, you can rest assured that I would never allow my enemies to threaten our children.”

  “By our children, don’t you mean your children by me and not my heirs by another?” she said hotly.

  “I would make his children as my own, if you but asked it,” he said solemnly, causing her stomach to clench unexpectedly. “As I said: you have nothing to fear from me, Hold Mistress,” Nikomedes said with certainty, “do not mistake my desire to do what is best for you for some unsavory aim. I swear that I would never invoke Protector’s right against the children inside your womb,” he said, pointing at her belly with his long, muscular arm.

  “How, exactly, do you think that you—or anyone else—would be better for me, and for the Hold, than Jason?” Akantha demanded.

  “For centuries, millennia even, we have been isolated from the outside world. And yet, Jason has brought us out into the rest of the universe, kicking and screaming—whether we desire it or not,” Nikomedes said hotly.

  “He saved us from the Bugs—he saved me, Nikomedes,” Akantha snapped, “doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Believe it or not, it does, and because of that I would leave him alive at the end of what is to come if I am able,” Nikomedes said harshly.

  “So passionate,” Akantha sneered, “name one thing he has done that you can say, without equivocation, in which he has failed as my Protector. Not this wishy-washy ‘he didn’t do as well as he should have,’ nonsense, but a genuine failure or I refuse to entertain you any longer.”

  “Look at the scars on your face,” Nikomedes said with deadly intent, his voice lowering dangerously as his eyes flared, “can you honestly tell me you were ‘well pleased’ with his actions at First Omicron where, due to his arrogance, he was captured and left us—left you—surrounded by enemies on all sides?” he demanded in turn, his words cutting to the heart of the matter far more expertly than she could have imagined they would.

  Akantha opened her mouth to retort and then fell silent.

  “You were left in mourning, you were the one who captured the Omicron—along with several of the battleships now in this fleet—and his own men had to come rescue him,” Nikomedes said fiercely. “I ask you: how can a Protector perform his duties to protect the woman to whom he is pledged if he is in the hands of his enemies?!”

  “I cannot say that was his greatest moment,” Akantha said quietly, determined to ward Nikomedes off, “however, he has made up for that in many ways. I am very satisfied, at this exact moment, with how things are.”

  “With those battleships that you captured, a Tracto-an Protector would have been able to fight off those Bugs. Our people would not necessarily have faced genocide and annihilation if someone had replaced him at any earlier stage,” Nikomedes said.

  “You mean if you replaced him,” Akantha said sadly, “I did not expect you to be driven by personal advancement, Nikomedes. Of all my original suitors, you alone I thought to have honor. But turns out you are just like all the rest…just another scheming Warlord.”

  “I do have honor!” he said tightly. “If I thought it was the best thing for our people—or even just for you—I would stand aside. Nay, I would slaughter a path through his potential challengers to keep them at bay. Yet, time and time again, your current Protector has recklessly risked everything,” he said urgently, “you must see that! He didn’t just save you from the Bugs. Through his weakness, he opened us to attack—which is the same as if he had deliberately turned those ruinous forces against us. Our world was invaded because of his weakness,” he insisted, “
his own family even rose up against us! Because he couldn’t Protect you, or Messene, or the very world which gave birth to us—and to which you and I have a holy duty! Can you even say the same about him? Does he share our holy duty? Would he guard his own children half as well as I would guard them, if you would but let me?”

  “It seems there is nothing I can say to dissuade you,” Akantha said, holding very still.

  “I am not your enemy, my Lady,” Nikomedes said passionately, “I am, and have ever striven to be, here to help you. All I desire is your blessing on my future actions, to ensure a smooth transition—one that does not leave you at risk.”

  “Help me?” Akantha said, choking up with disbelief. “You would slay the future father of my children, and you have the gall to ask for my blessing before you do it?”

  “If not me, then a dozen others,” Nikomedes said, his voice hardening, “if not me then perhaps someone who will not care for the heirs in your body—heirs sired by another man. If I stay my hand now, who can guarantee your safety after one of those dozen finally kills him? With me you have the certain knowledge that your children will be safe from retribution, and you have my solemn vow that I will spare their father if at all possible. Politically speaking,” he continued, and Akantha began to feel numb all over as he drove ever forward, wielding words with the same skill he had so often displayed with a sword, “with Jason Montagne gone, you will no longer have a Protector who allowed holy Tracto to be invaded. All the enmity against him—enmity which exists because it was his family, his uncle who did the invading—will no longer loom over your House. I swear that with me at your side, I will only take from him what is necessary to secure the safety of our people, and our world. The rest, and those that choose to follow him—if he lives through the challenge—will be allowed to leave.”

  Akantha bowed her head, as emotions raged within her. Nikomedes was right, curse him; the invasion by Jean Luc’s forces had stirred up negative sentiment. And Jason had stumbled along the way, with the Omicron being the most striking example. Moreover, if Nikomedes won then the risk of future challenges would go down, as by now all of Tracto knew he was a truly superior swordsman—and now, Akantha alone knew that he was equally gifted in the art of politics.

  “He beat you once before; just how likely do you think you are to win a challenge?” she finally asked, feeling like a traitor for doing so but she felt she had no choice. Of all the potential challengers who could arise, Nikomedes was right: few-to-none would allow the former Protector to live and potentially return for a follow-up challenge, and fewer still would care for the babes. Most would only see them as an impediment to their own line sitting upon the throne of Messene—much as Nykator had done regarding her after siring daughters of his own with Akantha’s mother.

  “Last time we met, he wore a suit of power armor while I had but my natural strength and a Dark Sword of Power,” Nikomedes said confidently. “In his later matches, he used trickery and deception to win—not skill with a sword. Now that we know to be on guard against such tricks, he cannot triumph. In armor, or without it, he is not my equal in battle. All know of his skill with a blade which, while adequate, is not much more than that. You know as well as I that no Protector maintains the position without a superior level of skill in this particular arena—skill which I possess in excess.”

  “I understand what you are saying,” Akantha said, silently acknowledging that while Jason might be superior to his countrymen when it came to the sword, when compared to hers he could never be considered more than slightly above average, “however, the Fleet’s Starborn will likely follow him even if he loses. In the face of that, how certain are you that our own people will rally behind you? Even with the new blood which has infused the Fleet, I am positive that many of those who have followed him since he first showed his banner still hold him in high esteem. We can’t afford infighting.”

  Nikomedes nodded knowingly. “If, after I win, your own endorsement isn’t enough then I will share with them the truth. That truth is that, during my quest for the Dark Sword of Power, I was graced to receive directives…which were given by the Voice of Men.” Akantha was thunderstruck by this particular revelation, but Nikomedes continued as a burning light seemed to fill his visage, “After my defeat at Jason Montagne’s hand, I returned to the Voice to receive my punishment. I had failed,” he said, his expression turning dark, “and was prepared to receive Men’s judgment. But, inexplicably, our god bestowed upon me a holy mission. After I succeed against Jason Montagne, no one will dare stand against an anointed Prophet of Men!”

  Akantha straightened in her chair as if struck by lightning. “This is true?” she whispered, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice. “Swear it! Swear that you speak the truth—that you have spoken to the remnant of our god!”

  Gravely, he reached into his sash and slowly produced a crystalline hilt. With a flick of his thumb, and a squeeze of his powerful hands, he activated it—and the blade of a Light Sword of Power sprang forth from the previously bladeless hilt.

  “Believe it,” he said flatly, though she could still scarcely believe what she was seeing. “In Men’s name, I constrain you to silence on what you have been told of my holy directives, for my mission does not truly begin until I have proven myself to the god of our people, avenged my former loss, and defeated Jason Montagne—a directive granted me by the Voice of Men itself!”

  Her eyes stinging, and feeling as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her, Akantha bowed her head and rested her forehead in her hands as her mind was consumed with trains of thought. In the end, she could no longer object: this was a matter between warriors and men, as had been ordained by the god of her people.

  “I once told you that I would offer myself thrice to you, Akantha,” Nikomedes said as she slowly, painfully, but inexorably worked through the reality of her situation, “and you have denied me twice already. Should you deny me a third time, I will cease pursuing you as I vowed to do over two years ago—but I cannot recuse myself from these holy directives.” He drew himself up to his full, herculean stature and waited for her gaze to meet his before saying, “I will take Jason Montagne’s head as an offering to our god…but if you do not wish to grant me the honor of serving as your Protector then you only need deny me this third, final time.”

  There was something strained in his voice when he spoke of ceasing his pursuit of her, but Akantha could not discern the source of that strain—nor was it the foremost matter on her mind in that moment.

  She looked down into her hands, forcibly fighting the tide of emotion which threatened to overcome her. She was a Hold Mistress and a Priestess of Men; she had a duty to her people—a duty which was in no way less important than the one Nikomedes had been given by Men itself. Her personal feelings in this matter, however strong they might be for Jason Montagne, must—by holy law and the sacred traditions of those who preceded her—come second to her Men-given duty to the people of her Tract.

  After several silent minutes, she looked up again and met his fiercely-determined eyes as she whispered, “I cannot deny you.” She knew in her mind—if not in her heart—that she had no choice.

  Nikomedes smiled triumphantly, and after a perfectly-practiced bow—one befitting the station he now sought to attain at her side—he turned to exit her quarters, leaving Akantha alone with her unbridled despair.

  Chapter Forty-one: Spalding on a Rampage

  “What the blazes do you mean ‘I can’t sue Medical’?” bellowed the old Engineer at the man on the other side of the holo-screen. “I have the proof—documented evidence of their medical malpractice and forced imprisonment against the will of a serving Confederation Officer—with 3D surround sound, to boot!”

  “The medical waiver you signed when you joined the Caprian SDF allows Fleet Medical to perform life-saving procedures, up to and including surgical intervention, whether you’re willing or not. The only requirement is that at least two doctors concur that such tre
atment is necessary—a requirement they’ve clearly satisfied. I’m afraid your hands are tied, Commander,” said Lieutenant Harpsinger.

  “Unacceptable,” Spalding spat, that part of his face that was still natural skin turning red as he took deep breaths, “this is completely beyond the pale, Harpsinger. Do you understand what I’m saying? A man’s body is his temple, and those butchers just went up and had a pagan sacrifice on the bloody alter! I demand that you do something. I’m sending you the file right now.”

  “There’s really nothing I can do,” Harpsinger said helplessly, “technically speaking, they had every medical and legal right to save your life—even against your verbally-stated will. A lawsuit simply won’t hold up in a court of law, either military or civilian. At worst we could maybe get the two of them a reprimand for not taking your dignity as a patient into account when speaking with you…of course, then we’d have to show the court evidence of your threats of bodily harm—threats and actions which extended as far as attempted murder—at the same time.”

  “You’re as useless as tits on a boar, Harpsinger; you do realize that, don’t you?” Spalding spat. “I don’t want to take them to court for hurting my feelings—I want their ranks; I want their medical licenses; and then I want to see them locked in a cold, dark jail. ‘Let me die,’ I said. Don’t you understand what that means when a man says that?! How much clearer can a man be?”

  “I wish I could help you,” Harpsinger said, his face stiffening, “but allowing officers to die of a treatable medical condition is against regulations.”

  The old engineer threw his hands in the air and then slammed his data slate against the wall, breaking the case and cracking the screen, “I don’t know why I’m even surprised that the bloodsucker is taking the side of the quacks. Thick as thieves, those professions are—and have been since you slithered out of your eggs,” he said with disgust.

  The chime at his door activated indicating someone was on the outside seeking entry.