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

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Exactly,” Gants said, slamming a fist into his other hand, “like I said, I hired some new boys to replace our losses from the boarding action on the Phoenix and what they’ve been saying to me now, these past couple days, has got me worried, Sir, and I don’t mind telling you as much.”

  I looked at him expectantly, figuring that we’d get to whatever it was more quickly if I kept my mouth shut and listened than we would if I tried to play twenty questions.

  “Right, right,” Gants said, his face turning red, “anyway, a few of the new guys are Tracto-ans—some of them fresh up from the planet but most of them transferred from other departments. Not the Lancers, as they seem to like it over there better, but a few of the ones who went over other departments along the way here.”

  “So it’s a Tracto-an problem?” I asked mildly, but on the inside I was starting to worry. The Lancers were how I kept control of the Fleet; if someone decided to mutiny, conversely, and I had a Tracto-an problem then…how secure were my ships?

  “Yeah, these new boys didn’t think too terribly much of you when they first came on board—but we straightened them right out first thing,” Gants said fiercely. “Which is why, when they heard the rumors going around about how a bunch of nameless ‘someone’s were thinking about Challenging the Little Admiral and cutting his head off so they could be the new Warlord, they came right back to me and reported it on the double quick.”

  “Son of a blighter,” I swore, slamming my hand down on the table so hard it stung.

  Gants jumped and then clenched his own fist and thumped it on the table much as I had just done.

  “This is mutiny in cold space—I want names, Mr. Gants,” I said harshly, giving him a good glare for emphasis.

  Suddenly, he looked worried. “Well, that’s just it,” Gants said with concern, “I don’t know who they are, and my guys wouldn’t tell me—not even after I sweated them a bit. I’m not sure they even know who it is. But what I do know is that they don’t think it’s mutiny.”

  “How can killing me not be mutiny?” I asked with a sinking feeling.

  “I say ‘lock ’em up and throw away the key on a penal planet’,” Gants said seriously, “but guys seem to think that, because we’re not at war and we’ve just been sitting here in dock for the past four months, it’s the same as garrison duty. Apparently, on Tracto, men in the garrison can challenge their leaders if they want to move up in rank. I’m afraid you’ve got a big, red, Tracto-an target on your back, Admiral—which is why I think we need to swap out your current team with my guys from the Armory. If they can’t get behind you, they can’t stab you in the back!”

  “Demon Murphy and all his angry imps! Can’t a man get a little peace and quiet without everything coming apart all around him, every, single, time he turns around?” I demanded in a rising voice.

  Gants was shaking his head disapprovingly, presumably at the people I was angry at from his expression. “We’ll root them out—all those back-stabbing traitors,” he said with certainty.

  “A Tracto-an is more likely to come over a table at you than stab you from behind. They’re more of an in-your-face, gut-you-from-the-front bunch—the whole lot of them,” I said angrily. Those blasted ingrates. I had avoided going down to the planet when we came home to avoid this very issue. So I could only assume that a bunch of them had joined up with the Fleet so they could come on up and challenge me up here on my own ships.

  “Front or behind, it’s still mutiny, Sir,” Gants agreed.

  “Yes, but they won’t see it that way,” I said fiercely, “and, what’s more, if I start locking up every one of them who thinks they’ve got a legitimate beef or right to challenge me then we really will have a mutiny on our hands!”

  Gants started to speak but I held up a hand to stop him.

  For a long couple of minutes, I sat there thinking about the matter—hard. In the end, I decided that just yanking my Lancer protective detail would do more harm than good. It could possibly feed whatever grievances my uppity, would-be killers had against me, and if not that then giving my own closest defenders—loyal men and women who’d followed me through battle after battle—a legitimate reason to be upset with me.

  “What are we going to do, Admiral?” Gants finally asked.

  I stood up abruptly. “Follow me, Mr. Gants,” I said, arriving at a conclusion.

  Chapter Forty-three: Demanding Answers

  “Akantha!” I called, pounding on the door to her quarters—a door her guards wouldn’t open for me.

  “I’m sorry, Warlord but the Mistress is not in,” a Tracto-an guard informed me for the third or fourth time.

  “Then where is she?” I demanded impatiently.

  “I can’t say,” said the Life Guard.

  I had started to turn away in disgust but at the guard’s words I paused and turned back a dark expression crossing my face at those words. “Oh, you can’t, can’t you?” I said eyeing the man up and down. “As a Life Guard of Akantha, is it not just your job, but your sworn duty, to know where she is at all times?”

  “The Mistress—” he said, but I talked over him.

  “Just to be clear: you are admitting to me that you have failed in your duty as a guard of the Hold Mistress and have no idea where she is?” I asked mercilessly. “If you continue to not tell me where she is…”

  “My duty is to guard the Hold Mistress—” he started, but I cut him off by way of pulling out my sword.

  “It is my duty to protect the mother of my future children!” I snarled, leveling my blade at him. “Your duty is to assist me in that task.”

  The Tracto-an’s eyes followed my sword, but the rest of his body did not move and he stayed motionless in his position.

  My eyes hardened and my hand tightened on the hilt of my sword. “It seems I’ve been too lenient with the warriors under my banner if they feel free to ignore a direct order from their sworn Warlord. I assure you that I won’t be making that mistake again,” I said, drawing back my sword.

  “Wait,” said the other guard, “no examples are necessary. The Mistress has transferred to Gambit Station for her period of confinement!”

  I looked between the two of them, taking note of the stylized crests on their armor. “So…the man supposedly sworn to me directly defies my will, and the woman who isn’t gives me the information I ask for?” I said, looking at the male guard in disgust.

  The male warrior turned red-faced.

  “Interesting,” I sneered and then barked, “Gants!”

  “Yes, Admiral,” the Head of the Armory Department appeared at my side.

  “I have no use for a man who can’t follow orders,” I said my eyes never leaving the warrior, “send this one back to Tracto.”

  “Sir?” Gants said with surprise and then his face hardened as he nodded in acknowledgment. “Your sidearm and your armor, Lancer,” he ordered.

  The warrior looked surprised and shook his head.

  “If he gives you any trouble, Gants, you have my permission to kill him,” I said flatly. I had no use for a man who swore an oath and then failed to obey. Maybe he was a good man, maybe his extended service with Akantha had caused him to give more of his loyalty to her than to me, or maybe he was one of those secret upstarts who was aiming for my head to improve their rank. I didn’t know and I didn’t have the patience to find out; he’d failed me and that was enough.

  “You heard the Admiral,” Gants snapped.

  Turning on my heel, pausing only long enough to sheath my sword along the way, I stalked out of the room.

  ****************************************************

  With an entourage of thirty Armory boys—and girls—following along behind me, I secured the location of Akantha’s new quarters via the com-link on the trip over to Gambit Station via shuttle craft.

  I knew the moment I entered the section she was staying in, because of the Tracto-ans in power armor posted at all the major choke-points leading to her room.

&
nbsp; “Protector, what do you here?” asked a female warrior in power armor named Isis. She was a regular member of Akantha’s close in protective detail and sometime emergency bridge crew, if I recalled correctly.

  “I’m here to see my wife,” I said flatly.

  “The Mistress has entered confinement; for her safety, and that of the babies, only guards, midwives and healers are allowed in to see her,” Isis said, walking quickly to match my ground-swallowing strides.

  “I’m sure she’ll see me,” I said, ignoring her attempts to slow me.

  “Men are not allowed to see the mother during the last month of her pregnancy. Even you,” Isis exclaimed as I came to a stop outside the door, “it is our tradition!”

  I could see the pair of women standing outside the door to Akantha’s new quarters were concerned, and that they wanted to forbid me entry—but they didn’t quite dare to lay hands on and try to stop me.

  “Even if that’s so, fear not; we have the technology,” I said, ignoring her waving hands and concerned expressions. “Hatch intercoms allow for two way voice communication.”

  “It may be difficult for a woman in her condition to stand and speak to a door for long periods of time!” Isis struggled to try and dissuade me.

  “While a chair might be the intelligent thing to suggest, instead of forcing her into a sustained standing posture, we are also blessed with the possession of data slates—devices which are superior to the intercom in many ways, and allow for both voice and video communication from comfort of chair, bed, or with waterproof models, even the bath or shower stall,” I continued, easily rolling over any and all protests.

  “Protector Montagne!” Isis protested.

  “I will trouble you to provide Akantha with my very own slate, in case she may have forgotten her own back in our quarters,” I said, proffering the slate to forestall further protests of such a low-brow and obvious nature.

  “How would you then speak with her?” Isis said obtusely.

  “Fortunately, I carry a spare,” I said, pulling a smaller, more compact model out of my vest pocket.

  The intransigent warrior opened her mouth, no doubt to muster up yet another protest when the door dinged.

  “What do you need, Protector?” Akantha’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Perhaps we could continue this conversation in person, my Lady?” I said smoothly.

  “This method is fine,” she said flatly, a cutting edge in her voice that hadn’t been there the last time we spoke.

  “I would really prefer—” I said firmly, but she cut me off.

  “I will ask you to honor the traditions of my people,” Akantha said with a hint of heat in her voice.

  I paused. Even as early as this morning when we’d spoken there had been no mention of any need to withdraw herself from the rest of the world. You would think she would have mentioned this at some point during the eight plus months of her pregnancy. So even if it really was a part of her world’s ‘native traditions,’ this sudden ‘confinement’ of hers reeked suspiciously—the timing of which, very nearly in perfect unison to mutinous rumblings among her people—was more damning than the so-called ‘tradition’ itself.

  “Are you sure you’re feeling completely safe in there?” I asked, glancing at either of the guards outside her door.

  “And why wouldn’t I be?” Akantha snapped. “My guards have secured this entire section of the station, and anyone but you wouldn’t be able to get even this far without permission.”

  “I would really prefer that, if you must stay under lock and key, we at least communicate face-to-face over a video link,” I said stiffly.

  “The intercom will do,” she replied shortly.

  “I think I’ll be adding to your security,” I said thinking that in the face of this sudden erratic behavior it might be wise to post a few all Caprian/Promethean Lancer squads to bolster her protective detail. “And I’ll ask my mother to come and help keep you company in there during your ‘confinement’.” Whatever our relationship was, I just couldn’t believe Mom would do anything to hurt Akantha or the babies.

  “Do what you will,” Akantha said uncaringly and then, “why are you here, Jason?”

  “I’ve heard some disturbing rumors today as it regards the mood of your countrymen and then, when I came to consult my wife about the matter, I found her locked inside a veritable fortress on the station, instead of on our highly mobile and quite heavily defended battleship. Call me concerned,” I retorted.

  “I am on the station because it is the nearest thing to a Tracto-an city, and not a ship of war, as could be found in this star system,” Akantha said sharply.

  “And the other—“ I stopped, giving the door an annoyed look, “Why don’t you just open this door? I’m tired of talking to you through a metal door!” I exclaimed, reaching forward to try and activate the override and open it.

  A gauntleted hand grabbed my unarmored skin, stopping me from doing so. “Release me at once,” I said coldly.

  The door guard complied but, by her expression and posture, made it clear that I was only going to be entering over her unresponsive body.

  “Don’t try to force the issue, Jason,” Akantha requested, “this is the way it must be. I have the health of our future children to think of.”

  “Modern medicine is superior in many ways—” I pointed out.

  “Please do not force this issue you will not like the result,” she said flatly.

  For a long moment I was stuck there, wondering where my companion and partner of the past year had disappeared to, in a relative blink of the eye. I could literally feel something inside of me hardening.

  “You never responded to my other question,” I said after a long minute of silence.

  I could hear her breathing heavily on the other side of the doorway. “Look to your defenses, Warlord,” she said finally, “and do not worry on my account. I have taken measures to ensure the birthing goes as smoothly as possible.”

  “So I should be concerned, but not for you?” I said neutrally.

  “A storm comes. I have done all I might these past months to prepare you for it, but now it is up to you. I cannot interfere,” she said finally her voice cracking with emotion.

  “Can not or will not,” I muttered disgustedly.

  “I have done everything I can for you,” her voice turned frosty and, in that moment, I could once again recognize the girl I married, “keep your sword sharp and your guard up. Expect challengers; it’s up to you to deal with them. Even if I wanted to do more, I can barely get my arms around this belly.”

  “I see,” I said getting my game face on, realizing what she meant to suggest I should expect: more of those infernal Tracto-an honor challenges.

  “My time comes quickly; I can feel it. I will be waiting here for your successful return and, hopefully, I will have something to show you when you do,” she said.

  It took me a moment to realize that the ‘something’ she was referring to were the babies. “I still wish you had consulted me first,” I said a touch harshly.

  “As did I before you locked yourself in your room for the better part of a week!” Akantha snapped. “Sadly, we do not always get what we want—and still I stood by you, no matter what. Maybe things would be different if you had spoken to me first, but then again maybe not! Just believe that I will be listening for word of your success”

  I still thought her actions were a tad suspicious, pulling out without giving me a heads-up first. But if she really was working to protect the soon-to-be-born infants, first and foremost, I could almost understand it.

  However, she had confirmed my fears: a challenge was in the offing. I silently cursed my sister, my mother, and finally myself most of all. The idea that I might have actually brought these challenges about with my actions—which might have otherwise been avoided, if I had only reacted differently to their betrayal—was more than a little upsetting.

  But now wasn’t the time for ‘maybe’s
and ‘might have been’s. I’d had it up to my ears with all these blasted honor challenges which, as far as I could see, were just legally-sanctioned murder attempts.

  Wars sometimes snuck up on you when you least expected them. But when it came to these backwards, Tracto-an challenge circles, I hadn’t even begun to fight.

  It was time to show these undisciplined warriors what a real war looked like. If they wanted a war with an Admiral, I was in the perfect mood to settle this issue once and for all—even if I had to unleash a river of blood to do it.

  Chapter Forty-four: Jason Challenged

  While Mom and Duncan settled in with Akantha and took up guard duty outside her door, respectively, I had taken preparations of my own.

  Gants and his Armory team were stationed inside and outside the gym room, which I had had prepared in the Tracto-an style—complete with a textbook challenge circle.

  I had my sword, my old suit of power armor—even though I wasn’t currently wearing it—and a suit of Storm Drake armor which I had ordered to be brought in, but I had ultimately decided against wearing it. My main reason for this was because I hadn’t really trained in it, unlike the battle-armor or simple training gi I had actually been practicing in. Finally, beside the aging battle-suit was a larger, bulkier shape discretely covered with an opaque sheet.

  Now all that remained was to wait…while having Gants’ men relay the news that the Admiral was present at the challenge circle.

  A couple hours later, there was a stir from the guards stationed within the training room. Several men were holding their ears or talking animatedly from within their battle-suits.

  Gants hurried over not long after the commotion began. “There are a large number of Lancers approaching our position,” he leaned down and quietly informed me, “do you want me to let them in or send them away?”

  “Sending them away kind of defeats the purpose of letting them know I’m ready to accept challengers,” I said coolly.

  “You’re the boss, Admiral,” he said, saluting and then backing away.