“Ah, my old Captain’s key,” Jean Luc commented with deep satisfaction, “oh, and one last thing,” he added, leaning down so he could whisper it in my ear. There was a dramatic pause.
“Admiral Janeski sends his regards,” with a laugh, Jean Luc stomped over to the door. “Really, you never should have crossed that man. Lifting a battleship and a heavy cruiser right out from under him? Why, that’s almost as good as something I might have done, back when I was young and stupid. Of course, it was destined to end poorly, but still… very well played,” he paused as I lay there, my vision tunneling. “What am I even saying,” he asked rhetorically, “talking to a dead man. It must be some misplaced sense of familial loyalty.”
There was the sound of Jean Luc slapping the door sensor before he stormed out onto the Bridge with a roar.
For me… everything slowly… down-spiraled into… darkness.
Chapter 25: Treason on Deck
If there was one thing about this whole series of events that filled him with satisfaction, it was watching that Pirate Montagne Dog being frog marched by the Lancers into the Admiral’s ready room.
Despite himself, Tremblay hoped that the ion spike really was a bomb, one that would blow up right underneath Jean Luc and disable Jason Montagne all in one fell swoop. Nothing would have pleased him more than to see both Montagne architects of this cluster-bomb masquerading as a space battle dead and disabled in one fell swoop.
It was just too bad the parliamentary move against Jason Montagne would be delayed, unless the Captain had somehow managed to turn one of the Lancers escorting the former Pirate King into the Admiral’s ready room.
Turning back to the console he was sitting at, Officer Tremblay had to suppress a smile as the small pop-up screen he had slaved to this console gave a warning shake, causing the image to shiver from side to side, indicating motion outside the blast doors of the Flag Bridge.
Seeing Captain Heppner, dressed in recently repaired, old-style power armor, Tremblay had to suppress a shiver as adrenaline shot straight through him. The Captain was followed by a mixed squad of Caprian Marines in their newer armor, and other men in repaired version of the armor worn by the lancers,
Hand shaking slightly, he reached down to feel for the mechanical catch that would open a panel built into the side of his console. Popping it open, he pulled out a small, sensor-resistant stunner.
Holding it down in his lap, he activated it and checked the charge. As expected, the stunner was fully charged, just as he had left it.
Careful not to pick his head up from the screen and give anyone — particularly that royal reactionary Laurent over at Tactical — any excuse or indication that something was about to happen, the former Intelligence Officer kept his eyes glued to the miniature screen on his console.
If anyone looked at his monitor, all they would see was a view of shield values and power generator outputs, and think he was mirroring someone’s console. It was the electronic equivalent of looking over their shoulders… which he regularly did, and would have been doing still, if not for the sudden arrival of Parliament’s loyal sons.
He watched with bated breath as the Captain pushed his command crystal into the side of the wall. He was able to listen in through a miniature speaker he quickly placed in his right ear.
“This blast door is locked under co-equal command level authority, password required to proceed,” he could hear the computer say to Captain Heppner.
“The Password is Heppner 1015,” said Captain Heppner.
“Password accepted,” confirmed the ship’s DI, but even as it did so, Tremblay was alarmed to see the anti-personnel gun ports on the side of the entrance to the blast doors pop open.
Unperturbed, the Captain calmly continued speaking, “My voice is my password, verify me,” he replied, giving his crystal a twist to the left.
“Automated defenses standing down, welcome to the Flag Bridge Captain Heppner,” the computer said in its vaguely feminine, mechanical voice.
For Lieutenant Tremblay, it was something of a shock when the blast doors actually slid open and power-armored marines charged through it, yelling and shooting. Despite all of the action the Clover had been involved in during the year and a half he’d been assigned to her, this was the first time he’d been personally exposed to a hand-to-hand action.
“This ship has been repurposed from the Confederation Fleet! Under direct order of both Parliament and the Palace, the Lucky Clover has been returned to the SDF,” roared a Caprian Marine, unloading his blaster rifle into one of the two Lancers standing guard inside the Flag Bridge blast doors.
The second lancer screamed and launched himself into the fray. His attempt to block the blast doors with his presence ended almost as quickly as it began. He barely had time to sink his Imperial mono-Locsium boarding axe into the helmet of the Marine blowing away his companion before he was knocked to the ground by a stream of power-armored Parliamentarians as they rushed into the bridge.
There was the sound of a plasma rifle being unloaded at point blank range and the now thoroughly stomped and shot-through-the-visor Tracto-an lancer fell silent.
The two Lancers standing guard outside the ready room didn’t stay out of the action. The larger of the two launched himself across the bridge, screaming a war cry.
Only to be shot down by his companion. “For Parliament,” screamed the Lancer who until now had been motionless. Tremblay had taken him to be nothing more than just another royal stooge.
The Tracto-an Lancer was not done for yet, but a hail storm of blaster fire from the Marines sent him scrambling for cover behind a console.
Tremblay sat frozen at his console, while all around him bridge staffers started screaming and diving for cover.
Or, in the case of a few like Warrant Officer Laurent, rose up and tried to stem the parliamentary tide.
Two blasters in his hands, Laurent leapt out of the Tactical Pit and, finding cover at the back of a console, unloaded his weapons at the parliamentarians.
“For the Little Admiral,” Laurent screamed.
The sight of that middle-aged, royal interloper diving into the fray spurred Tremblay out of his rigid pose hunched over his console.
Picking up his stunner and bending down so he could use the nearby consoles as cover, he walked carefully around to a position behind the Tactical Officer.
Leveling his stunner, he shot the twin blaster-wielding Laurent in the back.
With an “oofh,” the Warrant Officer stiffened before collapsing over the console he had been using for cover, prior to sliding down to the floor.
“Traitor,” yelled an overeager tactical staffer, charging at Tremblay.
Caught flat-footed, Tremblay stared wide-eyed at the other man. It took him a moment to process the fact that someone was actually trying to kill him. Once the situation registered, training took over and he smoothly brought up his pistol and fired.
All around him, despite the hopelessness of their situation, Bridge Staffers were overcoming their shock and a majority looked like they were planning some kind of resistance, which was just plain suicide when faced with power-armored Marines.
Seeing one would-be hero turned into a smoking pile of meat from several simultaneous hits by a Marine sized blaster rifles, Tremblay crouched down and quickly thumbed the selector on his pistol from a focused beam to wide spread.
Standing back up he unloaded it at as many of the idiots trying to get themselves killed as he could.
Don’t those fools realize they’ve already lost? he wondered silently. But apparently they had not, as several more ducked out from under their consoles holding wrenches and multi-tools.
Rapidly switching his stunner from widespread to narrow beam, he shot several of them down before the others realized he was there.
Instead of acting like any rational person and putting down their weapons prior to surrender, they chose to charge his position instead.
“Clover and the Little Admiral,” scr
eamed a sensor operator, throwing his multi-tool at the Chief of Staff.
“Stay down you fools, and that’s an order,” barked Tremblay dodging to the side to avoid the multi-tool and servicing his stunner left to right, taking out Montagne loyalists until it suddenly ran out of charge.
“You’ll all be thrown in the brig if you don’t put your weapons down,” yelled Tremblay, and some of the less partisan bridge standers (or perhaps simply those more conscious of the fact they might get killed) hesitated.
The rest charged. The former First Officer threw his stunner at the first and raised his fists to deal with the rest, when the power-armored marines showed up and unleashed a storm of blaster bolts that killed everyone in the aisles holding a makeshift weapon.
Tremblay stood there for a moment, then he turned to the marines. “Thank you—” he started, just before an armored arm clothes-lined him, sending him to the ground choking and clutching his neck.
“Stay down,” growled a marine placing a boot on top of him, “this Ship is now under parliamentarian authority, stand fast or be blasted.”
Tremblay punched the leg on top of him with a hammer fist while the other hand clutched his throat. The weight of that foot pressing on him hurt.
The Marine leaned over. “Royalist boot licker,” the marine sneered, pressing down to the point the former intelligence officer felt ribs pop and was unable to breathe for an entirely different reason.
“Long live parliament,” he was finally able to wheeze.
“Save it for the Morale Officer,” scoffed the Marine, securing his hands with plastic ties, and added an additional bit of pressure with his foot to emphasis the point.
“Your parole, Junior Lieutenant,” demanded the Marine.
“I’m a loyal parliamentarian in the Caprian SDF,” Tremblay exclaimed, right before a crushing pressure bore down on him until he could hear even more ribs pop.
“Your parole,” the marine repeated grimly, as he pulled out a stunner and leveled it at Tremblay.
“My sworn word, of course,” Officer Tremblay wheezed out.
With a grunt, the Marine re-holstered his stunner and then clamped a bracelet around Raphael Tremblay’s wrist before picking up his boot and moving on.
Staring down at the bracelet in horror, the former Intelligence Officer recognized that he’d been fitted with an explosive bracelet. If he broke his ‘parole,’ a simple click of a button or transmission on the appropriate frequency would set it off.
More commonly known as slave bracelets, thanks to half a dozen different laws and treaties, they were entirely illegal to use on prisoners of war, and only reserved for use on traitors and rebels, neither of which applied to him!
Half terrified and half fuming, the Chief of Staff waited until the marines had moved further into the pits tying up those staffers still alive and kicking before making his next move.
When the coast looked relatively clear, he staggered to his feet, a little awkwardly thanks to the improvised hand cuffs. Lurching around the corner due to stiffening muscles, more than anything else, the sight that greeted his eyes left him stunned.
Jean Luc Montagne stood in front of the Admiral’s chair, his armor smoking and dotted in several locations by what looked like blaster marks. It took several second for Tremblay to realize he was clasping hands with Captain Heppner!
Chapter 26: It ‘tis, it ‘tis, a Glorious Thing… To be a Pirate King!
(Ever so slightly earlier)
He had almost forgotten something before heading out into the fray. Lunging back to the Admiral’s desk, he relieved the still-twitching Jason of the sword strapped to his side before slapping open the door sensor.
Leaping out onto the bridge, he saw a power-armored guard in old style Caprian battle armor firing into the middle of the fray, and a mixed bunch of Caprian marines and old style armored crewmen rushing into the bridge.
Down in the pits he saw a wounded Lancer use a vibro sword to cut down a Marine.
With a grin, Jean Luc took a running leap and jumped down into the fray. Casting the sheath off his vibro-weapon, he had long enough to realize that despite the black metal with crystals glinting in its depths that it was neither vibro nor, as he had mistakenly took it for originally, his long-hidden family heirloom.
No matter. With a grunt he brought it into position over his head and attacked.
The oversized lancer was quick, and knew how to wield his weapon, bringing it around in time to block the attack and the power of the other man’s attack knocked the pirate king’s sword wide. Before the lancer could take advantage, Jean Luc brought his other hand up and unloaded the blaster pistol into his visor at point blank range.
That ought to put him off his stride, Jean Luc thought confidently, keeping the pressure on as the other man backed away, raising one hand to guard against further strikes from Jean Luc to his face shield.
Alternating sword strikes with blaster shots to the visor, Jean Luc chased the stumbling Lancer past several terrified bridge staffers.
Jumping forward with a mighty head swing, followed by a kick to his opponent’s bad leg, the Pirate King over-balanced his opponent. Reversing his sword to bring it down in a two handed thrust, Jean Luc was about to run the Lancer through when he was struck in the side by a blaster bolt.
Fortunately, his specially treated storm drake armor was more than up to the task of protecting him. The special treatment had turned it an intimidating shade of black, as well as making it highly blaster resistant. So aside from a half inch wide hole, and a slight kicking sensation where he had been hit, the pirate lord was essentially unaffected.
Two more bolts landed in rapid succession, hitting him center mass. Someone was deliberately targeting him, which simply would not do. After all, what if they took aim for his relatively unguarded head and got off a lucky shot?
He snapped off a return shot, releasing his second hand’s grip on the pommel of Jason’s sword as he did so.
The other man ducked down behind the console he was using for cover. Jean Luc was surprised to see he was unarmored. Turning to the side and staring down the barrel of his pistol, Jean Luc unconsciously assumed a duelist’s stance. It was the same stance he had been trained to use long ago back on Capria.
The other man ducked back, firing wildly with one gun while taking aim with the other. As the other man’s head entered his sights, Jean Luc felt a feral grin cross his face. The other man unexpectedly fell forward onto his console and slid down, disappearing from sight.
Growling his displeasure, and more than a little irked that someone else had gotten to the shooter before he had the chance, Jean Luc glanced down at the Lancer at his feet.
Not a moment too soon, he saw a power-armored hand reaching for his leg.
Leaping into the air to avoid the other man’s groping hand, he came down on his feet with the grace of a cat. Whipping the sword over his head for power, he brought it down full force on the fallen Lancer’s helmet. One strike, then a second. Blow after blow rained down, while the Lancer scrambled and kicked trying to get away.
A final blow split the helmet like a watermelon, causing a spray of blood to splash on the deck.
Raising his mouth to the ceiling, Jean Luc gave a brief yipping howl of triumph before leaping around the next aisle.
The sight of several figures in a different style of power armor from the fallen lancer brought him up short.
For half a moment, he was tempted to continue further into the pits in search of blood, but he reluctantly brought himself up short.
Jean Luc absent-mindedly clubbed a cowering sensor operator into unconsciousness as he leaned over and wiped the blade of his sword clean. He heaved a sigh and started back up toward the Admiral’s Throne.
A marine charging down the stairs paused half a second to give him a hard look, before passing him on the outside.
Jean Luc nodded with satisfaction; it looked like Heppner had already put the word out. Not that he had any particul
arly reason to doubt the other man, but in his most recent line of work (even more so than in the one immediately before that, as a prince of the Caprian realm) it paid to take as few risks as possible, and leave as little chance as one could.
Of course, sometimes chances and risks were unavoidable. He released a wolfish grin, unconsciously fluttering his fingers. That was one of the main traits that separated a Montagne from the rest of the common herd: the ability to ride the waves of chance, and successfully bend the universe to his will.
Reaching the top of the dais, he glanced briefly down into the pits where the Marines were still throwing people onto the ground and zip-tying them.
Pausing before the Admiral’s Throne, he nodded with satisfaction.
A power-armored figure clumped up beside him, but he continued to look at the Throne for a moment before nodding a second time.
“Glad you could make it, Captain,” said the man beside Jean Luc.
“It's been a long time, Jim,” the one-eyed pirate replied, turning back to a face that represented some of both the best and worst parts of his previous life.
Stepping forward, the two men clasped arms.
“You’re looking well, if you don’t mind my saying so, Sir,” said the Caprian Officer.
Despite the fact that his arm was held in the other’s power-armored grip, Jean Luc’s eyes drilled into those of the other man.
“I hear you made Captain, yourself,” Jean Luc said with twist of the lips and a hard glint in his eyes.
Jim Heppner met his steely gaze without a hint of apology and nodded.
Jean Luc smiled. It was nice to see that his former First Officer lost none of his spine serving in what had become an increasingly backwater System Defense Force.
Spineward Sectors 03 Admiral's Tribulation Page 17
