“Well then,” Jean Luc prompted with a narrowed gaze.
Before he had time to do anything more, Heppner released his hand and drew himself up into a salute.
“Allow me to be the first to formally welcome you back aboard the Lucky Clover, Jean Luc Montagne,” Jim Heppner said formally.
“My ship, Captain Heppner,” Jean Luc said with an easy tone of voice that belied his readiness to make the point stick any which way he had to.
Jim released his salute. “Just like old times, Sir. You give the orders, and I carry them out.”
Jean Luc paused to consider this, then shook his head from side to side slowly.
“There’s only one captain on a ship, Jim,” he said regretfully.
Heppner paused slightly, and gave him an assessing look before reaching into his utility belt.
Only someone who knew him, and knew him well, would have known the pirate king tensed up at this move. From the outside he looked as easy and loose as a man who had not a care in the world.
Pulling out a pair of metal comets, Heppner held the Commodore’s traditional insignia for Jean Luc to accept. “A long overdue promotion, if I do say so myself, Sir.”
Jean Luc’s lips tightened.
“Captain and Executive Officer before; Commodore and Captain now,” Heppner said easily, “I don’t see as there needs to be much, if any difference in the way we run things.”
Jean Luc scowled thunderously as he snorted a breath through his nose. Around them, several marines whose job it was to guard Captain Heppner sighed in relief.
“I put them back in power and they don’t have room for me in the regular navy, let alone a simple promotion to flag rank,” the pirate lord grudged. “I spend the better part of five decades carrying their water out here on the rim and they still won’t make me an Admiral! What a bunch of unmitigated pikers,” he said hotly.
“I couldn’t say,” Heppner said calmly.
“Of all the ungrateful, pig-headed, elected swine!” roared the former Caprian Prince.
“I take it that you’re ready to input the new IFF Codes, so the Omicron doesn’t decide to pulverize us into space dust as soon as we clear the docking ring?” Heppner asked, arching a brow.
“That would be a ‘yes,’” Jean Luc agreed, pivoting around to take one last look at the Flag Bridge before seating himself on the Admiral’s Throne.
He placed the Captain’s crystal into the appropriate slot and input the old override code, giving him direct access to the comm. system and the ship’s navigation beacon. Tapping rapidly on the miniature keyboard built into the arm of the chair, he entered the appropriate information to turn one Dreadnaught Class Battleship from a hostile invader into a bona fide member of the Blood Reaver Fleet, at least as far as the Pirates of Omicron Station where concerned.
Jean Luc took a look around the bridge, which was so very similar, and yet so completely different than his Vineyard and laughed. The leaders of the universe at large, and the Spine in particular, only thought they knew what they had unleashed upon themselves when the Spine was cut off from the rest of known space. But no one, not even Admiral Janeski, realized the full extent of Jean Luc’s plans for the future of the Spineward Sectors.
Chapter 27: Tremblay-ing at the Sight
When it looked like the Captain and that never to be sufficiently blasted Pirate Montagne were done talking, Tremblay started to move forward, only to feel his jaw drop open as Heppner saluted the criminal.
As if in a daze, he watched as Jean Luc seated himself in the Admiral’s Chair as if he had every right in the world to do so.
Unable to believe his eyes, Tremblay forced his jaw back into place and his features under control. Striding up to the real Captain of this ship, Tremblay drew himself up to attention. It was hard to properly salute when both of his hands had been zip-tied together.
“Lieutenant Tremblay, reporting for duty, Sir,” he said stiffly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jean Luc look on with interest, but refused to allow that blue-blooded pirate the satisfaction of his attention. Whatever deal Heppner had struck with the one-eyed pirate, Tremblay was certain they would put the traitor where he belonged as soon as they returned to Caprian space.
Heppner raised an eyebrow. “Why, so you are, Junior Lieutenant,” he replied coolly.
“Who is this fool, to think he can stand between myself and the main holo-screen,” Jean Luc asked in a mild tone.
Tremblay stiffened, but continued to ignore him.
“I must protest this treatment of a loyal parliamentary officer, Sir,” Tremblay insisted, indicating his tied hands with a shake before pointing to the explosive strapped to his wrist.
“He’s the Chief of Staff to the former Admiral of this ship,” Heppner explained, ignoring Tremblay and focusing on the pirate as if Raphael was just another piece of furniture.
“Why does he feel free to wander around, when the rest of his cohorts are being hauled off to the brig,” Jean Luc asked conversationally.
“He was instrumental in helping us take back this ship,” Heppner replied with a nod in Tremblay’s direction, “he helped place the ion spike in the ready room.
Tremblay felt himself start to puff up with pride, only to realize the Pirate would see it, so kept himself under tight control.
“I see,” Jean Luc said, “which is why I’ll forgive the insolent cretin for having the manners of a churl as he continues to impede my line of sight,” he said harshly.
“Stand aside Tremblay, before you find yourself forcibly moved or worse,” ordered Heppner, caving in to the Pirates demands, as if anything he said could be more important that Tremblay’s loyal service to Parliament.
Burning on the inside, Tremblay stiffly moved to one side.
“Better, Sir?” Heppner asked.
Tremblay’s ears burned to watch a Parliamentarian Officer debase himself in such a manner.
“Much,” Jean Luc agreed with a dour look in Tremblay’s direction, “however, as I have no need for the services of a traitor who would betray his own Admiral, I think it best if he leaves.” The Montagne pirate paused emphatically as he turned pointedly to Captain Heppner, “To the brig, perhaps?”
“Of course, Commodore,” Heppner replied with a nod.
“Commodore,” Tremblay spluttered, first at the outrage of being judged by a criminal such as this Montagne, and then at the thought that at his orders, the Captain was about to eject a loyal officer from the Bridge. “Jason Montagne was no Admiral of mine! Chance and misfortune placed him in command of this ship. My loyalty is, and has always been, to Parliament and the elected order!”
Heppner took one giant step and grabbed Raphael Tremblay by the scruff of his neck. “Come along,” the Captain ordered.
“You’re going to throw me into the brig on the orders of some jumped up Royalist, and a bloodthirsty Montagne Pirate at that!” Tremblay demanded in disbelief.
“This ‘Pirate’, has done more for Parliament, Capria and her people than you could ever dream of accomplishing,” Heppner growled, lifting the junior officer from the floor by his collar, “which doesn’t even mention how he personally saved the lives of her current command staff, as well as a large number of her remaining senior crew, decades before you were born. So keep a civil tongue in your head, Junior Lieutenant,” he warned, emphasizing Tremblay’s lowly rank, “before it’s removed.”
Tremblay gaped and gagged, as the neck of his uniform cut into the very same spot those marines had just clotheslined him. “A Montagne,” he protested, almost despite himself.
Jean Luc threw his head back and laughed.
“I still have no use for him, Jim,” the Montagne Pirate chuckled, “but he’s got spunk. Put him down.”
As abruptly as that, Tremblay was released.
Looking at Heppner, the former First Officer no longer saw a kindred spirit as dedicated as himself to the removal of royalist rule over this ship and the restoration of Pa
rliament. Instead, he looked into the pitiless gaze of a man who had used him for his own purposes, namely to remove one Jason Montagne from power. Now that Tremblay had outlived his usefulness, Heppner was prepared to jettison him, if necessary. And all on the whim of yet another Montagne who, by any sane person’s reckoning, had to be at least ten times worse than the previous one!
“Don’t look so betrayed, son,” Jean Luc said consolingly, “as I said, while I have no use for a man who would betray his superior, I do have one final task for you.”
Heppner knocked him on the back of the head when Tremblay failed to reply quickly.
Seeing stars from a tap which, however gentle, had been delivered with the metal gauntlets of a power suit, Tremblay staggered.
“Stand at attention and salute when you are receiving your orders from the Commodore,” Heppner ordered severely.
“Ye-yes, Sir,” Tremblay stammered, unable to believe his change in fortune. How could this have happened?he wondered silently.
“Quite,” Jean Luc said with a nod at Captain Heppner. “As I was saying,” he continued as Tremblay drew himself up to attention and saluted, “there is one final service which you may render, both myself and the previous occupant of this chair,” Jean Luc continued, patting the side of his Throne as if stroking some kind of pet.
“Wha-what, Sir,” Tremblay said, seeing which way the ship’s political winds were blowing. Unbelievably, they seemed to be blowing in yet another, insanely, Montagne direction.
“You can clean up the mess in the Admiral’s Ready room before proceeding to whatever assignment Captain Heppner has for you,” he instructed with a benign nod before turning his attention to something on the main screen.
Tremblay stared at the Pirate. He was stunned; was he to be turned into a yeoman now, and sent to clean up messes?
Another clout to the back of his head sent him reeling once again, and spurred him into motion.
How had everything gone so wrong so fast? he wondered as he moved toward the Admiral’s ready room. All he had ever wanted to do was get Jason Montagne out of command, and return this ship to Capria, its rightful owner.
Jason and his insane do-gooder policy of trying to police the Galaxy was out, but Jean Luc the Pillaging Pirate Montagne of Black Space was in. Captain Heppner, it seemed, was firmly behind his ascension to power, along with most of the new crew. Tremblay realized he had been played for a fool!
Space gods save us all, he thought to himself as the door to the ready room opened.
Chapter 28: Cleaning a Royal Mess
Stepping into the ready room, Tremblay stared at the overturned chair; a chair he had recently placed an ion spike beneath.
Numbly, he picked the chair up and placed it upright.
Looking over at the Admiral’s desk, he grabbed his mouth with both hands, feeling his stomach lurch.
A pool of blood covered the top of the desk and was dripping down onto the floor underneath it. Draped across the desk itself was the armored, motionless body of one Jason Montagne.
Wincing, he turned his gaze away. He had thought multiple times about such a scene, and even at times hoped the false Admiral would come to this precise end, but the sight of it was stomach churning. Almost despite himself, he felt an incredible surge of regret.
Swallowing to keep from vomiting and adding to the mess already in the ready room, he turned to the small lavatory door. Once inside, he leaned his back against the wall as he began hyperventilating.
Everything had gone wrong. He was supposed to be a hero, not threatened with brig time! The ship was supposed to be free of royalist influence, not at the beck and call of a man a thousand times worse, and a thousand times more royal than Jason Montagne could ever hope to be.
He had not gone through and done everything he had, just to replace one Montagne with another… had he? Captain Heppner had been sent by Parliament; he was supposed to set things right!
Or had that just been another lie as well? Tremblay wondered as his shaking hands cradled his head. Along with the promise that they would get the Montagnes off the Flag Bridge! No, he recalled, Heppner was listed in the Intelligence database as a loyal Parliamentary Officer. How was this possible? Had the royals turned Heppner? If so, what about the rest of the officers and crew? They would never stand still for this… not unless Parliament really had placed a Montagne, of all things, in command of the Clover.
Outrageous, unacceptable, and worst of all… there was no longer anything he could do about it. Tremblay drew his hands down over his face. Shaking his head, he reached over and roughly grabbed the hand towels.
Moving back into the ready room on legs which felt like rubber, he threw a towel down onto the floor to sop up the blood near the crimson pool’s edge.
He placed another right in the middle of the blood.
Then he started picking up the various contents scattered on the floor. A data slate, a stylus, a few data chips, a chip reader, and a vial of combat heal.
Placing them on a nearby chair, he turned back to the desk. The sight of all that blood started him shaking again. Closing his eyes, he forced the shakes away.
I’m a trained Parliamentarian Officer! Tremblay scolded himself. Even if everyone else on this ship seemed to have forgotten what that meant, he most certainly had not. It meant loyalty to the people, defiance in the face of elitism, and that a person’s birth did not define who they were. It meant dying to ensure that the people had a vote, and that each vote was not only recorded, but actually counted!
A few deep breaths later, he had calmed down enough that he was about to open his eyes when he heard something.
It was faint, and only lasted for the shortest of durations, but the sound was unmistakable.
His eyes popped open of their own accord, almost bugging out of his head.
Tremblay took a step back in dismay. The sound had been unmistakable: a half-gurgled exhalation.
“I’ve been cursed,” Tremblay said, feeling as if he was now interacting with the rest of the world through a head filled with cotton; everything seeming distant, like he was lagging a second behind the rest of reality.
Tremblay placed a hand on his forehead, and staggered over to the nearest chair. It was his duty to finish the job. The assortment of items currently using the chair for a miniature desk prevented him from sitting down in the chair, so he grabbed the first sharp object that came to hand.
It was an old-style letter opener.
He stared down at his hand, which held the slender metal blade. He knew what was expected, what he was supposed to do; what he had to do. Tremblay’s face hardened and he took a step over to the young man known throughout the ship as the Little Admiral.
Placing the blade against a part of Jason’s neck not covered with blood, the young officer started to press. A few seconds later he dropped the letter opener. His hands (or perhaps his heart) had no more strength for the task.
Once again, he stared down at those hands, only this time he acknowledged the truth. It was a truth which that Montagne Pirate had seen with his first glance; that no matter what anyone else ever said later, Tremblay would always know that his hands were those of a traitor.
“Either Parliament has no idea what’s going on out here,” he said fiercely, “or it’s up to its elected neck in these shenanigans.”
He glared down at Jason’s immobile form. “Either way, you don’t deserve to die like this, and if Parliament is involved in this… this farce…” he exclaimed.
Before he could think too deeply about what he was about to do, Tremblay marched over to the chair which had a vial of combat heal resting on it.
With a brutal strength that had been entirely lacking when he had held the metal-bladed paper opener, he jammed the vial into the side of the Admiral’s neck.
Moving rapidly now, he used the rest of the towels to clean up the worst of the mess, before throwing them into a chute destined for a thorough cleaning or the waste recycler.
Ignoring the weakly twitching form of Jason, movement which indicated the ‘Little Admiral’ might be too far gone even for combat heal to save, Tremblay quickly straightened everything up.
Taking a deep breath, he popped the emergency releases on the stiff and unwieldy power armor Jason was still encased in. After several minutes, he managed to free his former ‘superior.’
“I still think you’re a Montagne, and a natural enemy of the common man,” he spat at Jason, who he wasn’t even sure was dead or alive, “but I won’t give that pair of traitors out there the satisfaction. If they want you dead, they can bloody well do it themselves, and clean up their own mess when they do!”
So saying he bent down and, after a struggle, managed to sling Jason over his shoulder. Staggering under the weight of the Little Admiral’s body, he moved to the door. Waving a hand in front of the sensor, he moved out into the Flag Bridge.
“Make sure and dispose of that for me,” Jean Luc said with a grin and an airy wave.
Eyes facing forward, Tremblay staggered out of the Flag Bridge and toward the lift.
Chapter 29: On the Gun Deck, Again
A trio of tactical officers in dress uniforms, chests full of fruit salad and one gunnery officer in a clean work uniform, came to a half in front of Chief Bogart.
The Chief glanced down at his torn, burnt and grease-stained work utilities and scornfully exhaled smoke in their direction.
Behind the parliamentarians, a quad of power-armored figures came to a halt and snappily fanned out a pair to either side of the officers. From their insignia patches, they were Caprian Marines.
“Well, well, well, a bevy of junior ship’s officers, and a side party of marines to stiffen their spines,” Bogart said, puffing on his cigar. “What does a well-oiled operation,” he said quirking his lips and taking the cigar out of his mouth to tap the ash out in the direction of the hydraulic leak to the side and immediately behind him, “like our fine gunnery deck, need at this 11th hour with a passel of youngish pups like yourselves?” He pointedly ignored the gunner accompanying the blighters.
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