Spineward Sectors 03 Admiral's Tribulation

by Luke Sky Wachter

  Unable to look any longer, he hurried over to the grav-cart masquerading as a stretcher, and once again activating the manual controls pulled the cart as close to the tank as he could get it. A significant flaw in his transportation method was instantly revealed, and even if it meant a few more minutes wasted, he just couldn’t justify crushing the hapless Luke Sky Wachter under the gravity repulsors of the cart.

  Maneuvering around, he grabbed the former inhabitant of the healing tank by his ankles and dragged him out of the way.

  Returning to the cart, he pushed until it was inches away from the tank, then manipulated its anti-gravity system until the edge of the cart was level with the opening he locked the cart in place.

  He placed his hands on the man lying atop the cart. Careful to avoid touching the heavily damaged neck area, he gave a gentle push.

  When the gentle push proved insufficient he quickly produced a much stronger heave, one that started his patient moving into the tank.

  “Here you go, Sir,” he said as the Little Admiral landed in the slimy sludge that was one of the ship’s limited supply of Healing Tanks.

  Glancing at the crewman on the floor with a shudder, he quickly tapped in a series of commands on the touch screen built into the tank.

  The current Medical staff might not approve of Orderlies performing tasks and duties well above their official training levels, but Robert ManCaster was a veteran of Dr. Presbyter’s understaffed sickbay, and he’d been thrown off the deep end as the ship’s over burdened medical service handled one crisis after another. He knew how to activate a tank and get it running in an emergency. Sweet Murphy knew the Clover had seen more than her fair share of emergencies during his tenure here.

  As crewman Wachter gasped his last, the young Orderly finished imputing the last series of commands. He could now breathe easy; the Admiral’s life was no longer in his hands. Whether he lived or died was now the sole province of the Healing Tank.

  Realizing the likelihood of discovery, he left the name of the crewman on the tank, the same as before he’d swapped his victim for his patient.

  Staring at the sticky gooey substance on his hands, he realized these were not the hands of a hero. They were the hands of a murderer. He felt the sudden urge to scrub his hands and keep scrubbing until all the blood that rightfully lay on his hands had been scrubbed away.

  Another gasp from the floor broke him out of an instinctive lunge for the sink.

  Realizing the crewman wasn’t quite dead yet, he fell to his knees on the deck beside Crewman Wachter.

  “Space Gods, what have I done,” he beseeched the greater powers, knowing with total certainty at that moment that Saint Murphy, Patron Saint of Spacers, had just turned his back on him. Turning to Murphy now would only be to invite the Demon down on himself.

  He popped in a needle and started an IV on the hapless crewman. Running a scanner over the tank’s former occupant, he applied a dose of quick heal, which along with a few tubes of stolen combat heal where all the new medical staff felt were appropriate for a mere orderly like himself to carry around in his kit.

  Chapter 49: Akantha: Queen of Woe

  “They’ve cut the signal and are no longer transmitting, Hold Mistress,” reported the man at the Communication’s Console.

  “Thank you,” Akantha said simply. Setting her gaze on a room that looked very similar to the Admiral’s ready room on the Lucky Clover, she held herself stiffly as she picked her way through the blood and bodies scattered throughout the bridge of the ship.

  “My Lady,” began Hansel Suffic, taking a step toward her.

  She raised a single hand in negation.

  “A moment if you would, Hansel,” she said, trying and failing to keep emotion from her voice.

  Stepping into the room she automatically scanned it for foes. Finding none, she palmed the sensor to close the door.

  She was alone for the first time since she had heard the terrible news that her Protector’s pirate Uncle had taken the Lucky Clover and, if she understood him correctly, also slain Jason.

  Removing her gauntlets, she placed both hands over her face. Seconds which felt like several lifetimes passed.

  Whipping her hands on the hard metal of her thighs, her face once again an impassive mask, she calmly replaced the gauntlets on her hands.

  Slapping open the door, she returned to the Bridge of the ship.

  The two Colonels stood; heads together in heated, albeit muted, conversation by the Captain’s chair. Not nearly as impressive as Jason’s Throne, she thought in passing, her heart feeling a pang at the memory of a Protector who mere hours earlier was still within her personal regard. It seemed impossible that he was dead, but equally impossible that his Bandit Kin had seized the battleship that had been their home these many months.

  Stepping up to the Captain’s chair, she forced first Colonel Suffic out of respect and then Colonel Wainwright out of a clear sense of reluctant courtesy, out of her way.

  Standing in front of the chair, the heart of this ship’s power, she turned to once again face the main screen, which was as dark as death itself.

  “Lady Akantha,” Suffic said with what sounded like reluctance, “pirate reinforcements have begun streaming into the ship from the boarding gantries in the main cargo hold where this ship is attached to the Omicron.”

  “Send in the Lyconese,” she replied simply, “the time has come for them to pay for their keep with honor in battle.”

  “A temporary measure at best,” Colonel Wainwright said shortly. Clearly he was unhappy to include anyone in his councils; bad enough Suffic, but he only thinly disguised his lack of regard for her.

  She stared the Marine Colonel dead in the eye until it was he who looked away, which was fortunate for him. With the mood she was in, she was ill prepared to tolerate less than her full and proper tithe of respect.

  “We must decide if we are to hold in place, break this ship free from the station and maneuver for effect, or abandon this ship entirely in a last desperate bid, face the point defense lasers of the Clover and attempt to regain control of the Flag Ship,” Wainwright offered dourly, placing a hand on the arm of the Captain’s Chair.

  Akantha stared down at the hand on the Captain’s Chair until he realized the focus of her gaze and removed it.

  “I am here to destroy this bandit scourge root and branch,” she said coldly, “there will be no running, abandoning or maneuvering which does not lend itself to that task.”

  “My Lady,” protested Suffic.

  “This is insane, and I’ll not be a part of it,” Wainwright said flatly.

  “You have been attached to the Confederation Fleet by this King…James, cousin of my Jason, yes?” she asked flatly. “Unless that is a lie as well as everything else you have also told us.”

  “I have told no lies,” Wainwright said angrily, “and as for the Fleet, it seems to be making best time for the hyper limit, battleship and merchant conversion alike!”

  Akantha could feel the whites of her eyes revealed as she glared with mounting fury at this servant of a feckless King. “The only reason I can imagine the Clover leaving at this exact juncture is because the very crew provided by this James—” her voice rose sharply as she repeated, “James!”

  It was the name of the man who above all others she blamed for this current turn of affairs, closely followed by this Montagne Uncle who thought he could slay her Protector, and then insult her by refusing not only to offer to take his place, but then demanding her unconditional surrender in turn.

  “Clearly this King of yours prefers that his men seek the company of Pirate Kin to that of his own Cousin and rightful fleet commander,” she raged.

  “I warned your Husband of this exact danger,” Wainwright flared, jamming his finger on the arm of the chair. “This very danger,” he repeated, “an uprising among those with Parliamentary Loyalties. Is it now my fault that he refused every single warning and offer of assistance?”

  “Warne
d him, did you?” she grated, “Did you say to him, ‘your very own Pirate Uncle is in league with this Parliament,’” she asked, leveling a finger at him, “which Parliament I blame second only to your faithless King!”

  “This is not the doing of our Sovereign King,” Wainwright said grimly.

  “A king,” she declaimed loudly, throwing her arms wide, “who demands the fealty of his relatives as soon as his servants lay eyes upon them, not even bothering to appear personally for such,” she flared, “but when his assistance is sought in return, gives to us only traitors who have turned at the very first opportunity!”

  “Wait, I forget,” she said direly, “in fairness, I failed to mention the apologists amongst us who would stand here before me and excuse his each and every action!”

  “I shall ignore your insults against myself in the name of unity in the face of our mutual pirate threat. The King, on the other hand, is another matter and I will not sit still for—” started Wainwright only to be cut off.

  “Stand ye with us or stand ye against us,” Akantha snapped, picking Bandersnatch up to eye level and pointing the tip of her blade at Colonel Wainwright.

  “I have said I stand with you against the pirates,” Wainwright replied, not batting an eye at the blade in his face. All around the bridge, Lancers and Marines started to separate, eyeing one another with suspicion.

  “I will have you declare your loyalty here and now to the Confederation Fleet you claim to have been sent to serve,” Akantha said with icy precision.

  “What fleet,” Wainwright demanded, throwing his arms wide, “the fleet is captured by Jean Luc and the Parliamentarians among the crew. There is no longer any Confederation Fleet, girl!”

  “Is this not a Battleship captured by Confederation Forces,” she demanded in return, “the loss of your Admiral is punishing, but it hardly cripples us beyond all recovery!”

  “‘My Admiral,’” Wainwright blurted, “this is insanity. One ship does not a fleet make! The dream of a semi-independent Confederation Star Fleet died along with your husband. It’s time to face facts and accept the truth, Lady Akantha.”

  “There are fleet detachments stationed both at my own Tracto and in Easy Haven at the Wolf-9 Star Base under Commodore LeGodat,” she declared with righteous indignation, “to say nothing of the Promethean Medium Cruiser currently on patrol. All this, and you would still try to claim that the loss of a single Citadel and a handful of transport barges ends the sworn obligation of the King who sent you here!”

  She was about to continue on when the Lancer holding down the communication console chimed in.

  “I am receiving a general recall order. It’s from a Lieutenant Colonel Kyle Riggs and addressed to all Brigade Marines, as their commanding officer,” the Lancer paused then exclaimed, “the transmission is originating from the Clover!”

  Chapter 50: Wainwright in Command

  “He must have thought I was dead,” Wainwright said, grateful for a break in the conversation, “Let me talk with him.”

  “By all means,” replied Akantha sitting down in the Captain’s Chair, acting as if she had the right to command now that her husband was gone.

  “Put me on the general broadcast,” he instructed the Lancer. The young man in the aged battlesuit looked over to his commander, Colonel Suffic, and after receiving a nod deigned to follow his instruction.

  Wainwright growled under his breath but decided to let the matter go. Things were hot enough in here already without letting some low level little Lancer throw a monkey wrench in the whole deal.

  On his screen the Lieutenant Colonel was ordering his marines to abandon whatever ships or structures they were currently in the process of boarding and consolidate on the Lucky Clover and captured Vineyard battleships.

  “This is Brigadier Colonel Alabaster Wainwright, commander of the 1st Royal Expeditionary Brigade by order of the King Himself. Stand down, Colonel Riggs,” he snapped at the screen, “all marines are to disregard the Lieutenant Colonel’s last set of orders and continue with their assigned mission objectives and duty.”

  “We’re getting a transmission from the Lieutenant Colonel, it’s addressed to you, Sir,” the young Lancer said looking up at him.

  “Put it through,” Wainwright ordered with a frown.

  “Colonel Wainwright, so good to hear that reports of your grav-sled striking the Omicron’s shield system on the bounce were incorrect,” Colonel Riggs began, sounding surprised.

  “Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated, Kyle,” the Brigadier Colonel said flatly, “sadly, over here we’ve been in receipt of a number of transmissions purported to be from Jean Luc Montagne and originating from the Lucky Clover, the same location I see that your own transmissions are coming from, Lieutenant Colonel.”

  “I take it Major Gaspard failed to find you when he came over with reinforcements,” Riggs concluded, sounding perplexed.

  “The Major took exception to my orders and attempted to have me killed; the man personally tried assassinate me, Riggs,” Wainwright retorted, breathing hotly.

  “That’s unfortunate,” the Lieutenant Colonel in command of the 1st Regiment said sadly, shaking his head.

  “Unfortunate,” glowered Wainwright, “that’s not merely unfortunate, its treason. Worse, it’s mutiny in cold space!”

  “As you say,” Riggs replied stiffly.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Riggs,” Wainwright said drawing himself up rigidly, “as you are currently onboard the MPF Battleship Lucky Clover, and that ship appears to be under control of the worst sort of Parliamentary interests, I am hereby ordering you to seize control of that ship in the name of the Royal Caprian Marine Brigade and return with it to the assistance of your fellow Marines.”

  Riggs looked at him and then shook his head, “I’m afraid I can’t do that Colonel,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  “You can and you will Marine,” barked Wainwright, “if its insufficient forces that stay your hand, just give the word and I’ll have a pair of battalions jump over there in nothing flat. You’ll just have to deal with the point defense systems, which should require a minimum of manpower.”

  “I’m afraid you fail to understand the nature of my inability, Alabaster,” said Kyle Riggs, his eyes hardening.

  “Don’t do this,” Wainwright said direly as he leaned forward subconsciously to rest his hands on the end of the console, “you’ll split the Corps!”

  The Lieutenant Colonel rolled his eyes. “Such rigid thinking,” he shook his head and then looked at Wainwright earnestly, “forget the old thinking and cast off those appointed shackles of yours and join together with me and the rest of the Marine Corps in the restoration of our glorious, elected cause!”

  “Royal or Parliamentary, we all have our beliefs, man,” Wainwright pleaded desperately. “But no matter which political agenda is in the ascendancy, the Corps always acts together as one,” he laced his fingers together before himself for effect, “it does not turn on itself. We do not fight among ourselves, and we always stand united as one with our brother and sister Marines!”

  “Old thinking, from an old intractable marine,” Riggs replied, shaking his head sadly. “Hear me with everything inside you Wainwright: there are no Royal or Elected factions in Marine Corps politely giving way one for the other when the time comes. There is, and can only ever be, one true Caprian Marine Corps, its charter handed down and affirmed by will of the people, as made manifest by their Representatives in our democratically elected Parliament,” Riggs said, a fervent light entering his eyes.

  “You’ve gone mad, Riggs. Give it up now and I’ll testify in your favor at the trial,” Wainwright warned severely, “don’t make a mockery of a more than two centuries old tradition of apolitical service to the rulers of our great nation.”

  “No longer are the Caprian Marines willing to cater to a false and failed ideology,” Riggs retorted, shaking his head flatly, “it is time for the last of the old order, the monarchy, to be swe
pt away. The days of Larry One are long behind us and it’s time to move beyond the disgrace his descendents have left us with.”

  “When the Marine Commandant hears of this, you’re finished,” Wainwright growled, “you hear me? Finished, Riggs! You’ve dug your own grave, and dishonored the very uniform you wear, as well as the teachings of the instructors who trained you.”

  “Who do you think enlisted me to the cause, issued my orders, and stacked my regiment with loyal parliamentary officers; men who knew what needs to be done, Colonel of the Royal Marines, Alabaster Wainwright?” Riggs glared at the screen, “Since it would appear you aren’t getting out of here alive, I’ll let you in on a dirty little secret. This assignment was handed to me directly by the Commandant of the Marine Corps itself,” Kyle Riggs said slamming his hands down on the desk in front of him forcefully, “Otherwise; I can assure you I wouldn’t have lifted a finger in support of a Montagne like Jean Luc.”

  “Doubling down on one outrageous fabrication after another, each further fetched than the last doesn’t make you sound any less the lunatic, Kyle,” scoffed Wainwright.

  “Sadly, you don’t even have that excuse,” Riggs sneered, “instead; you launched us on a blind death jump, happily following the orders of a new generation of Montagne murderer. Look in the mirror and see the seeds of your own destruction. It is you and men like you that have brought this end down on the rest of us!”

  “King James,” started Wainwright, only to grind to a halt.

  “A King too terrified of his own shadow to even think of replacing the Commandant, a man who he knows is actively working against him… that’s your King?” Riggs just shook his head, “If you care at all for the Officers and Marines under your command, you’ll release them to the duty of their conscience. Either to stay out here along with the last of the ‘Royal Marines’ doing something good for a change, to die fighting pirates, or free them to return to Capria a hero of the New Republic!”