“We do not need to defeat every pirate on the Omicron by ourselves,” Akantha said with confidence, “we need only show them our strength and the rest will flee or fall into line.”
“This is a fool’s plan,” Wainwright said flatly, making a chopping gesture of refusal, “and I won’t commit my marines to their certain death. Not on a plan doomed to failure the moment it was conceived.”
“We’re with you, My Lady,” Suffic said heavily.
“You can’t be serious,” Wainwright demanded glaring at the Lancer Colonel in outrage.
“Where my lady leads, her Lancers will follow,” Suffic replied, his eyes focused on Akantha, “there was only ever one man who could gainsay her when it became necessary to tell these men they were not going to go into battle, and I am not him.”
While the Colonels had been talking, Akantha had been focused on getting the internal communications system to work. Eventually, she thought she had it working.
“Blood of my Blood,” Akantha said imperiously, her voice echoing over the ship’s internal communications system, her words carried to every deck with a working speaker system, “Steel of my Steel. Today each and every one of you are my brothers and my sisters,” she declared speaking from the heart, “Stand or fall, we shall not retreat, we shall not surrender. When future generations ask, ‘who are you that they should know your deeds and honor your sacrifices?’ you will be able to answer with a single resounding voice saying, ‘I served with Akantha of Messene!’” she shouted into the speaker system.
“Women of my Blood, we shall hold that which is now ours, unto the last drop. This shall be our stronghold,” she said firmly.
Wainwright’s hand came up to cover his face, but Akantha barely noticed.
“Men of my Steel, let any who refuse the call to battle be ashamed to show his face. Let him be called a coward! It is declared that any warrior who retreats in the face of this enemy be branded, so that all who know he has surrendered his honor. We shall not give up one inch of that which is ours,” she screamed.
The Lancers gave a mighty cheer that rocked the deck.
“To honor,” she yelled, “to battle, and to the Omicron!”
Seeing the rising sentiment even among the faces of his own Marines, Wainwright grimaced. Crazier than a bat out of the afterworld, but she seemed to know her audience. He could tell his Marines weren’t entirely convinced, but the Lancer boys were already frothing at the mouth and howling for blood.
If we’re going to all die anyway, charging into the teeth of the enemy isn’t the worst way to check out, he admitted to himself glumly.
Chapter 53: Jean Luc and Environs
“Sir, the last of the Mutineers have been suppressed or fled the ship in escape pods,” Kyle Riggs reported, satisfaction dripping from his voice, “we have fewer marines available to us that I might like, but 3rd battalion was more than sufficient to the task. The rebel Gunnery Department has been put down.”
“Are there any further issues I should be aware of, before they erupt into a fully fledged mutiny in cold space?” Jean Luc asked, a light smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“The loyalists in the Armory Department have been more than helpful in rooting out the few remaining partisans of the old regime,” The Lieutenant Colonel said flatly, “now that my Marines are onboard, there shouldn’t be any more trouble.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Jean Luc promised with the barest hint of what could either be a smile or a sneer lifting the left side of his upper lip. Slashing the disconnect button, he spun the Admiral’s Throne and surveyed his new/old domain.
“I still can’t believe how easily they are letting this ship go,” Heppner remarked with a shake of his head.
Jean Luc quirked a smile, “The Lord of the Blood Reavers has a reputation as a man you don’t cross,” he said coldly, “besides, I warned them a Confederation Battleship was due to poke its head around these environs very soon, and that I intended to add it to my Fleet.”
“Janeski’s ComStat Network, limited as it is compared to the old system, has proven quite useful,” Heppner said disapprovingly.
“Limited compared to the old system,” Jean Luc looked at him quizzically, “it is the old system… or at least part of it, Jim. Besides,” he paused, “do I detect a hint of resentment for the Imperial Admiral?”
“It’s debatable whether the man is still an Imperial Admiral,” Heppner retorted stiffly.
“Success breeds its own reward,” Jean Luc countered dismissively, then turned to look at the ship’s tactical section as a wolfish smile crossed his face, “as our own venture aims to do for us. As for the Rear Admiral, I doubt the Imperial Senate will act precipitously, even should they discover all of his dirty laundry before the endgame.”
“That man lacks any shred of decency,” Heppner said angrily.
“You’re just hot because under Admiral Cornwallis, our then First Captain Janeski put your Parliament back in power by bombarding the Palace,” Jean Luc said severely, leveling a finger at his Flag Captain. “Now Rear Admiral Janeski, while on his way to the Galactic North, has returned to place mighty King James,” he rolled his eyes, “of the Vekna line into power over our Planet.”
“He acts as if our Caprian planetary politics are his passing fancy to order around to his own wishes,” Heppner growled furiously.
“You’re just angry because your side lost,” Jean Luc snapped, making a slashing gesture with his hand, “I’m quite sure that man does nothing without a purpose behind it.”
“Our side,” corrected the Captain, “or have you forgotten that as well, from your time a-pirating,” Heppner asked tightly.
“I forget nothing,” Jean Luc stood from his Throne, glowering at his former Executive Officer, “and if I appear a less than eager Champion of our Elected Cause, perhaps it is because that very Cause thanked me for my critical services during the Troubles by exiling me to the far reaches of known space with orders to become a Pirate. Ordered to become a pirate,” he repeated, “as if I were some common criminal, given one last chance at redemption! Then, when I am finally recalled from this purgatory, is it because of my good and lengthy service to the Scrolls? It is not,” he said in a quiet, deadly voice.
“No one here disagrees you were wronged, Sir,” Heppner interjected.
“More than any man of Caprian descent, it is because of me… me,” he slammed his fist into the arm of the Throne, “that the postulating boil which was our Royal Family was overthrown, and what is my reward, when Parliament finally deigns to bestow it?”
Jean Luc glared at no one in particular as silence swept across the bridge. “Is it the Admiral’s Flag I was promised nigh on more than fifty years ago? Is it an official Fleet Command in the SDF, so that all may know my great service to the Common Weal? No!” he raged, “a Pennant, a filthy little Commodore’s Pennant and a handful of run-down vessels so besmirched from a dishonorable service to our Great World that one hesitates to even bestow the title of Privateer upon them!”
“That is part of why we, your former crew, are all here, Sir; to rectify that failure,” the sincerity in Heppner's words were reflected in the faces of the other men. “None of us have forgotten the King’s original purge, or what you did for us personally, Sir.”
Jean Luc Montagne sat back down in his Throne.
“Well,” the eye patch-wearing Commodore began in a normal voice, as if the angry emotions of just moments ago were long past, “this is what happens when our leaders trust the intentions of an Imperial. I do so hope that Parliament-in-Exile has finally learned the lesson that Parliament-in-Power failed to understand. But, in the event they intend to betray me again,” he smiled malevolently, “let us just say I have my own plan in place for Capria’s return to Sector and, in time, Galactic Prominence.”
Heppner looked at him slightly uneasily and took a deep breath. “We’re with you Sir, one hundred percent,” he said.
“And this time no
one; not Parliament, not Janeski and certainly no member of House Cornwallis is going to keep me from my prize,” Jean Luc assured Heppner, his face twisting into a rictus, “my water-blood Nephew and his band of hapless do-gooders will only be the first to fall, not the last,” he promised as an evil smile crossed his face. “This ship has more secrets hidden within her belly than an entire fleet, and once again those secrets are mine. All mine.” He had sacrificed much to get here but finally he was once again in position and this time he would not hesitate.
Jean Luc threw back his head and laughed.
Chapter 54: Discovered!... But what was discovered?
“You’ve got two broken collar bones, a busted up shoulder and several cracked ribs,” the doctor said severely, “you’re going into the tank!”
“I don’t think you understand Doc,” said a cold, slightly gravelly voice, “I’m not going under and that’s that.”
“There are four marine jacks assigned to this Sickbay, who I dare say would be eager to disagree with you,” the doctor said coldly.
“Maybe they could take me in my current condition,” allowed the gravelly voice.
“Then let’s drop the histrionics and see about getting you all patched up,” the doctor said, satisfaction at this minor victory evident from the smug note that entered his voice.
“I said maybe they could take me, Doc, but I wouldn’t go down without a fight. And when I get back to the land of the living, yours is the first face I’ll be looking up, so think twice and three times, you stupid quack,” hissed the would-not-be patient.
“There are certain drugs which can take care of that problem…short term memory, that is,” the doctor said coldly, “let’s not take this situation into places you most definitely don’t want it to go.”
“What did you say your name was again, Doc,” the patient asked in a threatening voice.
“Doctor Torgeson at your service,” the Doc, this Torgeson said arching an eyebrow, “and don’t threaten me with any parliamentary nonsense; my loyalty index is just about as high as they come.”
“I just wanted a name to fix with that ugly face of yours,” the patient said evenly, “you see, as a Royal Armsman I am more than slightly resistant to such mind and memory altering medications.”
“I have more than my fair share of success with the ladies using this face,” Dr. Torgeson said in a low voice, “and I doubt you’ve ever had to deal with a physician with my level of skill before.”
“That mug’ll be a face only a mother could love after I finish pounding the stuffing out of it and use a vial of combat heal to lock all that damage in place,” promised the Armsman in a deathly voice.
“’It’s a terrible tragedy, my Prince, the way your Armsman perished from his wounds, if only those incompetent orderlies had managed to bring him to my surgery in time to save his life, Torgeson said in an equally deathly voice. His words a clear practice alibi for murder, “or perhaps I should say commodore instead of prince, what’s your preference, Connor Tuttle?”
The Armsman sucked in a breath, “If you know who I am then you know better than to mess with a man like myself.”
“Who do you think created men like yourself,” Torgeson asked flatly, “It’s your call, Armsman. I can do my best for you or I can do my worst. A former special projects man holds little terror to a former special projects doctor.”
“You’ll do what you do, doctor,” the Armsman replied, as he lay back onto the stretcher with a grunt, his broken bones grinding against each other internally.
“A man such as yourself is quite valuable our new Commodore,” Torgeson mused out-loud, “much more valuable than, say,” he scrolled through a list of those individuals currently occupying his Healing Tanks.
“Yes, much more valuable than this one,” he said with a nod, “Mr. Luke Sky Wachter, a junior crewman in environmental, it seems you’re about to be decanted early. I do hope you’re in strong enough condition to survive the experience, as I have neither the time nor the space in my surgical suite right at the moment.”
“Come along, stretcher,” he ordered, clapping his hands to activate the verbal controls of the grav-stretcher Tuttle was resting on.
“Butcher’s work,” Tuttle opined from the stretcher, “must suit the temperament of a Special Operations man such as yourself, more so than the healing arts.”
“I enjoy pushing the boundaries of science, perhaps more so than the next man,” Torgeson allowed, “that said, however much your ‘butchery’ fails to disturb a man like myself, healing is still a vastly more complicated affair. Any fool can pull a plug; only a true surgeon can break the human body according to his will, and then return it whole and unblemished from the surgery table.”
The Armsman just shook his head.
“Small minds, they are all around us,” Torgeson muttered with a sigh as he activated the manual release lever on the Healing Tank. A siren sounded indicating a Tank was about to be decanted. He irritably silenced its braying.
With a clinical eye he glanced over the Crewman prior to summoning the orderlies to remove him.
“That’s odd,” he paused, hand held communicator inches from his mouth. “Significant shrapnel and torso burns, according to his admission sheet,” he mused, flipping through the screen on the side of the Tank, “it doesn’t mention anything about a neck wound.”
“Just pull the unlucky fool and let’s get this over with,” Tuttle groaned with an impatient sigh.
“I see it had time to automatically compile a full genetic profile…two complete genetic profiles,” Torgeson continued, ignoring the Armsman. “I wonder which, ah,” he snapped his fingers, “the second profile must be yours.”
“You’re sick, you realize that, yes?” the Armsman said shortly. “Many have accused me of the same, because I am, but you take things to strange new level.”
“Oh, silence,” the Doc said with an irritated wave of his hand. “Yes,” he continued, his fingers flying over the keypad built into the side of the tank, “running the profile against the ship’s database.”
“It’s just a crewman, someone misfiled the info,” the Armsman said irritably, “look, if you don’t want to put me in that tank, no one’s going to be upset, least of all myself. Just fish or cut bait already!”
“I’m surrounded by morons,” Doctor Torgeson sighed.
“Come closer the next time you feel like saying that,” Tuttle said in a deadly voice.
“A match,” Torgeson exclaimed triumphantly. “Someone’s been a very naughty boy, playing around in Doctor Torgeson’s private little sand box, and putting his own patients in my Healing Tanks. Hmm,” his finger scrolled down the list, “there are two matches.”
“Sure-sure, bated breath and all that,” Tuttle grunted.
“The first match…that’s impossible!” Torgeson yelped in surprise, then when he glanced at the second he turned pale, “I thought they said your master killed him,” he demanded. Heedless of dignity, he leaned into the tank and started wiping healing slime off the face of the patient in the tank.
“What are you talking about,” the Armsman demanded, his earlier deadly tone of voice returned.
“I’ve seen this mug before,” the Doctor replied rearing back his face white as a ghost, “almost as difficult a patient as you, in fact.”
“I said,” Tuttle grunted heaving himself back upright, “who did you say was in that Tank!”
“It’s the Little Admiral himself,” Torgeson said, turning back to the Armsman, his face and arms covered in healing goop, “and he’s still very much alive!”
Chapter 55: Tremblay-ing in The Brig
A quick side stop at the Armory produced a number of interested knick-knacks and gadgets, as well as a pair of extremely powerful hold out plasma pistols. The next person who tried to put an explosive collar on him was going to take a pair of plasma bolts right in the visor and that would be the end of that blasted idiot, Tremblay thought angrily.
His duty to
Parliament no longer allowed him the luxury of being taken prisoner.
Returning to the turbo-lift, he dialed in the combination for the Brig. As the ship’s former First Officer, his access codes had automatically been given priority into a number of areas of the ship, the Brig being one of them. It seemed despite the fact he’d been demoted back to his commissioned rank of Junior Lieutenant and presumably been reassigned to the Intelligence section, that no one had bothered to remove his access codes.
And why should they? He had worked, and presumably once again worked in Intelligence and while the Parliamentary Black Gloves didn’t have quite as much need to enter the brig as the Black Hats (the ship’s security department) they came in a close second.
Black gloves firmly in place, Tremblay prepared to cause as much trouble for the ship’s new Royal Commodore and his main stooge Captain Heppner. He would only stay his hand if the Captain proved his loyalty to the will of the people and threw that Montagne in the Brig, or preferably spaced him right out the airlock for his crimes of piracy, just as soon as they were free and clear of this pirate system.
If the Captain proved more loyal to the Montagne branch of the Royal House, then he was to his fellow parliamentary officers…well, Tremblay was going to teach him a sharp lesson, a sharp lesson indeed!
Stepping into the Brig, Officer Tremblay blinked as a pair of blaster rifles were thrust into his face. Eyes crossing, he looked up to see a pair of battlesuited Jacks blocking entrance to the Brig.
“Stand aside,” he said evenly, thrusting his black-clad hands forward.
“ID scan,” one of the Jacks said brusquely and Tremblay obligingly lifted the sleeve of his uniform. There was a slight sting as the first Marine Jack took a genetic sample to compare with the authorized database and the second thrust a digital panel in his face.
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