“Yes it will,” exclaimed Lesner, looking concerned for the first time since Suffic pointed the blaster rifle at him.
“It saves the ship and still gives those on her the chance to escape,” the Lancer allowed, “but it doesn’t do much to pull out a win, and it does even less for our boys and girls stuck inside the Omicron fighting for their lives.”
“We’re doing everything we can, that’s enough! It has to be enough; there’s not anymore to give,” cried Lesner, and Suffic could see that the man was struggling with his own survivor’s guilt. He eased the tension off the trigger out of sympathy for the other man.
“I’ll carry it inside the Omicron,” declared Suffic, “the sensors shouldn’t detect the difference, with this ship hard docked.”
“You’re injured,” Lesner pointed out reasonably, “let me take it in and drop it off.”
“You wouldn’t know which way to go to get it far enough away for safe detonation,” the Colonel argued.
“One your Lancers then,” Lesner retorted. “And I’m not talking one of those under-educated Tracto boys; one of us can carry it in and drop it off.”
“You don’t understand; once the bomb is activated, you can only move it if you have the right codes,” Suffic insisted.
“I’m sure you have them, or we wouldn’t be here arguing about this,” snapped Lesner.
Suffic sighed, closing his eyes as he started swaying. “I was part of an illegal network that hacked the maintenance codes,” the Lancer Colonel explained. “We heard Parliament was putting them on all the ships with royalist crews.”
Lesner stared at him blankly.
“Is now the part when you tell me why you have the gun on me?” the Chief Gunner asked.
“We learned that if you booted up the maintenance cycle while the bomb was activated, there was a failsafe. As soon as the person moving the bomb let go of it, the blasted thing went off,” explained Suffic. “It didn’t matter how much time was left on the clock.”
“Put me in a suit and give me a guide,” Lesner suggested abruptly, “or if you don’t think I’d make it, I’ve got half a dozen men who’ve lost everything, and are younger and haler than the either of us. If it has to be done, we’ll do it. Never fear, Colonel; we won’t let you down.”
“The bombs had a list of approved maintenance personnel that was updated periodically. This thing was designed to go off if a person not on the approved list tries to tamper with it. There was a System’s Analyst, one of us,” he gave Lesner a meaningful look, “who infiltrated the Security Directorate, and you don’t want to know what he had to do to get in there. He uploaded the biometrics of a number of us stationed on the different royalist ships and critical ground based facilities of the day. I’m pretty sure Bogart was on that list, I was on it, but neither you nor anyone else on the Armor Prince, at least as far as I’m aware, are on that list.”
“It’s a suicide mission, you have to know that,” said Lesner quietly.
“My life for my Lancers would have been enough,” Suffic replied, his eyes burning, “but my life in exchange for my Lancers, as well as for the tens or hundreds of thousands dying along the Border Worlds because these pirates are wrecking the industry they need to survive? It’s more than I could hope for,” he said, meaning every word. “That ignores the fate of millions on Tracto, including my own wife and family, who will be eaten alive if the Bugs aren’t stopped.”
The Chief Gunner looked like he wanted to argue, but Suffic shook his head emphatically.
“That’s not even a question, Lesner,” the Lancer Colonel growled. “I don’t care if there is another who could take this bitter cup; I will quaff of it, and consider my life well spent.”
“If you go alone, you could be killed, and all of us caught in the blast radius,” Lesner warned, as if he could read the next thing on his mind.
“I will need help,” Colonel Suffic admitted reluctantly.
Lesner slapped his chest. “Me and my boys are in armor now, and I can gather enough volunteers, including myself, who are happy to escort you.”
“I need trained personnel; a small yet quick moving group of men I can rely on,” Suffic shook his head in negation.
“Who will take over when you’re gone? The Little Admiral is dead or lost, and you…” Lesner tried one last time. It was clear he did not expect to convince the Colonel, but it was a question they both knew needed to be asked.
Suffic felt troubled. “The Lady can hold the Contingent together for as long as she lives,” he said finally. Akantha was less than ideal as the direct Commander of the Lancers, but right now, she was the only choice. There might be, and probably were others among his officers who were better tacticians, but not one of them could command respect like Akantha could.
Lesner eyed him doubtfully, but held his tongue.
“Perhaps Wainwright can help if she gets in over her head, although I hate the thought of my boys getting rolled into the Marines,” he sighed.
“Then I can only see one problem: how are we going to get this thing out of here. More importantly, how are we going to carry it. Even in power armor that thing is too bulky, and if you let go of it for even a second,” Lesner made a sharp grinding sound mimicking that of a neck breaking.
“At my best, I couldn’t carry that,” Suffic said doubtfully.
“We’ll need a grav-cart,” Lesner concluded abruptly.
“Good thinking,” Suffic agreed, feeling grateful to the other man, as he could feel that his own mental facilities were not at their best. Careful to keep his hand on the blaster rifle, he slowly pulled it off target and slung it over his shoulder.
Chapter 72: Akantha in Command
The ship shook from the force of some blow.
“What in the World of Men is that,” demanded Akantha.
“We’re being fired on by the pirates,” reported a woman at the sensor consoles.
“They’re always firing at us, but they can’t get inside,” Akantha said shortly.
“No, I mean by pirate ships,” exclaimed the woman.
“Find me targets and contact the gun deck,” Akantha said fiercely. “Someone remind me later that I owe Chief Gunner Lesner the weight of his head in Trillium for having the idea, as well as the courage, to tell me we needed gunners stationed on the gun deck!”
“Incoming transmission,” relayed the woman at communications.
“Put it through,” said Akantha, clenching the hilt of her Bandersnatch until her knuckles turned white.
An image appeared on the screen. It was another man in a costume; no doubt he was trying to be intimidating.
“We have you now, Confederation, har har har,” he gloated, then did a double take. “Where’s the Admiral I spoke with last time, the one I’m going to kill?”
“If you are referring to my Protector Jason Montagne, he is not here,” Akantha said stiffly.
“No matter,” he continued, glaring through the screen at her, “you will die, Confederation, and your Confederation lackeys will die for daring to chase the League back to Omicron Five!”
“I’m reading a number of cutters and corvettes circling around our rear,” reported the sensor operator. “Men, but these controls are hard to use. I can’t be more specific, Mistress.”
“Who are you, little man,” Akantha asked, looking down her nose as she stood from her chair.
“It is I, Commodore Strider of the Broken Maiden, your nemesis returned from death to destroy you,” he declared theatrically.
“Cutters and Corvettes you say,” Akantha inquired of the sensor operator, deliberately looking unimpressed for the imager
“Yes My Lady, around a dozen of them,” she replied.
“Heave to and prepare to be boarded,” the bombastic pirate cried, “or the League Fleet comprised of Piranha Squadron, the Skull Rangers, the Blackhold Armada and the Deep Fleet Space Army, will deliver you unto your doom!”
“We are docked with the station, you imbecile,” Akanth
a said coldly, then turned to the lone individual at tactical, “instruct Gunnery to fire at these vessels at their leisure.”
“I mean drop your shields and throw down your personal weapons. Black Philip may run from you in terror, but not the League of—” he started, then a pair of turbo-lasers shot out from the Armor Prince.
“Avast,” he yelled over the open channel, “take evasive maneuvers!”
“I’m getting another transmission,” said the communication stander.
“Do you want me to break connection with the Station,” yelped the shuttle pilot at the Armor Prince’s helm controls.
“And place us within range of the station’s main weaponry so we can be destroyed?” Akantha asked scornfully.
Looking over at the communications technician, Akantha realized there was really was very little she could do, stuck in dock and riding a chair on the bridge. Even the Captain’s Chair. The Gunners would fire, and Tactical and Sensors would try to help them. She suddenly realized that being the Admiral did not feel exactly as she had imagined. How Jason managed to sit here, making it all look so effortless, was beyond her. Of course, he had a moving ship and a full bridge crew to respond to his every whim while she only had… She looked around at the scant crew she had assembled and scowled.
“Oh, put it through,” she said shortly. There really was nothing better to do with her time, other than sit here worrying about their new ship being destroyed.
“I don’t think it’s intended for us, Lady Akantha,” said the Comm. stander.
Akantha glared at her.
An image popped up on the main screen.
“Back away and keep your ships clear of ours, Monkey Boy,” said the image of a blacker-than-night person on the main screen, “we have itchy fingers and can’t stand the smell of your kind up close, not unless it’s wafting up from the bonfire!”
“The pirates are broadcasting their identities in the clear. I think we’re getting a transmission from the Deep Fleet Space Army,” reported the Comm. stander.
“I do believe Jason previously defeated both the Piranha’s and these Deep Fleet fools,” Akantha said stiffly, the use of her Protector’s name sending a stabbing spear through her heart.
Another image appeared on the main screen, but this time it was the giant, grey face of a Sundered Demon!
“The Primarch said he has no more words for you, Hold Mother,” the Demon rumbled, nodding his head stiffly. Akantha’s stomach clenched, even as her face froze into an icy mask.
Those black eyes stared into hers as if from the very pits of insanity, then the beast spoke again.
“No words,” it repeated, “only deeds.” So saying, the Sundered cut the connection.
“Target that last transmission,” Akantha said coldly.
“Yes, Mistress,” acknowledged the woman at tactical.
“Mistress, the pirates have started fighting among themselves,” exclaimed the Sensor Operator. “I have many small blips; they’re hard to get a lock on, but… yes! One Corvette just lost power, and two of the cutters are leaking air!”
“Stop my last order,” Akantha instructed, pulling her sword out of the deck and waving it at the main screen, “the Demons are on our side now!”
Whirling the sword over her head, she suddenly wished that fighting from the bridge was as much fun as fighting hand to hand in person.
Letting others wield her weapons on the enemy grated against her nature. How did Jason do it? she wondered. He could sit up here so calmly, when all she wanted to do was take her sword and rend her foes, cleaving them into little bits!
Chapter 73: Glue Will Fight
“Sending three parts in four of our Males to attack the amoral humans is a very flawed plan,” declared the Elder.
“Holding back the fourth, to guard the families, is a risk,” Glue agreed obtusely, causing the Elder to purple.
“But our females are very accurate shots, and I am satisfied they will more than make up the difference,” the Primarch continued blithely, ignoring the Elder’s outrage.
“Half of the Females is too many; better only the adventurous few, the ones who always volunteer for these assignments,” the Elder snorted, stamping his feet and waving his arms about.
“It is traditional for the mature females, all save the very old, the very young or the last in a family grouping with younglings, to rise in defense of the Home against outside forces,” Glue said implacably, refusing to be drawn into the argument the Elder was trying to frame.
“Defense,” snarled the Elder, “the very word! This is not defense; this is war. This is the very meaning of the word ‘offense,’ it is in no way defense.”
“If we fail, the differences will seem marginal,” Glue said flatly.
The Elder snorted with outrage.
A trio of females came over, placing their hands on the Elder’s legs and wrists.
“Come Puko. Come away, the Moot is over,” they urged, pulling him away. The Elder turned red eyes upon the females, took a deep breath and expelled it thunderously, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were nearly their normal color.
“The time for speaking is done, and we need you now. We need you focused,” the eldest female said sternly, as soon as it was obvious that reason had returned to her mate.
“Misha, why are you carrying a weapon,” the Elder grumbled rebelliously, and Glue politely turned away to give the family the politeness of false privacy.
“I am not that old yet, Puko,” she said simply.
“I have lost six wives, twelve brothers, nine sons, and thirty four daughters; I could not bear to lose you as well, my Misha. I cannot lose any more of my family,” the Elder said, bending down sweep all four of the much smaller females into an all-encompassing embrace. Squealing at first, and then growling and slapping him with, to Glue’s ears, an outrage more mock than genuine, the Elder’s wives made clear their displeasure with this public treatment.
“Oh, pish,” said the eldest, Misha, from within Puko’s grasp, “our family does not have a seat at the Elders’ table, and great respect with the Society because we are the last to stand between the People and the danger outside.”
“You cannot fight, I forbid it! This family has sacrificed more than its share already,” growled Puko the Elder, releasing them to the floor to give them an intimidating glare.
“Yes, Puko,” sighed Misha, holding her weapon at the ready, pointed at the ceiling. Then she moved to stand behind him, clearly preparing to follow him into battle.
“I said you are to go home,” Puko grunted as he bared his teeth threateningly, giving his wives a push down the corridor.
“Of course, dear,” Misha agreed and the other wives nodded, assembling behind the eldest female. They were readying themselves as many similar fighting units spread out down the hall were doing; with the large, armored male placed in front to deal with the human power armor, and the smaller females with rifles ready to shoot around, beside, underneath and between legs of the male and guard the rear of the formation.
“I am the Leader of this family,” Puko stomped his feet in a quick little pattern and flared himself up, flexing his muscles and bulking out his torso.
“We are following this great leader like obedient wives, are we not,” Misha asked her fellow wives pointedly.
They nodded with great gravity, emphasizing how much respect and thought had gone into the gesture, and then shuffled around the Elder for a clearer line of sight for their weapons. Their antics would have been almost comical, if not for the deadly seriousness in their faces, and the experienced way they handled their blaster rifles and flash shotguns.
“I shall go home now,” Puko declared, and stomped around as if to do just that. The females just stared at him with patient, serious eyes.
The Elder turned to Glue with disgust.
“I might as well go die in your battle,” Puko grumbled. “At least then I might get some respect. By the Code, I get none at home,
Glue!” He turned for a moment to glare at his wives. They smiled sweetly at him and one, more daring than the rest, popped her lips in a noisy version of flying kiss.
Glue very carefully kept his feelings from his face, instead nodding gravely in agreement.
The Elder picked up a large, thin section of hull metal shaped by the Sundered weapon makers into a shield. Appearing even more disgusted than before, he grabbed a long, broad-headed spear with many notches along its lightweight, composite shaft. His weapons ready, he stood beside the Primarch, shaking his head.
“Being a husband requires many sacrifices,” Glue commiserated, suppressing a smile.
“At least my enemies will respect me before I am done with them,” Puko, the Elder, snarled over his shoulder.
“We are fortunate to have such a big male for a mate, aren’t we, dames,” Misha asked, speaking to the other wives as if having a private conversation.
“Such strong arms and well-muscled legs,” agreed a second in a raised voice which carried through the corridor.
Glue watched out of the corner of his eye as Puko unconsciously flexed his muscles, before visibly catching himself and stiffening.
“I particularly admire those powerful hindquarters, the view back here… we are so blessed to have such a very ‘moral’ family leader,” the third said admiringly and then all four of them burst into arm-slapping chuckles. Their mirth echoed further back down the corridor, causing much tittering, snorting and appreciative stomping of feet from the battle force assembled behind the two leaders.
“Let us go,” Puko said to Glue, putting words to action by stomping down the corridor.
Glue shrugged and took several long strides to catch up with the Elder. They strode shoulder to shoulder in long, loping steps.
“The enemy will not wait for the perfect moment,” the Elder declared, “and your humans are stalled out three decks up from Station Command. It would appear the time for a rescue is upon us!” He spoke as if supporting the humans with quick action had been part of his plan all along, instead of dragging his feet under the guise of caution as he had done.
Spineward Sectors 03 Admiral's Tribulation Page 41
