Spineward Sectors 6: Admiral's Spine

by Luke Sky Wachter

  I was wishing all I had to do was stand outside of range, maintain his distance, and blow those last two mother-ships to kingdom come.

  Everything was converging on the Star System’s Primary Planet, and the upcoming battle was going to be for all the marbles. It was going to be a race between the sloth-like engines of the enemy droids and the best speed of an Imperial Strike Cruiser to determine whether they would arrive in the middle of the grand battle…or shortly after it.

  “No mother-ships identified, but I have escort elements moving into a position between us and Aqua Prime; there are over three hundred of them and they’re slowing down for an intercept, Admiral,” reported the Tactical Officer.

  I nodded to signal receipt of the message and turned to the helm.

  “Work up the numbers with Mr. Shepherd over in Navigation, Mr. DuPont,” I ordered brusquely, “and wait until the last minute. Then move to evade; I don’t mind hitting the outer edge of their formation with our turbo-lasers and give Gunnery something to focus on for a while but I have no interest in staving off boat-strikes if they take it into their mechanical heads that the cost/benefit analysis indicates attempts to ram are the most economical use of their forces.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” the Helmsman replied.

  “And coms, get me someone to talk to,” I snapped, rounding on Warrant Officer Steiner and her new partners in crime, “ye Space Gods, we’ve been in system for several hours now and I’ve not heard so much as one peep out of system command!”

  “Everything’s been encrypted, sir,” Steiner said hastily, “it’s not that they’re not talking, it’s just they’re not talking with us. But I’ll send out a new hail, Sir.”

  “You do that,” I said waving her off abruptly, “talk to the MDL Representative and get his codes, or even put Kong Pao on the line himself—I don’t care how you do it. In fact, why am I the one who has to tell you how to do it? That’s your job; just get someone on the line.”

  “Aye-aye, Admiral,” Steiner repeated, and I could tell she wanted to say something but wisely held her tongue.

  How I hated being left out of the loop to stumble around in the dark. “And where are those ingrates we saved from certain death?” I snapped.

  “The two destroyers are on a divergent course that keeps them well away from our formation. But they are headed toward their home world at what we estimate is their best speed, Admiral,” Laurent reminded me.

  I knew I’d already been told—heck, I could see it for myself on the screen right that moment—but I was incensed. When I saved a man’s—or woman’s—life, the very least I expected from them was that they would talk to me if I felt the urge to speak. Barring muteness or extreme physical or emotional trauma, of course.

  “They may have sustained damage to their comm. arrays,” my Flag Captain helpfully pointed out.

  “Both of them?” I asked flatly, and then turned up my nose, giving the absurd idea the merit it so richly deserved, “far more likely it seems to me that ingratitude knows no political boundaries.”

  “Sir,” Laurent replied stepping back.

  Long minutes passed without anything of note as the MSP Fleet and our Droid Foes continued diving in toward Aqua Prime.

  Time passed as we sprinted from the outer system into the inner planets, and my frustration continued to grow in the communication silence I found myself in.

  “I have a response to the hail,” Lisa Steiner said, and for a split second I just stared at her dumbly, unable to process her words. Then I snapped out of it.

  “What do they have to say for themselves?” I said, my gaze sharpening and then motion toward the screen. “Put it up if they sent a visual.”

  “They did, sir,” she acknowledged, and moments later the image of a powerfully-built, surprisingly fat, man appeared on the main screen.

  I took a moment to take in his appearance; he was wearing some kind of quasi-silk tunic and cape of similar, but slightly offset, dark blues and had a chain of office around his neck.

  “To the Tyrant of Cold Space, also known as Admiral Jason Montagne, we send our greetings. I am Senior Select Grierson of Aqua Nova. Our sensor network has monitored your fighting in defense of our lovely, blue world and despite our suspicions, two of our own warships—the destroyers Kestrel and Falcon—personally observed this action. As such, they are able to vouch that these events occurred and are neither ploys of the droids, nor the result of sensor feeds being hacked by your Fleet’s distributed intelligence networks,” the planetary representative, Senior Select Grierson, said with a frown. “As such, and out of gratitude for your recent efforts, I and my fellows are willing to overlook your crimes and extend an offer of amnesty. We will commutate your crimes while you are in the Star System of Aqua Nova and promise to use our considerable political power in an effort to secure a pardon for you once this droid menace has been eradicated from our Star System. We await your response; Senior Select of Aqua Nova, out.”

  For a long moment I stared at the screen, silently stewing at his pomposity. They would commute my sentence while in their system and try to pardon me for the crimes of fighting piracy, Bugs, and now droids—so long as I successfully helped free their world?!

  It seemed that word of my status as the Tyrant of Cold Space had reached even as far the Core Worlds of Sector 24. I wasn’t just mad—I wanted to be furious!—but I was too well trained and forged in the fires of battle to give in to my hot and heavy emotions.

  “Prepare to transmit my reply,” I said, lifting my smallest finger and pointing it at Steiner, afraid that if I moved anything more I would lose my cool.

  While she arranged to transmit my message, I looked down at the latest tactical reports to help master myself.

  There were a grand total of sixteen of the Droid mother-ships, with two of them moderately damaged and something on the order of twelve hundred gunboats. That number alone—twelve hundred—would have floored a lesser man. Or…actually, maybe not, I thought, glancing around at the stalwart members of the bridge.

  I could overhear several of the crew speaking in worried tones, but strangely the fact that I appeared to think we had a chance was quite calming to the crew…which, unfortunately, just went to show what fools these men and women actually were.

  Still, they were my fools, and—

  “Ready to transmit on your signal now,” the petite, former-and-once-again com-tech informed me.

  “Just a moment,” I said, quickly scanning the current force estimates for the local SDF. The last of their cruisers had tangled with the droids and, except for a pair of corvettes around Aqua Prime, they were down to destroyers all except for one. I looked back up at the Warrant and signaled I was ready with a nod.

  “Go, Admiral,” she said quietly.

  I stiffened in my command chair, throwing back my shoulders and stiffening my spine and the gaze I locked on the screen went past haughty and left anger in the dust. I locked onto the frozen image of Senior Select Grierson with the power of a man who’d been tossed under the bus, left for dead, and still managed to claw his way back to life over the dead and dying bodies of his enemies.

  I was in no mood to be referred to as the Tyrant of Cold Space by some politician while his home system was being overrun by an invasion fleet filled with mechanicals.

  “This is Admiral Jason Montagne of the Confederation’s Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet; I’ll have my Comm. department forward my credentials at the end of this first transmission,” I said coldly, “as for the sentence imposed on me by the corrupt officials in Sector 25, it has already been commuted by a Sector Judge and will be formally overturned as soon as a quorum of Sector-level justices is convened." Take that and chew on it, fat man, I thought grimly, dismissing his pathetic excuse of an olive branch at the outset. “As for helping your system, this is a Confederation outfit and any participating member worlds of the Confederation have the right to request our assistance and, if we can render it, we shall do so,” I finished almost hoping he�
��d deny being a member world. Not that it would stop me from saving this star system full of helpless civilian in their millions—if I could—but for a few, brief moments I could take pleasure in his imagining my pulling out and leaving him to die at droid hands.

  Then I sat back and waited for the response and, like all dreams, it faded to dust eventually—in this case when the response came.

  “If I hadn’t seen your image on the download of a passing freighter, I wouldn’t think you old enough to be an Admiral—even a self-proclaimed one,” the Senior Select said with tension in his voice and then he took a deep breath. “Still, Aqua Nova isn’t in a position to be choosy at the moment. In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been invaded.”

  From another man, that last line might have seemed semi-humorous or at least an attempt at humor. But coming from the powerfully-built fat man in fine robes who called himself the Senior Select, it sounded far too much like the truth.

  I wiped at my nose with the back of my hand to get rid of an itch before replying. “I find that surprising,” I answered after what felt like an unnatural pause, but to him wouldn’t seem like anything at all since we were operating under a time delay and as such he probably wouldn’t even notice my brief delay. “A freighter, leaving a relatively stable and now pirate-free Sector of space in order to head deep into disputed territory undergoing an invasion of mechanicals. It sounds unlikely.”

  The planetary leader…or, at least, ‘high level potentate’s gaze turned frosty, and what little bonhomie his greeting had maintained to that point vanished. “If my world wasn’t about to be invaded, I’d remind you that my title is Senior Select the highest office in this Star System,” Grierson said coldly.

  “And I’d remind you that mine is Vice Admiral,” I countered lightly, as if this were some kind of laughing matter and not a deadly serious game of interstellar politics. I was certain that he’d received my credentials from Steiner at the end of our first transmission and was deliberately ignoring them. On the outside I was seemingly uncaring of the little power play, but on the inside I was seething.

  Was there a single elected leader in the entire galaxy that put the needs of his people above politics and petty one-ups-man-ship? It seemed that honorable—or even just reasonable—politicians were like the mythical white wale of humanity’s home world. Honestly, I’d even settle for a corrupt, dishonest one at this point, so long as he put his people first in a crisis situation.

  Feeling my cheek muscles begin to harden at this train of thought I deliberately loosened them and continued to smile, “However, as you say: your System is being invaded…dare I say, overrun?” I added as I quirked a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “So why don’t we cut through the red tape, hmm? Proceed to the part where you officially request my help and I show up on my white charger to save the day." So saying, I sat back and awaited a reply.

  “What is it you want, Mr. Montagne?” the Senior Select asked direly. Nothing more was forth coming.

  “No response regarding the freighter, I see…interesting,” I said, steepling my fingers, as if winning the point when really it was just a diversion. While interesting, I didn’t really care how they got their information—at least, not at that moment. It didn’t matter how they got their downloads just that they got them, “but immaterial. However, if you wish to use my civilian rank instead of my military one, the proper form isn’t ‘Mister,’ it’s ‘Your Highness’,” this time my smile was cutting. “As you see, I am a Prince of Capria and a Protector on Tracto,” I then paused, “although, I am also a Governor of a Planetary Body in my native system…so I suppose you could call me ‘Your Excellency’.”

  “You would quibble about forms of address?” Senior Select Grierson said sounding completely disgusted. “It’s your type that fiddled while Rome burned and then complained that the crackle of the fire interfered with the acoustics.”

  “An educated man, I see,” I said, my face hardening. “And, for all of my supposed quibbling, I take note that you’ve not once used my rank except when attaching a slur to it. But, as you say, there’s no need to fiddle while Aqua Nova burns to the ground. So I’ll make this easy for you: simply request that I assist your world under the Confederation Charter and I will keep my ships set on a course toward your world—I’ll also deal with the droids when I get there. When I win, your populace will thank you and you will get reelected the next cycle. Meanwhile, you can call me all the dirty names you want in the press—just like your counterparts in 25’s Sector Assembly.”

  The fat man turned red, and then pale with fury. “Our Fleet is more than capable of dealing with any foreign adventurers,” he spat.

  “By adventurers I assume you mean me and my men, as I doubt anyone in their right mind would call the machine plague adventurers,” I growled right back. “And either way, I still beg to differ. One battle-damaged Battleship and a handful of destroyers and corvettes in various stages of disrepair hardly indicates a provincial government able to stave off any threat the likes of which I deal with. So you can ask for my help or you can tell me to go to Hades, but quit trying to do both at the same time. I’ve had more than enough of ungrateful politicians speaking out both sides of their mouth while they insult me.”

  White fury had turned into total rage on the face of my counterpart from Aqua Nova. “I was warned of a pirate who liked to go around paying lip service to the Old Confederacy and surround himself with the old trappings of power so fine. So if that’s what you need to extend yourself into assisting us in protecting the billions of civilians inhabiting the Aqua Nova star system, then I will do it,” he said shaking with fury. “In the name of the Confederation, we ask for your help,” he all but spat at me before the screen went blank.

  “He’s cut the transmission from his end, sir,” Lisa Steiner informed me.

  “Relay my next transmission anyway; I doubt they’ll fail to watch it,” I said, discovering my fists seemed to have acquired a mind of their own and prepared themselves for battle by clenching up without letting me know beforehand.

  “Of course, Admiral,” the Warrant Officer replied.

  “That’s all I needed to hear, Senior Select,” I said, speaking into the main-screen pickup and then frowning mockingly, “although, next time you might want to consider replying to the queries sent you by a warship and fleet that have just pulled what remains of your fleet out of the fire!”

  I then made a throat-slashing gesture for the Comm. Warrant to cut the signal.

  “Transmission is terminated,” she reported.

  I took a few deep, measured breaths before replying. And even knowing that the pause has been a little too long and she had turned back to her tasks I, still said, “Carry on then, Warrant.”

  “Aye, sir,” she said, looking back up at me with surprise but I had already turned away.

  “You heard the man, Captain Laurent,” I drawled, my voice carrying through the unnatural silence on the bridge, “the people of this star need our help, and the Senior Select wants us to save his world for him.”

  “That’s an interpretation of the politician’s words,” the Captain said dryly, and several members of the bridge crew chuckled.

  Because of that, I smiled and then stood up.

  “I’ll be in my ready room if needed,” I said with a sharp nod and headed off.

  Chapter 42: A Princess Never says ‘Die’

  Officer Tremblay sat there, clutching the rudimentary control panel of the escape pod as an external clamp grabbed a hold of their miniature vessel and began dragging them into the mammoth, mouth-like opening in the side of the Droid Megaship.

  “Planning to white-knuckle your way through this experience Mr. Tremblay,” the Princess-cadet asked mockingly.

  “I’m not ashamed to admit when I’m in over my head, your Worship,” the Intelligence Officer lied. He very much resented having to do so. And, yes, there was a bit of shame woven through his being as well, “And don’t try to tell me you feel nothin
g at the sight of what could be our last moments of free air.”

  “A Princess Royale is never over her head—and she never says die,” Bethany sniffed. “What’s more, we haven’t been breathing free air from the moment we stepped onto the shuttle that brought us to Flat Nose’s Imperial ship. Although, I’m not surprised that this realization wouldn’t automatically occur to a man of your given…intellect.”

  “I’m stupid, am I?” he demanded and then he glared spitefully. “I don’t recall you commenting on my lack of brains the last half hour we were stuck inside that maintenance closet on the Pride of Prometheus.”

  “Well it wasn’t your brains I was interested in at the time then was it?” she mocked in a sweet, venomous voice.

  Tremblay felt himself turning red in the face. “I am a trained Intelligence Officer; I know when things get serious and I react accordingly,” he said stiffly.

  “If you have a point in there somewhere, I can’t find it,” Bethany said in a bored tone. “Man up, Mr. Tremblay, and don’t let fear cloud your judgment. If anyone is supposed to fill the role of the stereotypical shrinking violet, I would be the more natural choice.”

  The former First Officer felt every word as a physical blow, but instead of weakening him they only made him stronger.

  “You forget that I’ve seen you in action Princess,” the former Intelligence Officer snapped, “you Royals have got ice-water in your veins instead of blood when it comes to the sacrifices of others. I wonder how well you’ll do when it comes time to put you to the test and your rank can’t save you?”

  “I’ll do just fine,” Bethany snorted, as if he’d just said something amusing, “it’s you and your pale features that concern me at the moment.”

  “I worked for a Montagne,” Tremblay said scornfully, “I’m pretty sure I can handle anything we’re about to face a lot more stoically than you will.”

  “Oh, you poor baby,” she scoffed, “Jason was so rough with you, is that it?”