Admiral's Revenge (A Spineward Sectors Novel:)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “We won’t let you or Tracto down, Sir,” Archibald added abruptly and out of the blue, and I saw his eyes beginning to shine. I couldn’t help bestowing a smile on the young man. The older officers might be more guarded, but so long as there was even one man, one captain out there who believed in our cause, then we would never be defeated.

  “Hold fast to your duty,” I said, jumping out of my seat and heading for the door to the bridge.

  I heard the sounds of feet scrambling as the officers inside the conference room hurried to follow me out.

  “Helm, lay in a new course,” I said, throwing myself into my command chair.

  “Where to, Admiral?” DuPont asked, straightening professionally.

  “I’m in the mood to pulverize a few more Bug ships,” I said with a hungry smile, turning to Sensors next. “Keep a sharp eye out, Sensors; a thousand credits bounty to the first man or woman who finds me a Bug ship!”

  Sitting back I watched as the bridge jumped to make my orders into reality. Contemplating past wrongs and dealing with naysaying, potentially mutinous, subordinates was enough to get a man all twisted around inside until up was down, down was up and I’d turned into something I despised. That’s why I didn’t care what they said. Destroying world-eating, genocidal Bugs wherever and whenever you found them was a righteous cause, and fighting the good fight always helped clarify things.

  Blast anyone who said differently.

  Chapter 28: Jean Luc vs. The Envoy

  Senior Lieutenant Raphael Tremblay stood at the edge of the conference room and tried to make like a bug on the wall, pressing up against the duralloy bulkhead as hard as he could in the hopes of sinking into the wall and going unnoticed. It was a foolish thought—a childish thought, even—but right then he would much rather be a child than an officer of parliament.

  No one looked at Jean Luc like he was the bug on the on the wall instead of Tremblay — who was acutely aware that he would be squished if he didn’t morph into something much more useful.

  “What is it now, Envoy,” Jean Luc said flatly, “my time is precious—waste it at your peril.”

  “The Trillium you promised my patron has taken two weeks longer than expected to be gathered and made ready for transit, Commodore,” the mysterious representative of some shadowy and undefined Imperial interest said abruptly. The figure’s tone made it clear that he had very little respect for the rank the former pirate leader, a man who commanded two recently overhauled battleships and a whole fleet of lesser vessels.

  “The Belters needed to be…motivated,” Jean Luc said easily, “but your trillium is here, it is processed, and it is ready for transport. So unless you have some other complaint, I’m afraid I have other things calling upon my time. Running both a Fleet and a Star System is a wearying job, after all.”

  “You may not respect me, but you will respect my master,” the Envoy said with the hint of a mocking smile portrayed in his words, as his face was hidden behind a hood.

  “Envoys are replaceable, but men with Fleets aren’t. You’d be wise to remember that—and to learn your place,” Jean Luc said, giving the Envoy a withering look before turning to a paper on his desk in dismissal.

  The Envoy reached over and placed a hand on Jean Luc’s desk covering the paper with his hand. “All is one within the Flow,” the envoy said simply.

  “What the Hades is that supposed to mean, mind crawler?” the Pirate Lord sneered.

  “I crawl the Flow of probability, as you so quaintly put it, not a rejected product of a failed line’s mind,” scoffed the Envoy as he floated a foot up off the floor, with no visible anti-gravity harness or field.

  “Like I care,” Jean Luc said, slashing his hand down on the table, “the difference is negligible.”

  “My master is out of patience with you, Pirate,” the Envoy tapped a finger on the paper for emphasis before picking it up and tearing in two, “unless you have other things that are more important than dealing with…him,” the other man said in a mocking voice.

  “You have my full and undivided attention,” the Pirate Lord said in a deathly cold voice.

  “My Master is not pleased, he is out of patience and as such has decided to exact a penalty for your failure to deliver in a timely fashion the tribute you owe him,” the Envoy said, almost as if he were unaware of the lethal nature of the man in front of him.

  Tremblay’s hand started to shake in terror—the same hand that the pirate king had once cut off and placed on ice. What kind of creatures this blasted Montagne found and brought back to plague mankind when he’d gone reeving beyond the rim of known space, he wondered with more than a shiver of fear. If he had ever doubted that exchanging Jason for Jean Luc had been a mistake, those doubts were now so far behind him he couldn’t even remember when they had first popped into his head. It was now a certainty; he had been wrong, that’s all there was to it. He could only pray that Parliament and the Caprian people didn’t pay too heavy a price because of it.

  “Run back to your master, dog, before I chop you into little pieces,” Jean Luc whispered as his face whitened with rage along with his knuckles.

  “As such,” the Envoy said, giving the Pirate Lord a hard look out of the corner of his eye before turning to fully face Jean Luc, “the Tribute shall be doubled, under the Flow.”

  “Doubled?!” Jean Luc roared.

  “Two tribute ships, holds full of Trillium, to be delivered to my master, or I am assured that you and your pitiful fleet will be the first thing he deals with on his return to this Sector—not the last,” the Envoy said, placing the knuckles of his fists on the wooden desk and leaning forward.

  “Two tribute ships,” Jean Luc raged, “go back to your master with word of my defiance; let him come!” he shouted. “I’m not afraid of Arnold Janeski or his Dark Seer of a dog! How long were you spying on my operation at the Omicron?” he demanded.

  “I am but recently joined to the service of he who will soon master the Spine—and yes, you will deliver another ship. Also, my master will send to this system another tribute ship every quarter, which you will fill without complaint until his conquest is complete, or your place within the Flow will be removed,” the Envoy explained, not yelling but still somehow managing to speak over the top of the enraged Montagne in a strange, lilting voice.

  “Did you not hear me, cur?” Jean Luc said, reaching for the hilt of his new sword.

  “Your words say one thing, but the Flow says another. If what you say was true you would never have agreed to pay the first tribute ship,” the Envoy countered, and Tremblay could feel the faintest hint of a sneer in its voice.

  “You go too far,” Jean Luc snarled, pulling out his sword, “to mock me in the heart of my power.”

  “You seem to think you can intimidate me, but it would take more than just you, Commodore—it would take Three. Failed scion of a failed line, what are you…you are merely One, and you are not the one I fear, oh master of two, mighty Battleships and an appallingly lesser fleet. If mere fleets were enough to fill me with fear, then my current master who has so much more at his command would be one to do so. Oh, if only I could laugh,” the Envoy said, swaying from side to side as if in the presence of some imperceptible wind.

  “Out—before I rend you in two,” Jean Luc growled, pointing his sword at the Envoy and then toward the door, his whole body shaking with emotion.

  The darkly cowled envoy cocked its head within its hood and simply floated another foot above the floor in silent response.

  “Did you not hear me, you robed mind crawler? Get out of my office before I forcibly remove you,” the Pirate Lord said his voice like winter ice.

  “All is position within the Flow,” the Envoy said bobbing its head and refusing to move, “and if I leave before the promised tribute is delivered then your position will be perilous, very perilous indeed.”

  “Enough of your mealy-mouthed nonsense, I had little time for it on the Omicron and I have even less for it now!” Jean
Luc growled.

  “The Flow indicates and mandates—” the Envoy started, and Tremblay was amazed that this man, or creature, or whatever it was, was still alive.

  “You’ll have your tribute ships when they’re loaded,” Jean Luc rasped, his voice a mere whisper of its former self, “but if you don’t leave this room right now—this very instant, in fact—then you will die.”

  The Envoy bowed after a momentary pause. “Surprising,” it mused, turning away and heading for the door. Its dark obsidian eyes seemed to appear from the darkness of its hood, catching Tremblay’s eyes and stare straight into his very soul, “the Flow indicates that your master might have actually been able to make good with that last threat of his,” the Envoy paused for a split second and seemed to waver before shrugging with its entire upper body and continuing out the door.

  As soon as it had left the room, Tremblay doubled over and threw up on the floor. Would Jean Luc allow him to live after seeing himself humbled by the mysterious, cowled envoy?

  “Oh, get up,” Jean Luc smiled down at him, and Tremblay’s eyes widened as he realized the Pirate Lord had silently snuck up on him.

  “Sorry, my Lord Prince,” the young Parliamentary Officer swallowed as he hastily scrambled to his feet. Bracing to attention in fear for his very life, he closed his eyes.

  “No need to fear, my little snake,” the Master and Commander of the Tracto system—along with each and every man, woman and child within it—smiled.

  “I s-saw nothing, I h-heard nothing, m-m-my li-lips are sealed now and forever,” Tremblay begged for his life.

  “You honestly thought I was livid with outrage?” Jean Luc said with a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. “Son, if I had wanted it so then the representative of that pustule on the backside of Imperial service, Arnold Janeski, would already be dead, I assure you,” the Commodore said dismissively, “no, the Envoy was never in any fear for its life, as well it knew. I had just hoped to negotiate a better deal.”

  “Right at the end, it said…” Tremblay regained control of himself at the last minute and snapped closed his mouth.

  “Oh, it spoke to you did it,” Jean Luc said his smile shrinking, “funny that I didn’t hear it. What did it say, boy?” he asked in a deceptively mild tone.

  “I-I’d rather not-,” Tremblay gurgled as the Pirate Lord’s fingers closed around his throat and slammed him up against the wall.

  “You’re wishes and desires are infinitesimal compared to my own,” Jean Luc said, the smile still frozen on his regal, princely, entirely Montagne face, “I thought I’d already taught you that…best I not have to repeat this lesson again, Senior Lieutenant.”

  Like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming hover-bus, Tremblay couldn’t even think about getting away. All that was left was compliance with what would be.

  “It said that…I mean, it seemed surprised,” Tremblay closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady his nerves, “it said that it was surprised after your last threat to kill it.”

  “Why,” Jean Luc said, slowly enunciating every word, “was it surprised?”

  “It seemed surprised that you could actually kill it,” Tremblay said, shaking all over.

  Jean Luc’s grip relaxed, a faint look of surprise crossing over his face as he released the young Officer. “That’s all it said?” Jean Luc asked, turning away to pick up the torn paper and place it back on his desk.

  “Yes, Sir!” Tremblay said with feeling.

  “You’re sure,” the Pirate King asked his adjutant in that deceptively mild voice of his—the one that said ‘one wrong move and you’re dead.’

  “Aye, aye, Commodore,” Tremblay said, praying to survive this meeting. Who could have known being an adjutant and holding a recorder in a room for what should have been a routine meeting could be so hazardous to a man’s health?!

  “Interesting,” the Master of Tracto said looking faintly perturbed, “still, you have no need to fear. The Envoy is nothing and its Master won’t be coming here for quite some time. Fortunately, that means the only thing you need worry about in the near future is me.”

  “As you say, Commodore,” Tremblay said faintly.

  “Yes…quite,” Jean Luc looked amused before sitting back down behind his desk. “I already have the latest repair figures from that miserable excuse for a station repair dock, but the last time I checked I still failed to see the latest update on our Tracto recruiting drive on my data slate.”

  Tremblay jumped. “Right away, Sir,” he said, rushing for the door and escape. He could always squirt the information the Commodore had requested from somewhere else in the ship after he had tracked it down. He thanked all his lucky stars that the Commodore let him get away.

  “If my weakling nephew can recruit such fearsome Warriors, who were capable enough to take the Omicron with only minimal training, I don’t see why I shouldn’t do the same thing,” Jean Luc mused from behind him right before the door to the ready room slid shut.

  Practically running off the bridge so as to put distance between himself and the Montagne Prince, Tremblay didn’t stop until he was in his personal cubicle in the Intelligence section.

  Once there, he placed his face in his hands and shuddered silently. He stayed in that pose until the shakes went away, and only after he had re-mastered himself did he walk out of the cubicle with a stiff expression on his face and begin to procure the data his master had requested. Things had changed aboard the Lucky Clover—rather, the Larry Montagne, as it had to be renamed under its new master’s command—and under the Commodore, a request, if it ever had been, was no longer a simple request.

  Unlike before, refusal of a request wouldn’t just earn a reprimand or time in the brig, which was why he hopped to when retrieving those Tracto-an numbers.

  Chapter 29: Recruiting: Some Real Issues

  The repurposed Dungeon ship shuddered around them.

  “What are pirates doing in this system in a Light Cruiser?” Steiner cried. “We weren’t even going to do any recruiting here; this was just supposed to be a waypoint!”

  “If you remember, we picked up half a dozen Merchant freighters at that last system and one old troop transport half full of Border World delegates and their staffs,” Hierophant grunted. The Medium Laser mount moved as he adjusted his sight window, “Captain said we’re supposed to get more people to fill their holds, as payment for the escort.”

  “Border World delegates?!” Steiner exploded, ignoring his point about the extra holds to fill with recruits. “That’s probably why we’re being attacked by these pirates! Don’t they know there is no Assembly for the Border World Alliance? The Admiral himself said the Alliance was a lie to get Druid to surrender!”

  “And yet, here are the delegates. Sounds to me like someone is lying,” Hierophant grunted, lining up on the pirate cruiser and firing his laser mount. “I’ve learned a new phrase; I think you call it ‘operational security’?”

  “You think the Admiral lied to us!” Steiner cried, dancing to the side as the Dungeon ship shuddered and a spray of super-heated hydraulic fluid burst from a heavy laser two mounts over, spraying everything and everyone all the way over to Hierophant’s mount with boiling hot droplets before the blast partitions automatically dropped to protect them.

  “He says there’s no alliance back in Praxis,” Hierophant yelled over the sound of screaming. He glanced over at the partition and then looked away from the source of the screaming—it looked like someone had been caught either trying to get into, or to get out of, that particular mount, “maybe there wasn’t, but is there now?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Steiner shouted up at him, “unless…you mean the Alliance was ready in principle, but the Admiral was captured before it could go into effect…and now that he’s free, the Border Worlds are forming their Assembly? How does that work; I thought the Border Governors hated us?”

  “Don’t you have someplace to be?” Hierophant said dismissive
ly. He needed to focus one of those fast, darting little ships the other gunners had been so surprised to see. He thought they were called an ‘Imperial Fighter,’ and one had just danced its way across his targeting sights.

  Ah, there it is again, he smiled, muscling his control sticks around to keep the fighter on his targeting reticule.

  “The Captain made it clear that as far as he’s concerned I’m a Supernumerary who can stay out of his way and off his bridge except when we’re in system,” Steiner huffed. “Hey, what are you—”

  He fired and missed, the sound of his weapon discharging drowning out whatever else Lisa Steiner might have been saying. Muttering under his breath about using the computer to help him target, he shook his head in annoyance. The little Officer wasn’t supposed to be here—it was a man’s job to die for the Hold—but like most women everywhere, she wanted to personally oversee the efforts of her warriors whenever possible. Out of politeness and respect for the superior sex, Hierophant failed to point out that technically he wasn’t under her command just then.

  One look down at her now red face as she held her hands over her ears, and he was happy he had refrained from comment. Once again, the Tracto-an Gunner wondered what MEN had been thinking when the Data-God decided to put women in charge of his people? Then he shrugged, since it was not as though the men of MEN had been doing such a great job of it back before MEN tore a rib out of King Lykurgos’ chest for failure and used it to clone the first true Tracto-an woman. So even though she was rather small and puny-looking compared to a real, Tracto-an woman, the little Warrant Officer automatically deserved his respect.

  Besides, she was very brave and much more suited to leadership and subterfuge than he was—another skill-set that he was more than glad fell firmly under the control of the women of a Hold and not its warriors. Well, the subterfuge that is…like any warrior, he was always ready to try his hand at leading.