“Excellent,” Jean Luc said with a smile that was so calculating and malicious, that the former Intelligence Officer felt the urge to vomit. The old Montagne Prince leaned forward and dropped something heavy on the wooden table. It landed with a thunk that Tremblay could feel all the way through his bones.
“Sir,” Tremblay asked, staring at the vibro-knife in disbelief.
“Just so we are clear before going forward,” the one-eyed Montagne began, holding Tremblay’s eyes like a snake holds the eyes of a mouse before it strikes, “by tomorrow, there can only be one member of this crew who has dared to thwart my will.”
“What do you mean, Sir?” Tremblay asked in a trembling voice, his eyes flitting back and forth between the vibro-knife and the Commodore.
Jean Luc shook his head as if in pity of a slow student. “Why, exactly what it seems, I’m sure,” Jean Luc said, rapping his fingers on the edge of his wooden desk in a little ditty. It was the opening bars of the parliamentary version of the Caprian Anthem.
Tremblay considered his next words carefully. He could gain some leverage over the Commodore if he could get him to say it on record. “You want me to kill—”
“Mr. Tremblay!” Jean Luc’s palm slammed onto the desk, cutting the Lieutenant off mid-sentence. The Commodore then raised a finger to his lips when Tremblay once again opened his mouth to speak. “Loose lips, sink Battleships,” the Montagne said mockingly, and Tremblay stared at him in rising horror.
Tremblay realized the Commodore was smart enough to know the situation and wasn't about to say anything directly. It was a dance of subtleties and subtext, and the Montagne Prince was obviously an expert at it.
“I’m afraid you’ve got me all wrong, lad,” Jean Luc continued, with a look that gave the lie to the words coming from his mouth.
“Then what…” choked out Tremblay.
“Back in the days before humanity left the divine bread basket that was old Earth, there was a culture—perhaps there still is…” the former Pirate King mused while flitting his fingers, as if brushing the matter away. “Among their people, when a warrior betrayed his leader or failed to obey his sovereign lord, there was a process by which he could make amends.”
Tremblay stared at him bug-eyed. “What are you saying, Sir,” he blurted, feeling a wave of vertigo to accompany his churning stomach.
“Among those people, a man who had offended but did not wish to pay with his life would offer a token of his remorse,” Jean Luc smiled, clearly enjoying this little game far more than a Caprian officer should have.
“What kind of token are we talking about, Sir,” Tremblay asked, feeling his body shaking as his vision began to narrow.
“If he didn’t feel like cutting his belly open out of remorse for failing to follow orders, he would do the next best thing,” Jean Luc explained with a wolfish grin, “he would cut off his finger, and beg his lord for mercy,”.
“This is insane! You’re insane; you can’t do this!” Tremblay said, forcing down his rising stomach.
“I force you do to nothing Mr. Tremblay,” said Jean Luc coldly. “At any point, you may throw yourself on the mercy of our administrative system, in the form of the ship’s Morale Officer.”
“Who’ll torture me to death!” Tremblay cried.
“Do you have such a guilty conscious that you feel the Morale Officer would resort to such actions?” Jean Luc rebuked. “If so, I would advise a steady and swift hand, and that you proceed quickly before my generous offer is rescinded.”
“I…I don’t know if I can do this,” Tremblay stammered, feeling sick to his stomach. There was no doubt; Jason was like a Plum Drop Fairy Princess, benevolently bestowing coins on the masses, compared to this murderous old tyrant.
Jean Luc shrugged. “I assure you, I am no savage to demand death by disembowelment; anything that kills in a more humane fashion will do just fine.” The one-eyed Commodore paused dramatically, seemingly savoring every moment of Tremblay’s suffering. “On the other hand, if you wish to get on your knees and beg for mercy, I will not demand a finger. No, Mr. Tremblay,” his eyes drilled into the back of the Junior Lieutenant’s skull, “any man who raises a hand against me shall—at the very least—have that hand removed, that it may never offend me again.”
“You want me to cut off my own hand,” Tremblay shrieked, equally disgusted and terrified by the very notion.
“Leave the hand on the desk, and keep the knife until tomorrow,” Jean Luc said conversationally, as though discussing daily reports. “I shall consider your plea, and if tomorrow I decide that there is only one person on this ship who has tried to take what is mine, I will not forward the file I have compiled to the ship’s Morale Officer,” he said, his lone eye transmitting the full weight of his words.
Tremblay’s shaking hand picked up the knife, and he stared dumbly at it. He was beyond stunned; this was like something from a bad holo-vid! For a wild moment, he was tempted to leap over the desk and stab the Commodore.
A gleam in the other man’s eyes said that Jean Luc was ready and waiting for just such an attempt.
Though this Montagne had said that Tremblay was stupid, the former Intelligence Officer could read between the lines. This bloodthirsty, blood feuding, evil to the core Montagne was everything the histories had said about his kind. Somehow—and seemingly impossibly—he managed to be worse! This was all happening because Tremblay had inadvertently saved Jason’s life. Now he was required to cut off his hand, kneel down like a serf, and beg forgiveness for his sins.
Then, in order to avoid becoming an object of enjoyment for the Morale Officer, Tremblay had to eliminate that officer, or the Commodore would forward a file urging him to interrogate Tremblay as a suspected royalist sympathizer. Tremblay lifted the knife and quickly lowered it. Even at the threat of his own life, he doubted that he could do this.
“Quite brave to use that particular knife without the vibro functions,” Jean Luc said with obvious amusement.
Tremblay flicked on the switch and watched the knife vibrate back and forth, as if hypnotized.
“A much wiser course,” Jean Luc said happily, “now, the blade will cut through flesh like a plasma torch through paper.” The Commodore then tossed a circular metallic strap onto the table.
“What’s that,” asked Tremblay, wondering what new horror awaited him.
“Automated tourniquet,” explained Jean Luc, “we wouldn’t want you to die before you’d written your report.”
“My report,” Tremblay repeated numbly, unable to take his eyes off the knife.
“The report you are going to write, so that if I change my mind about you in the morning, I can forward it to the Morale Officer’s office,” explained Jean Luc tersely, without saying openly that he would be sending it to the Morale Officer’s office, knowing full well that the Morale Officer would be dead at Tremblay’s hands—no, make that ‘hand.’ “You may use any tools you feel necessary to accomplish your penance,” Jean Luc continued, his eyes cutting toward the vibro-knife.
Tremblay just stared at him dumbly. He asked himself silently if this was really happening.
“Now it’s time for you to make a choice, Mr. Tremblay. Are you in…or are you out,” he asked savagely, looking every bit the bloodthirsty pirate he truly was.
Tremblay staggered out of the Admiral’s Ready Room, certain of one thing: he had just stood face to face with his first real Montagne, and he had survived. But would he live to tell the tale? That question still plagued him.
Half delirious with pain, he duck-walked to the nearest wall where he found an emergency first aid kit. Tearing it open, he pulled out the strongest pain-killer in the box and injected himself in the thigh, then reached for a sedative.
“What is the meaning of this,” demanded an official sounding voice.
Acting more on instinct than reasoned judgment, Tremblay turned to face him. Seeing it was the same Officer of the Watch, who had command of the Bridge when the former Chief of
the Admiral’s Staff had walked into the lion’s den that was the ready room of Jean Luc, Tremblay raised his right arm.
“Commodore’s Mast,” he gasped, applying the sedative before he turned back to start fumbling around for some insta-skin and a bandage.
The other Officer reared back in disgust, and a flash of fear streaked across his face when he glanced at the ready room.
For a moment, the other officer seemed at a loss for words. Then his face blanked, returning to its previous professional mask.
“Carry on then, Junior Lieutenant,” he said taking a step back.
“Yes, Serr,” he acknowledged, his words beginning to slur from the force of the blessed pain medication’s relief. He started to salute with his right hand, but switched to his left when he realized that his right hand was no longer present.
The Officer took another step back, and Tremblay realized he was still clutching the bloody, active vibro-knife in his lone, remaining hand. He deactivated it, before hurriedly shoving it in his belt.
Turning toward the blast doors, he staggered his way off the Flag Bridge. Now all he needed to do was find a lift.
Chapter 4: Let the Suffering begin
I awoke slowly this time and not knowing the situation; I opened my eyes only enough to see through subtle slits while I tried to make it appear I was still asleep. Lying on a cold hard cot built into the bulkhead, I could not see much except that it was not one of the big interrogation cells. Instead, it looked to be a standard six by eight foot prisoner cell, and this time I appeared to be alone.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I tested my arms and legs to see if they were chained, and to my surprise they were not. That put me into a state of wellbeing completely at odds with the dangerous situation I was in, but considering the alternative I had already experienced, I was more than willing to embrace any amount of false reassurance my mind and body were willing to drum up. I was clearly no longer in the driver’s seat, so I had little choice but to sit back in the hover bus wreck that had become my life and cheer.
“Hello, my little False Admiral,” said a voice over the speaker system that could send chills through my body. “I’m rather busy at the moment, but I didn’t want you to think that I forgotten about you,” Justin P. Suddian informed me, “so I had John Henry concoct a little montage, solely for your viewing pleasure.”
A two inch thick duralloy panel set into the wall slid open, revealing a holo-screen on which something was already playing. I focused on the image of one of my Tactical trainees; I recognized him as a regular on the bridge since the beginning of our tour, his name was Cloudhammer.
“Tell me everything you know about Operation Easy Haven, and the royalist plot to gain control of Wolf-9,” instructed the Morale Officer in a calm, patient tone.
“There isn’t much to tell,” began Cloudhammer, “but the Admiral had agreed to trade a Heavy Cruiser for a pair of Corvettes, which had originally been assigned to Easy Haven, under then-Commander Colin LeGodat.”
“Colin LeGodat,” interrupted Suddian, “a man who, if I understand correctly, Jason Montagne elevated to the rank of Commodore?”
Cloudhammer nodded, and the sheen of sweat on his forehead was clear. “That’s correct,” he replied. “The Admiral—“
“False Admiral,” corrected Suddian, his voice turning cold.
Cloudhammer nodded and looked down at his shoes in obvious discomfort. “Yes, Commander; the False Admiral,” he agreed, before continuing, “learned during his initial dialogue with Commodore LeGodat of an act of piracy taking place in the Easy Haven system.”
“Ah yes,” Suddian agreed amicably, his voice once again warm and inviting, “the incident with Captain Cornwallis. There is no need to go into details on that subject, Mr. Cloudhammer. The record speaks clearly enough as to Jason Montagne’s actions in that case. Please continue: Easy Haven.”
Cloudhammer nodded. “Well, after that was over with, we didn’t come back for quite a few months. When we did, we were met by Rear Admiral Yagar’s Sector Guard force. It wasn’t exactly a cordial meeting, but after it was over, we docked with Easy Haven and the Admi—I mean, the False Admiral,” he corrected sheepishly, “met with the Commodore. We took on supplies at the Wolf-9 Star Base, and then left the system. On our way out, we picked up some unusual power readings and sensor shadows, which suggested that Easy Haven had hidden weapons platforms at strategic points surrounding the Star Base.”
I winced at the words, but I couldn’t condemn the man for doing something I would have done in a heartbeat to save my own skin, as I’d tried and failed to do during my own session. LeGodat and I had hoped those weapons platforms would have remained secret, but there was nothing for it now.
“Thank you, Mr. Cloudhammer,” Commander Suddian said agreeably, “that will be most helpful. Now, tell me everything you know about Imperial Rear Admiral Arnold Janeski.”
Cloudhammer blinked in surprise. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that, Commander,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Is that so?” asked Suddian evenly. “What about the secret Royalist cabals on board this vessel? What do you know about them?”
“Royalist cabals?” asked Cloudhammer with a furrowed brow. “I’m sorry, Commander, I really don’t know what you mean.”
“Truly?” asked Suddian, his voice taking on a note of anticipation, which made my stomach sink. “Who are Jason Montagne’s closest cohorts on board? What is their plan for this vessel?”
Mr. Cloudhammer’s eyes started snapping back and forth rapidly. “I don’t know…the Chief Engineer works pretty closely with the Admiral—”
“False Admiral!” snapped Suddian.
Cloudhammer’s head bobbed up and down. “Ye-yes, Sir; the False Admiral, pardon me, Sir. Th-the Lady Akantha is never far from Admi—from the False Admiral’s side, but I’m afraid I don’t know any more than that.”
“How long has Jason Montagne been working with Admiral Janeski?” demanded Commander Suddian. “What was the False Admiral promised, in return for his acts of blatant piracy against the people of the Spine? How long have Janeski and Montagne been working to place James Vekna on the throne?!”
This was getting more than a little paranoid—even for me. The idea that I was working hand-in-hand with Arnold Janeski, to place Cousin James on the throne, would have been a laughable suggestion were it not for the fear in Mr. Cloudhammer’s eyes.
“I don’t know about any of that, Sir,” insisted Cloudhammer, doing his level best not to break down.
“You have been on the bridge nearly every time Jason Montagne has been,” growled Suddian. “Are you trying to tell me that I should accept that as mere coincidence, Philip Cloudhammer?”
Philip; that was his first name. I was sure I had learned it once, but apparently I had forgotten.
The Tactical trainee shook his head. “I wouldn’t presume to do so, Commander,” he said shakily.
“What about Alabaster Wainwright?” continued Suddian hotly, driving past the man’s last vestiges of composure. “How long has the False Admiral been working with him?”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” Philip Cloudhammer shook his head quickly, “I don’t think the two of them even knew each other before meeting in Easy Haven!”
Apparently, the truth was not what the Commander was after, because he and Mr. Eden began taking turns slapping Philip Cloudhammer around, and things quickly escalated to closed fists and the neural whip.
They hit him when he lied, and they hit him when he told them something they didn’t want to hear, all the while calling him a ‘royalist scum.’
I wanted to turn off the holo screen, but I had no remote. I tried to manually stop it, but the screen was guarded with a window which was impervious to my fists. I couldn’t even break it; all I could do was cover my head with a pillow and try not to hear.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the interrogation scene. After a while, I decided that the least I could do was
watch, as this man got tortured for following my orders.
Then Suddian told Mr. Cloudhammer that they were low on space in the brig, and forced to hold people confined to their quarters and since nothing he told them was in any way interesting or new, they had no choice but to free up the room
“Thank you,” sobbed the Tactical trainee.
“I want you to understand that I didn’t want to do this, but the actions of your False Admiral Jason Montagne have forced me to these extreme measures,” Justin P. Suddian said sympathetically.
“I understand! Of course, I understand; just please let me go home and rest,” said the Sensor Operator, gratitude turning to horror as the Morale Officer produced a blaster pistol.
“Your False Little Admiral can’t help you now, crewman,” Justin P. Suddian said piteously, all the while looking at the holo-receiver—straight at me—as he fired.
“No!” I screamed, rushing to the holo-screen and beating my hands against the glass repeatedly.
But the holo-screen was completely impervious to my shocked outrage, and simply began portraying another interrogation. That’s when I realized that even if I somehow broke out of here, everything I was watching had already happened, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“Take me instead; I was the one in command!” I shouted, tears welling in my eyes for everyone stupid enough to follow a Montagne like me. Maybe it would have been better…if I had headed straight home with the ship and turned myself in. At least that way, my crew—my faithful, overworked, unreasonably loyal crew—would still be alive.
That was when I realized I was in Hades, the very place itself. I sank back against the wall of my cell, and as Commander Suddian’s recorded horrors continued playing out on the screen, I wept like I never thought I could.
Chapter 5: The Schemer is afoot!
“Blast that Montagne!” Tremblay bit out through gritted teeth as he exited the lift.
Admiral's Trial (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 4
