The Com-Tech had the grace to look shame faced after the scolding. “Sir,” he repeated, “it’s not the Imperials!”
“Murphy Wept, you’re a bunch of under-trained idjits! And don’t think we won’t be looking into that first thing,” he warned with a gleam in his eye, before pulling himself back on track, “Spit it out man, I’ve already got that they’re not the bloody Imperials. Who are they, then?”
“It’s the Lady Akantha, Sir!” the Com-Tech reported joyously.
“Impossible,” Spalding rebuked, before the words of the Com-Tech finally sank in.
“The Lady Akantha,” he exclaimed and then looked over at the Tech, “well, put her on man. You don’t keep a Lady waiting! Even an old reprobate like myself knows that much.” He turned a thunderous scowl on the technician, still in a foul mood when it came to Com-Techs in general, and more specifically, those assigned to this particular ship.
“Yes, Sir, Chief,” the Tech said happily, despite his superior’s foul mood.
Akantha’s visage appeared on the main screen. Her usual, icy features were marred by a pair matching scars running down her cheeks. She gave him an imperious, searching look, and then her face crumpled and she swayed in the chair. Spalding was not about to be taken in by any potential computer generated plays on his sympathy, however; he was too old, and too wise for that. He forcibly hardened his heart against such deception.
“How do I know this is the real Akantha,” he asked suspiciously. He firmly reminded himself that he was a hard man, as the Lady on the screen looked at him with an uncertain expression. He would not be made a fool of, or taken in as anyone’s new patsy. The sudden hope in her face almost crushed his brand new heart.
“As I live and breathe, it is the Wizard Spalding, brought back to us from the dead and with new mechanical attachments,” she said, her voice barely trembling, as if she had just run a marathon and had only now just crossed the finish line.
“Lady Akantha,” his voice caught, and then he scowled thunderously. There were any number of more vastly important things to ask, right at that particular moment; in his brain, he knew that, but in his heart there was only one question that needed to be asked. “What have you done with the ship, Lass?!” he cried, willing to believe for the first time that this actually was the Admiral’s Lady.
“Before we separated, he gave me a data crystal and told me that if I ever needed a miracle, I was to come to this place,” she explained, her face breaking out into a tremulous smile.
Spalding’s eyebrows shot through the roof and his eyes bulged. There was only one person in this universe crazy enough to believe he could do anything so grand as a miracle, and then go and put him on the spot!
“Now-now, Lass,” he said urgently, “miracles are a chancy business, and not to be whistled up on command, like a monkey or a horse. Just take it slow for a while, and tell old Spalding what’s the matter. We’ll work to straighten it all out, I promise, but a miracle…” he shook his head and started muttering under his breath.
“Wizard…I fear things are broken beyond even your ability to repair,” Akantha said uncertainly, and then she straightened her posture, once again becoming the imperious ice princess.
“We can’t know that until we go over all the details, the little things are key-” Spalding started in a soothing tone of voice, only to be cut off by an imperious gesture.
“Jason is dead, our loyal Lancers decimated and the Clover has been taken by that scum-of-the-world bandit Uncle of his,” she said, her eyes burning through the holo-screen straight into his ornery old soul.
“Who’s taken the ship again, lass?” Spalding asked cautiously, as he suddenly clutched his chest. He was unsure if his brand new heart was up to the task of listening to this tale of woe, but he had to know for sure.
“That rebellious dog, Jim Heppner, and his honorless slive of a Master, the Pirate King Jean Luc Montagne,” she spat, her face twisting with a rage he had never seen in her before.
“Jean Luc,” he gasped, staggering to the nearest chair and collapsing over its arm, “the Captain has turned pirate.” It was almost beyond comprehension! The Captain Montagne he knew would never do such a thing. He rode his shields hard, and his men even harder, but always in the service of a good cause. Why, thousands of Spalding’s fellow crew—including Spalding himself—would have been executed in the Purge and counter-purges of nigh on over fifty years ago.
“Say it isn’t so, Lass,” he gasped after regaining enough breath to speak the words.
“It is worse,” Akantha said grimly, and that was when Spalding knew that his new heart was less than equal to the task of dealing with such news; it would break for sure. But he no longer had the strength to tell her to stop.
“My Protector’s Pirate Uncle bragged to me himself of slaying his nephew Jason, before he took heel and left aboard our Lucky Clover, with his Vineyard in tow.” Spalding jerked as if struck, as she retold events. His heart was now a solid ball of pain in the middle of his chest, but Akantha continued, “He slaughtered or captured thousands of our loyal crew.”
“Surely, they’re prisoners,” Spalding hoped, grasping at straws, even though he knew that everything had happened days or weeks ago, and nothing he said or did could change it.
“Bogart is dead, along with half his department—lost trying to keep the ship from the oathbreakers. Two in three of our Lancers lie dead on Omicron Station, including Hansel Suffic,” she explained icily, her face turning into an unfeeling mask as she relayed the information.
“The Chief Gunner and the Lancer Colonel both,” Spalding felt stricken. It was as if by having once been loyal to Captain Jean Luc Montagne, he himself was now a traitor.
“The Chief Gunner died defending the ship,” Akantha said with obvious respect, “while the Colonel sacrificed his life so those of us who remained would survive, to leave that bandit-infested sore upon the galaxy, Omicron Station,” she said stiffly.
“There’s no need to go into it all over a communications channel,” Spalding said, not sure if he could bear to hear any more.
“As you wish,” Akantha replied, making clear that it made no difference to her.
“I hesitate to ask, but…what happened to your face, Lady?” he asked, pointing to the scars running down each cheek.
“With my Protector dead, and our subjects slaughtered in droves, the only course left to me is vengeance,” she said, sounding awfully disinterested, considering her words.
Then something that had been bothering Spalding came to the fore, and he felt he had no choice but to ask.
“The last transmission we received indicated the Admiral was alive but in jail and the Cruisers—I mean, the Parliamentarians—were running the smash ball all the way to the finish line. Meaning, they were taking him back to Capria,” he paused and scratched his ear, “but our reception is rather poor out here, and-”
“What?!” she demanded, cutting him off, as her face hardened.
“I said our reception out here is pretty bad,” Spalding started over, but ground to halt when it was clear this was not the part she wanted to hear.
“The second transmission?” he asked.
“We have received no such transmissions,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Well, we only got one just a few minutes ago, but it was from the Clover. Who knows how long it was in queue, or how long it took to travel all the way out here,” Spalding explained, rambling on in spite of himself, “bad reception, don’t you know. The problem is the star, you see.”
Akantha shook her head. “Someone sent you a message from the Clover…how is this possible,” she demanded.
“Some part of the Com-Stat network must still be up,” he explained. “At first, we thought it was a trick and you were Imperials, since you came in so close behind the transmission.”
“Do not run a lure past me and then talk in circles, I beg of you,” Akantha said, closing her eyes.
Spalding reddened and t
hen coughed. “It was in code,” he warned. Before going on, he wanted to make that part very clear, “Most of the fools up here didn’t catch it, but,” he paused as the remembered reference to the Larry hit him in the gut. But the real pain was a reference to the Captain: Jean Luc Montagne. With this confirmation, he felt sick, but he could not leave the Lady cycling her engines.
So he straightened and continued, despite the sweat breaking out on his forehead at the implications, “But as far as we can read it, the ship was taken by Parliamentary types.” At this, she nodded, her eyes tracking him like a bird of prey’s. “The Admiral was in prison, and the ship was headed back home to Capria on a line drive—I mean, as fast as they could get her there,” he quickly amended. The thought of his beloved Clover, having been taken by traitors of the worst kind, had what remained of his internal organs churning like never before.
“I would very much like to see this code,” Akantha bit out, swaying in her Chair. “I hadn’t dared believe…after he told me—”
“It’s all right, Lass,” Spalding said awkwardly.
“Things are still very much not all right,” she retorted in a hard voice, before taking a deep breath, “But perhaps our fortunes are improving…you are returned to me, and my Protector is possibly still alive.”
Spalding looked at her helplessly. The mind of a woman like this was utterly unfathomable to him.
“If I heard this news from anyone else, I would refuse to believe it. But from you, a man brought back from the dead, precisely where Jason said you would be,” she took a shuddering breath. “It is surely a portent from the grave, sent to rebuke me for abandoning hope.”
“We’ll make it right,” Spalding hoped against hope he was not lying. If he held any lingering doubt as to the identity of the woman on the screen, it was gone; no one else he knew talked like that. The Admiral’s Lady was a touch superstitious after all, more so than most could easily countenance.
Then his mind inevitably circled round to the subject he had been avoiding like the plague: Captain Montagne. If Jean Luc had gone bad out on the Rim of Known space…why, the thought strained the mind. The Captain was one of the few people still alive who knew where all the Lucky Clover’s secrets were buried. If he had gone bad, and now had possession over the Heart of the Ship…Spalding shuddered involuntarily; the situation was so dire, he dared not think on it too deeply.
“Hold tight to your soul, my fine lass,” he prayed to his fair battleship, now in the hands of mutineers and pirates. And who knew how many light years away by now. “Spalding will be back with you shortly. Just as quickly as he possibly can,” he muttered, hoping against hope that what he was saying was true.
“We will go to Capria,” Akantha declared, standing from her chair and drawing Bandersnatch from its sheath, “and then we shall make Parliament, this King James, my Protector’s Pirate Uncle, and all of his disloyal kinfolk rue the day they captured my Jason, and crossed Akantha of Messene!”
“Now, Lady Akantha, let’s not go rushing into anything,” Spalding said quickly.
“We shall rest and repair our ships, and then set forth with the intention of smiting our enemies, root and branch,” she declared.
“I hope you’re running with full crews on those two beasts,” he said, meaning the battleships, “because we’re a might shorthanded around here as is, and those ships read out as having significant battle damage. We’ll need all the help we can get, to put them back together in time.”
Akantha growled with frustration—she literally growled—and for a moment, Spalding was taken aback.
“I take it you’re a might shorthanded as well,” he concluded cautiously.
Akantha reluctantly nodded, clearly too beside herself for words.
“Oh well,” the Chief Engineer said with a shrug, “it’s no matter; let the battleships take as long as they take. There’s a few upgrades I’ve been meaning to make, in any case, and what better way to tell how well they’ll work out for the Clover, than to install them on a pair of genuine Caprian Dreadnaught Class Battleships,” he beamed. It was important to find the platinum lining in things.
“We don’t have time for upgrades; we need to strike now!” she insisted.
Spalding cocked his head in confusion. “Well, of course we do, my Lady. We can’t leave the Clover in the hands of a bunch of no-good parliamentary types, for any longer than absolutely necessary. You’ll have to fill me in on how, by Murphy’s Wretched Wrench, that came about, by the way,” he added, more than a wee bit curious. “But never fear, Chief Engineer Spalding has the solution,” he assured her, wagging a finger and speaking in the same tone as he would use on a pair of unstable hyperspace generators.
“What is that?” Akantha asked reluctantly, as if the words had been dragged out of her.
“Why, this fine filly I’m stuck in right now,” he exclaimed, slapping the bulkhead beside him, “she may be buggier than a high-strung Tilday race horse, but the hardware’s mostly good. Finish swapping out the old Imperial software, code in the last of the replacements, and we’ll be golden. She may be small, but the Invictus Rising packs a punch,” he raised his fist in the air emphatically.
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you, Wizard?” She closed her eyes and slumped back in her chair.
“The title’s Chief Engineer; if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times at least,” he said sternly, and then started pacing back and forth on the deck. “Just remember: ye can focus on the means and method, or on the desired outcome,” he started counting on his fingers, “you just stay focused on the outcome, and let Papa Spalding fix you up with the proper transportation to get the job done.”
For a moment, Akantha looked rebellious, but then she visibly sagged. “We fought so hard for this ship…it will be difficult to abandon it,” Akantha said at last.
“Means, or outcome, Lass,” he said sternly.
“What use is a Miracle worker if one does not heed his counsel,” she sighed.
“Now-now, Lass,” he began, waving a finger as if to scold her, but she spoke over the top of him.
“Make it so, Mr. Spalding,” she said imperiously and then cut the connection.
For a moment, Spalding stared at the screen, unable to believe everything that had just happened, and then his brows lowered thunderously.
“Well, what are you waiting for, you ungrateful pack of would be slackers,” he snapped, “an engraved invitation?”
“Sir,” acknowledged Gants, jumping to attention as if stung.
“Engage yer brains people, and guide in those Battleships,” Spalding waved his arms in the air, “and anything else they have roaming around out there! Do I have to do all your thinking for you?” he barked, stomping toward the nearest workstation housing an unmoving slacker.
“No, Chief—Sir,” the man replied, jumping to attention before turning to input commands at his console.
“There’s work to do on this fine piece of over-engineered Imperial fallacy they call a Strike Cruiser, but before I’m done with her, both this Cruiser and you lot will be a Phoenix reborn from these pitiful ashes. Why, we're going to upgrade this ship to within an inch of its over-engineered life. Then we'll polish these decks with the sweat from your brow and the tears from your faces. Do you hear me, you sorry lot?” His voice was steadily rising, until it was an outright roar.
The Bridge crew gave a cheer, and all around him crewmen and women jumped to their tasks.
For a moment, he was off balance. Bridge crews, he finally decided, are a strange animal. Always cheering when they should be terrified, and terrified when they should be digging their heels in. It was all very different from his usual lot down in Engineering.
He harrumphed, causing a few to jump, and a small smile to crack open on his face. It was a very small smile, but a smile all the same.
The Sector would never know what had hit it by the time they were through.
Chapter 20: A Message in a Bottle that w
as never sent
“We’ve got to turn back before they find us,” Tremblay urged.
“We can still make it through,” Heirophant disagreed.
“But at what cost,” Mike, the System Analyst gasped, pausing to lean against the side of the corridor.
“If you’ve betrayed us,” Lisa came puffing down the hall to join them, stabbing her finger under Tremblay’s nose.
“Me? I’ll be just as dead as the rest of you, if they catch us here,” he protested angrily, swatting her finger out of his face.
Mike growled at him and Tremblay rounded on the Analyst. “Anytime you want to go a few rounds with the Champ, just say the words, fat boy,” Tremblay snarled.
“I’m not fat,” said the analyst.
The little Com-Tech glared at the both of them for another few moments before leaning down and putting her hands on her knees.
“Come, there's still time to get to the hull,” the giant Gunnery Rating urged, placing a hand on the little Tech’s shoulder, as if to guide her forward. How she managed to become the leader of this little intrepid band of rebel loyalists, Tremblay could not quite grasp.
“No, the First Officer is right, blast him. There's too many patrols, if we keep going we'll likely just get ourselves killed,” Lisa Steiner said shaking off the hand.
“It doesn’t matter; they need to know the citade—” he snorted as he caught his error, “to know the ship is not returning to Capria. We have to finish this,” Heirophant said implacably.
“Not if there’s another way we can get a message out, we don't,” she said turning toward a side passage leading further back into the ship.
“If you don't do it now, they might get the warning too late, then where will our Warlord be?” the Tracto-an demanded, standing stalk-still in the middle of the maintenance passage.
“The ‘Admiral’ will probably be in the Brig, the same as before,” she retorted, putting emphasis on Jason Montagne’s honorary naval rank.
Admiral's Trial (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 17
