Admiral's Trial (A Spineward Sectors Novel:)

by Wachter, Luke Sky

  “You cooperation will be noted,” Tremblay acknowledged, tapping on his console as if making a note.

  The Captain pasted on a sickly smile and Tremblay cut the connection.

  He was just leaning back in his seat when a fist punched him in the shoulder. “You enjoyed terrorizing that man,” the little Com-Tech said, hands on her hips and her jaw jutting.

  Tremblay lowered his forehead and stared up at her through his eyebrows.

  “We had a mission to accomplish; I did so in a way that was both completely true, and at the same time—if anyone on the Larry looks—will appear to be nothing more than a low-ranking Intelligence Officer throwing his weight around. I also convinced the Captain of that ship to let us hang around as long as we need to, in order to complete our mission,” he said coldly, his eyes drilling into hers.

  “Yeah, but you didn’t have to enjoy making him afraid,” she said angrily.

  “Part of the mission was making him afraid, so he wouldn’t ask questions or raise any alarms until we upload the program. Thankfully for all involved, it appears that Mike is about to succeed; otherwise, we’d have to board that ship, where I would well and truly put the fear of Larry into everyone on board, until our mission was accomplished,” he said flatly.

  She opened her mouth to retort, but Tremblay cut her off.

  “Oh, get off your high horse and step out from that ivory tower you live in, at least long enough to realize the game you’re playing! I enjoy executing a mission, and in this case, part of the mission was intimidating a freighter captain. Since it looks like I did that part well,” he shrugged and smiled, “yes: I rather enjoyed it. A mason takes pride in a job well done, and so does an Intelligence Officer in the field.”

  “I would rather die, than be like you, and make the choices you do on a daily basis,” she said glaring at him.

  “You may yet get that chance, assuming your mythical help never actually arrives,” he replied, turning back to slowly run the shuttle around the freighter, as if on the visual inspection he claimed. Then a thought occurred to him, “Very possibly, even if they do.”

  “Blast you, Tremblay; you have no heart,” she hissed, turning around and stomping out of the cockpit, making her way back to the cabin proper.

  “You may get your chance to do that, also,” he muttered. Go back into the cabin, little girl pretending to be a leader, he seethed, and let your pet Intelligence Officer go and get his hands dirty on your behalf, doing the tasks you find too distasteful to do yourself. Tasks you probably couldn’t even do if you tried!

  “Besides I do have a heart,” he mumbled in protest, “it’s just two sizes too small.” There was simply no other way to make it in Intelligence if one’s heart bled for everyone, and everything. As a recent Junior Lieutenant on his first deployment, he had thankfully never had to do any interrogations…yet. He had the training though, and would do it if ordered. Primarch Glue did not count, as Jason had taken the lead on that one before the beast had displayed resistance to standard chemical interrogation, and Jason had forbidden any ‘stronger’ measures.

  “It’s done,” declared Mike, handing his slate over to Steiner, who checked his work before giving her nod of approval.

  “I’m taking us out of here; course back to the ship,” Tremblay said.

  Lisa Steiner scowled in his direction, and the Lancer gave him the kind of look that left him feeling more uneasy than anything the Com-Tech could throw his way in two lifetimes.

  Chapter 26: A Briefing? What a Novel Concept

  This time, they actually gave me a whole two minutes to confer with my Lawyer—in a well-fortified side office, with visible cameras in every corner of the room.

  Cynically, I wondered if they were only allowing me this short conference so that if later generations (a historian, perhaps) questioned the validity of these proceedings, they had a nice visual record of me being ostensibly allowed all my supposed civil rights. Then they could deny it: ‘What do you mean, he was railroaded? Look at all the due process he was afforded; he even had a lawyer, and a chance to construct a defense!’

  I snorted derisively. Sure. A whole two minutes of heavily-recorded ‘privacy,’ that allowed my enemies to hear every moment of said defense.

  “We have to be quick,” Mr. Harpsinger said, glancing at the four corners of the room with furtive little motions of his head.

  “What’s your first name,” I asked, leaning back in my chair and refusing to be sucked into the whirlpool of fear he was projecting.

  My little Lawyer blinked at me. “My-my name, Sir?” he asked, as if in a daze. Then, his eyes seemed to focus on me—I mean really focus on me—, as if for the first time, “we only have a little time here; let’s not waste it on something as unimportant as that!”

  “I’m serious here; you’ve been my lawyer for how long? And to my great embarrassment and shame, I can’t for the life of me remember your first name,” I said declining to be rushed. Enough things were already dancing to the tune of the Security Council; there was no reason I had to spend the few moments where I could avoid them, dancing away as well.

  “Dartanion,” he said staring at me, “you’re serious you never learned my first name?”

  “Nope,” I said, lacing my hands behind my head, grateful to my latest near-death experience for at least reducing my manacles to the cuffs at my wrists and ankles.

  “For our strategy,” he said briskly, pulling out his data slate as he spoke, “I don’t want to go into too much detail for obvious reasons, but I’m thinking this-”

  I waited until he glanced up at me to interrupt. Then I put a finger to my lips. “Shhh,” I said.

  His mouth snapped shut like a metal trap, and I felt sorry to do it to him—I really did—but we had more important things to discuss than my ultimately futile defense.

  “Dartanion Harpsinger, you have done a wonderful job defending me,” the Lawyer opened his mouth, but I lifted a single finger to silence him.

  “The way you took our Marriage Defense and ran with it, along with vigorously defending me to the limits of your abilities,” I shook my head, letting him see my approval and admiration, “I like to think in any fair court, the Planetary Piracy charge is well and truly stuffed.” Then I shrugged, “But if it goes against us, I’m confident when they have to deal with the Tracto-an’s later on, they’ll suffer for every moment of vindictive satisfaction they took, ramming that one through. This is a case of real politics, running head on, with short-term local political gains.”

  “We’ve held hearings on the Marriage and Planetary Piracy charge every day for the last week,” said my lawyer, and I was happy to let him this time. “Yesterday, the Sector Judge walked out halfway through, and today we’re moving onto the Ship Piracy issues.”

  “See? Battle won,” I said with a smile that I slowly allowed to wilt, “unfortunately, that will only make the charges they pin on me later, appear to have the smell of legitimacy.” I frowned, to show I wasn’t taking this lightly, but it was more for his benefit than mine.

  “We can still fight this, Admiral. In any reasonable hearing, the truth will come out! We did our best out there, and we saved lives!” Harpsinger said, squeezing his slate with both hands so hard, that I could see his thumbs turning white.

  “This isn’t about what we actually did. That was a mixed bag, but,” I gestured for him not to interrupt, “on the whole, yes…we did some good. Okay, a lot of good,” I allowed, “but right now, a lot of people are scared that the Confederated Empire is gone. In response, the Rump has decided they need a villain; someone to blame—and see executed—so they can feel better about themselves in a galaxy gone mad. When up feels down, and down feels up, and nobody knows which way to turn.”

  “It’s wrong, Admiral, and a complete violation of everything the Law is supposed to stand for,” he protested weakly, but like me, he knew in his heart of hearts that there was only one way I was walking out of here: through the hangman’s noose.
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  “Call me Jason,” I said impulsively, “we’re in this together, till the bitter end. There’s no point in standing on formality.”

  “Yes,” he hesitated, “Jason, Sir,” he floundered for a moment. “I still think there’s a way we can lay the groundwork for life imprisonment—or even a commuted Sentence—if we work it hard and get a little bit of luck,” he said, hunching his shoulders and looking as fierce as a non-violent man like Mr. Harpsinger could ever look.

  “You know what? You’re not all that bad, for a Parliamentary man, Dartanion Harpsinger,” I chuckled, looking at him almost fondly.

  “Thank you. You’re not that bad yourself, for being one of those bloodthirsty, Royal Montagne types, Admi—, I mean, Jason,” he said, giving me a quick smile. “Now, about the Members, I think what we need is—” his voice trailed off as the door to our little conference room swung open, and a bailiff (a new man from the last one, who had almost killed me) walked in.

  “Time to go before the Committee,” he said.

  “Back into the lion’s den, my good friend,” I said, getting to my feet and strutting toward the door. “The Security Council waits not on the whims of lesser men.”

  “Come on, you,” the bailiff gave me a sour look, and then reached over to grab me by the chain hanging between my wrists. Picking me up until I dangled, my feet now held inches above the floor and all the weight of my body on my shoulders, he growled in my ear,

  “My parents emigrated from Capria, so I know about your type and have no use for it. Plus, you embarrassed the bailiff service and got my good mate fired. Just give me a reason,” he rumbled.

  “Don’t worry, my good man; I will most certainly hold your ignorance against you later on,” I assured him in my lightest possible voice.

  Hearing the threat, he ignored my levity and gave me a teeth rattling shake, which just so happened to slam me against the door frame on the way out.

  “Oops,” he said.

  This time, I was wise enough to keep my silence. My ribs ached enough, after that little slam, to shut even ‘my’ mouth.

  Chapter 27: A Gag Order

  Back in front of the Security Council, the days passed like a blur.

  They brought up many of the same, tired arguments I’d been expecting, and we countered them the best we could in the face of their scoffing. We claimed that I was a real Admiral, and we outlined the Confederation Fleet of which I was the official commander. We even supplied proof of such, bolstering our position that I had the power to command, and take a prize mutinous vessels. The committee was having none of it.

  Only two things actually surprised me.

  The first was that traitorous Settlement Ship Captain; the one who leveraged me into giving him the main hyper dish off the Belter’s Settlement Ship, so he could leave us all behind.

  The man had the audacity to claim I threatened him, and then illegally took control of his ship; whereupon I again threatened him, with something along the lines of leaving him and his future colonists stranded in a ship rapidly losing its air supply.

  Which was patently false! I had only threatened to leave the man and his ship to their own devices—if a couple times…I suppose one could argue that I strong-armed him into taking on refugees from the Promethean ship—who were still drifting in cold space at the time!

  Watching as he put the worst possible spin he could on the events (and conveniently leaving out any mitigating factors, like the fact that I showed up in the nick of time to save the day and forced another group of settlers to give him their hyper dish), I silently swore that someday, I would have my revenge on that man.

  The other surprise was when a Member from Prometheus—not at all grateful when I pointed out I had saved something on the order of fifty thousand colonists from his world with my aforementioned strong-arm tactics on the Caprian Settlement ship—produced a record he claimed were the final last moments of Captain Stood.

  “A fabrication of the lowest sort, for shame Committee Member and Members, for shame,” I declared in the middle of court when that was produced. I knew with total certainty there was no way they could have gotten their hands on the recording devices of that ship: I took that ship a prize and then made sure it left with us! Why, even now, Captain Middleton was roaming around on patrol…wherever he had managed to get himself off to after all this time.

  I was shouted down by almost the entire committee.

  “The Witness is here simply to understand the context of the questions which will be asked later on during the hearings. Until such a time as he is directly addressed, I am hereby instructing the Bailiff to place a gag on the would-be Tyrant of Cold Space,” said the Right Honorable Guffy Balroon.

  “The Tyrant of Cold Space,” I shouted, “this is an outrage, a slander of the first order; the committee ought to be ashamed of itself!” I was just getting going, when the Bailiff grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and forced a plastic, air-filled ball in my mouth. The ball expanded until it filled my mouth to the edge of discomfort, at which point he secured the straps attached to it around my head.

  I pounded the desk and tried to speak through my nose, to no effect: the Chairman’s gag order had effectively gagged me.

  After that, I was forced to watch as their recreation of events unfolded. However, when Akantha came through clear as day, demanding answers from Captain Stood in that icy cold voice of hers, and physically abusing his person when he gave her some lip, my certainty was shaken.

  The Settlement Ship Captain began a tirade of insults, beginning with myself and those under my command, the government as a whole, and then Akantha. Certain names were used to describe her—names which are better left unsaid, as far as I’m concerned—and one of Akantha’s Honor Guard stepped forward and unceremoniously decapitated the man. It was at that moment that I was forced to admit that, somehow, they might have possibly managed to get a hold of an actual record of the event.

  After Stood’s body hit the deck on the screen, Akantha looked embarrassed and started to chew the guard out for stealing her rights. She then launched into a tirade about what was she going to say to me, when she had to explain why she had no prisoner, and right around that time was when the holo-screen cut to darkness. As I delved through my memory of that particularly hazy event, I remembered she had told me he was dead, and then gave me the sort of look that challenged me to demand answers. But maybe my memory was playing tricks on me.

  My Lawyer tapped on my screen and then showed me the screen.

  -True?- it read.

  I gave a shrug and then tapped my own message, since my mouth was currently unavailable for use.

  -Beats me- I replied, although ‘No Clue’ had run close second, as I had considered how to reply.

  After that, it was just long days of being held before the committee, unable to defend myself or put things in their proper context due to the Chairman’s gag order. While my Lawyer manfully tried to defend me, he just hadn’t been there when many of the decisions referenced by the court had been made. He could hardly be blamed; he had been stuck down in the ship’s legal department, filling out forms for any of the crew who needed anything official recorded when all of this went down. How could he mount an accurate defense when A) we had a grand total of two minutes prior to every session to go over things, and B) I was limited to tapping out rebuttals on a data slate, by which time the Committee had, for the most part, already rushed on.

  I was almost happy to return to the Dungeon Ship each day, after the trashing they were giving us in the hearings.

  Chapter 28: A Distinguished Visitor

  A black hood was placed over my head before I was escorted out of my cell, and taken to a place on the Dungeon Ship I had never been to before. When we arrived, I was forced into a seat.

  “Not so rough,” I protested, as my back spasmed from the force of being driven into my chair by a pair of gauntleted hands. The number of bruises I had picked up from the Security Council’s Bailiff service—the
same men that guarded me both at Central and on the Dungeon Ship during my time as their ‘guest’—now created an impressive and painful full body patina.

  When the Bailiffs took their revenge for getting one of their men canned, they weren’t kidding around. It felt like I was thrown against every doorway, table, and chair along the way from my cell to my seat in front of the UPN Security Council. I suppose even the ones that might have been more professional felt no shame in standing aside, as their mates had a chance to get some of their own back from the False Tyrant of Cold Space.

  Although, what was I supposed to expect, when half the members of said council came from regimes more…let us say, ‘repressive,’ than not?

  That said, if I thought being called the Little Admiral or the False Admiral had been bad, being addressed as the Tyrant of Cold Space grated something fierce. That title managed to get under my skin in a way the others never had managed.

  “Remove the hood and leave,” instructed a voice I was almost certain I recognized, and when the Bailiff started to jerk my head from side to side, the voice added, “without any undue brutality, or I might feel compelled for the sake of my honor and reputation to remember your name, Bailiff,” the voice rebuked in an upper class Caprian accent.

  I sat there blinking at the lights around me, while the Bailiff clomped out of the room.

  “This room, designed during the tail end of the AI wars—the whole ship was, actually, but this room even more so—was built to be impenetrable from outside electronic monitoring of any sort,” said a man in the uniform and cape of an official Caprian Ambassador.

  “Sir Isaac LePierre,” I greeted, my eyes having finally adjusted to the light of the room.

  “Your Highness,” he replied, bowing at the waist.

  I sat there unimpressed, staring down at him in proper royal disdain. I was forced into this room with a hood on my head and battle-suits to either side; courtesy might separate us from the AI’s, but it was going to take more than a meaningless honorific to win any favorable regard from me.