“Mr. Ambassador, what exactly have you summoned me here for?” I asked, to break the growing silence.
The Ambassador winced slightly. “The circumstances of your arrival needed to be kept secret,” he explained finally.
“With the Bailiff’s service in the pocket of so many Security Council Members, I’m almost certain this meeting will leak like a sieve, straight to the press before the day is out,” I said scornfully.
The Ambassador looked at me with a pleasant, diplomatic expression on his face. It was the sudden urge to wipe that expression from his face that made me reconsider his words.
“Unless it’s not for the purpose of hiding my presence here from anyone on the outside of this ship,” I said, my mind suddenly racing.
The Ambassador looked at me with what could only be called approval. I started to feel like I had just received a big compliment, and then I realized this man already had me unconsciously seeking his approval. What would I be doing next, eating out of his hand? I stiffened and glowered at him as I reminded myself that this man was good, and he had no qualms about using his reputation and personal presence as a weapon.
“Well played, Sir Isaac,” I congratulated, more upset with myself than I was with him. The only question now, was my original one: what now?
“Prince Jason?” he played it cool, politely denying any knowledge of what I was talking about. Although, a good-natured gleam entered his eye, which said he knew precisely what I had meant. That gleam also seemed to suggest I might be worthy of entry into his small brotherhood of secrets as well.
Again, I recognized I was feeling the urge to be sucked within his orbit. So I rolled my eyes and stared at him with exasperation. How was it possible for one man to put such a freight of meaning into a handful of words, or minute gestures? This man was clearly a true master of that which I was still only learning. I knew I would have to be doubly on my guard with him.
“Well played,” I repeated just to fill the silence, and that’s when I knew I was outmatched. Even on my guard, and prepared to resist to the bitter end, I was already dancing to his tune. The man had me dragged through the ship with a hood to keep anyone sympathetic to me from interfering, and without me saying the slightest rude or controversial thing, he had me back-footed, feeling like I was the one somehow in the wrong.
This was perhaps the most fearsome foe I had ever faced to date—my insane Uncle, being the only possible exception. The crazies had an advantage over the rest of us, in that they could be truly and totally unpredictable. The rest of my foes had been buffoons compared to this man.
Then, as if a fog had been clouding my mental vision, everything snapped back into focus and my eyes narrowed with genuine anger.
“You were the one who sent Bethany to me,” I said, my mind rushing through the implications.
The man allowed me to see the faintly sour expression that crossed his face—he flat out was letting me see it—before firmly placing the mask back in place.
“I had hoped to avoid that particular topic,” he said evenly, flicking a wrist to the side as if trying to shake water from his fingertips.
“As if it was water to be swept under the bridge,” I said wonderingly.
“Surely, a pair of men such as ourselves, can find a way to move past the childlike tantrums of what is, essentially, an overgrown child who has become enslaved to her emotions,” he said smoothly.
“You sent a backstabber like that to me as your first ploy,” I shook my head in amazement.
“Now, let’s not engage in,” he paused fractionally, and I could see he wanted to say ‘hyperbole,’ but since the woman had both figuratively, as well as literally, stabbed me in the back, saying so would be inaccurate, “name-calling over what is, essentially, ancient history, simply for argument’s sake,” he continued smoothly, barely missing a beat as he shifted verbiage in mid-sentence.
“Now why should you want to bring up such a stunning reminder of how easily you played me, set the hook, then reeled me in,” I asked dryly, determined to ignore his charisma and stay focused. I might not win this game, but I wasn’t just going to concede outright.
“Fleets and Battleships have their places, but never underestimate the power of a well-placed ploy,” he shrugged, as if to say, ‘if you want to discuss it, then we’ll discuss it.’ However, I was not a boy to be humored and sent off to bed, like an errant space hand.
“I didn’t even realize it, until I was well inside the hyper-limit,” I said, referring to my last venture into Easy Haven.
“I knew she presented the ideal adversary for you. She has the same training, making her a challenge; she’s family, so I was confident that you wouldn’t just ignore or kill her outright; and she carries such open animosity towards you, that while you might even think to be looking for the hand behind the woman, everything would be clouded by her own private designs,” he explained, leaning back in his chair confidently, even as he admitted to being the mastermind behind the Mutiny that had laid me low.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that,” I said, staring at him, memorizing every feature, every land mark, down to the last wrinkle on his face.
“Still, despite all my designs, you almost wiggled out in the end,” he frowned.
“Flattery will get you nowhere with me,” I retorted, allowing the faintest hint of scorn to color my voice.
“Playing Yagar like that was almost masterful, even with me standing there right at his shoulder to keep him from cycling off the bulkhead,” he shook his head.
“Yagar’s a fool, who should never have been placed in charge of the Sector Guard—or any other fighting formation, for that matter—he’s far too easily led around by his nose,” I said flatly.
“Thus, making him the ideal candidate for such a post, in the eyes of those who created both the position, and the Guard itself,” he disagreed. “Yagar, at least, is a man who recognizes who his masters are.”
“Unlike certain Montagne Prince-Cadets, you mean,” I riposted smoothly.
The Ambassador deigned to look cross. “Some men are born to be leaders, and others—almost as if by design—are meant to be masters of men, these seldom make good followers,” he said with a scooping gesture of his hand, as if picking up non-existent dominos and then casting them down on the table in a noisy, scattered mess.
“Meaning they’re not as easily to lead around by the nose, as some might like,” I replied, lightly slapping the table with my hand, “perhaps even yourself, Ambassador?”
He politely ignored my query. “Prince Jason,” he started.
“I prefer, Admiral, Mr. Ambassador,” I corrected, even though being reminded I was a failure as an Admiral was actually the last thing I wanted. Still, if your opponent keeps calling you one thing, it’s often wise to shake things up a bit.
“I’m afraid that might not be as…politic, let us say, as it might otherwise be,” he replied, meeting my eyes. In that moment, I could finally see the steel lever behind them that managed to move entire star nations, all in order to bring me down.
“A man once told me that courtesy cost him little, and kept him from forming dangerous preconceptions,” I began, trying for a lecture of my own, “while another wise man once indicated that this room is entirely free from outside monitoring, in an attempt to set me at my ease.” I was suddenly determined to be stubborn on the matter.
He sniffed, drawing breath in through his nose and into his lungs before speaking. “As an Ambassador, at times, I am the veritable flex within the design,” he said in diversion.
But I stared at him evenly, refusing to be diverted from what was mine—oh, not my title of Admiral, at that moment, I could keep or leave that. No, what I really wanted at this point, more than anything else, was respect. I was determined that I would have respect from this man, if I had to take it by any means necessary.
“Even alone,” he continued, obtusely ignoring my gaze, “with only a small staff, and far away from the Home world…at
times, my power can be roughly comparable to that of the King himself—when we have such an individual—or the Speaker for Parliament,” he continued, as if I was nothing more than a slightly unruly student: best humored when possible, and ignored when not.
This was intriguing, but not enough to lure me away from my imitation of a rock. He could play the rising sea all he wanted, but all he would manage was to bury me under the waves as I remained steadfast and immovable, like a stone beneath the ocean.
“Perhaps, if one is both lucky and well-positioned beforehand—not President of the Assembly,” he chuckled piteously, “no…never that. Such a position would be more like wrangling a herd of unruly goats. But Sector Governor, or whatever form and name the equivalent position may take in the future; that, my young Prince, is not outside of reach,” he said, propping a hand under his chin as he considered me with what appeared to be tolerant consideration.
“It’s Admiral,” I repeated, “and I fail to see how the fulfillment of your ambitions, or the trial and travails between now and then concerns me in the slightest. After all, I’ll be dead soon enough, and everything becomes academic for me at that point.” Even though I had been drawn out of position and was losing points in this little game we were playing, for some reason, I just didn’t care. I sensed something in this presentation…the barest sniff, if you will, of some odor that might actually be of interest.
Sir Isaac leaned sideways in his chair, as if examining me from another angle and then nodded with great gravitas. “I believe the Prince and the Ambassador are done with their little parts in this play,” he said, straightening himself. The steel that had been so well hidden within his congenial diplomatic mask, save for that one deliberate reveal earlier on in the conversation, now practically radiated from his eyes.
I leaned back, as if blown by a strong wind; such was the force of this man’s personality revealed.
“You cost me quite a bit when you almost wiggled free of my noose, Admiral Montagne,” he said my rank with deliberate intent. The respect I was searching for was now fully present in what appeared to be my greatest adversary, as he continued, “I was forced to bring the Pirate into play to counter you, and even though I knew the cost of his services beforehand, the fallout just keeps spreading…becoming more than anyone, including myself, ever expected,” he said, his eyes like grey, iron bars, drilling into me.
“I’m sorry if you underestimated my Uncle, but I refuse to lower myself to his level. Nor would I stoop to hiring such a beast in human format,” I spat, refusing to squirm under the weight of his gaze like an errant schoolboy, even though I wasn’t sorry in the least. In this specific matter, I was content to let my detestable pirate kin bring as much trouble to my enemies as possible. Because despite his polite words, or talk of honor and reputation, that’s exactly what this man was: the self-admitted architect of the Lucky Clover’s fall, and the very man who orchestrated the slaughter of my loyal crew.
“Your Uncle,” he said with precision, and then waving as one would do to dispel a bad odor from the room, “is a man limited by his ambitions, the extent of which I am aware. Let him lock horns with the Imperials in search of past glory. It will keep the both of them occupied, and allow the rest of us the time to grow—unhindered—into something worthy of the name. No, it is not the Pirate Prince of which I speak, when I speak of collateral damage.”
“Well, as fascinating as all this sounds, I’m lost in the weeds then,” I said waving the matter away as if inconsequential, since I doubted he was about to enlighten me. Which doubt proved well-founded when he just shook his head as if at a mildly cunning, if completely childish, ploy to gain information.
“Jean Luc, Arnold Janeski, Senator Cornwallis, or even,” he snorted derisively, “Jason Montagne, Tyrant and Scourge of the Spaceways, or half a dozen other interests; I don’t care who it is that thinks he can ride roughshod over this sector like it was his own personal fiefdom, to do with as he pleases. He will find Sir Isaac LePierre arrayed against him, and I am not a man to be crossed, even if I do say so myself,” he said almost melodiously, but his iron-grey eyes were still firm and unyielding.
“Who’s running rough shod over anything?” I exclaimed in genuinely outraged protest. “Whoever it is, it certainly isn’t me! I’ve done nothing but try to help and protect the people and worlds of this sector, ever since Janeski handed me the keys to that murthering old Battleship!”
“Having met you in person, and having personally reviewed all the relevant logs from your ship, I am willing to allow that you believe what you are saying when you make such a claim,” he gave me the grace of a nod, and then shrugged. “Sadly, there was no way to know that at the time, and quite honestly we—and by that, I quite literally mean no one—can afford to have a loose cannon running around the sector, claiming authority vested in him by the Old Confederation and generally doing whatever the Hades it is he pleases.”
“If you’re so influential, powerful and all that on the level of the King or Speaker of Capria, and you know the truth about what I was doing, then what’s with all the Murphy Mouse, and kangaroo courts,” I asked exasperatedly, and, despite myself, greatly fearing the answer.
“You have sacrificed much for the people of this sector, which is why you are now being called on to sacrifice even more on their behalf,” he said, producing two different scrolls, and placing them on the table.
“What are these,” I asked wearily, leaning away as if something distasteful had entered the room.
He flicked the one on my right forward with a single index finger. “Sign that and you will live out the rest of your natural life in a comfortable prison cell, with all the conveniences of modern society at your beck and call,” he said smoothly, but his smile had an uncomfortable edge to it.
“What’s the catch,” I asked suspiciously, even though everything inside me screamed to take the deal. When he dropped an old style fountain pen on the table, I all but snatched it out of his hand before it had hit the table.
“Simply plead no contest to the crimes entailed within, and throw yourself upon the mercy of the Sector Judge,” he replied.
“You should have just asked me in the beginning, I’d have said yes,” I muttered, rapidly unrolling the scroll and giving it a perfunctory scan before putting the point of the pen on the dotted line.
“Also, you stipulate in there that you were a complete patsy; a figurehead, as if were,” he added, and I froze.
“A figurehead for what?” I demanded.
“Why, your Officers and Crew of course. You will walk out of here, if not a free man, certainly a comfortable one. But they, on the other hand…well, someone has to hang, and if it’s not the Tyrant of the Space Ways, then the men and women who secretly propped him up will do,” he smiled, and it was as if all his congeniality disappeared into a yawning pit of spite and hatred.
“I think I’ll pass,” I replied an instant after he finished, flicking the scroll back to him.
“The other offer is less generous,” he warned, after a momentary smirk.
I looked off to the side and raised one eyebrow. “Go on,” I said reluctantly.
“In it, you plead guilty to the crimes of which you are accused, make clear you are the sole architect of a maniacal scheme to rule the galaxy—starting with this sector,” he pointed a finger down at the table, “and take sole responsibility for the actions of yourself, and those who labored under your rule of fear and terror.”
“And,” I prompted.
“You take the long drop, before a live audience,” he replied smoothly, sounding like a chef describing the evening’s menu, “while your crew returns home. They will, of course, no longer be a part of the Caprian SDF, but they will be alive and well. They will also have my personal guarantee that there will be no purge, or charges, upon their arrival on the home world.”
I stared at him with pure hatred in my eyes. I had always wondered what my death would look like, and it appeared that this was the
man who signed the order. Bethany’s voice suddenly rang in my memory, ‘I always knew you were born to hang, Flat Nose,’ I could almost hear her say.
Then my shoulders slumped in defeat.
“So which will it be? Door number one, door number two, or we can just go straight back to the Kangaroo court—as you call it—and in the end, I’ll be the final arbiter of events,” he said, giving each scroll a little shake. “And let me assure you now, that I will likely be disinclined to show mercy.”
I stared at the table, as the decision I had always known I would have to make—assuming I was insanely lucky, which apparently, I was—staring me right in the face.
“Ducking the Planetary Piracy charge must have really shook you, or you would have come here before now,” I said, my eyes unfocused, my mind desperate to avoid this bitter cup set before me. Let my men die for my crimes, or sign my own death warrant…what a choice.
“It was the only one of the charges the Member from Pacifica III could have possibly abstained on, when the Committee voted for execution. Exploiting a woman in her ‘primitive, natural state’, is almost as repulsive to the voters back on her home on Pacifica III, as standing by and allowing someone to be executed without a single vote to the contrary,” he said agreeably.
I shook my head as I turned and stared at the scrolls.
“Final offer, Admiral,” he said, the last word more than slightly mocking.
“I was always born to hang,” I muttered, reaching out and snatching the appropriate scroll away from him. “Give me that,” I said, even though it was already in my hand. I furiously scrawled my signature on the dotted line, and tossed it back to him.
“There, and to Hades with you; it’s done,” I said, folding my arms over my chest like an upset teenager. I knew I was doing it, but I couldn’t help myself.
He glanced at it and looked over me, and the evil little smirks and smiles he had been giving me melted away as he looked at me with something akin to respect.
Admiral's Trial (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 24
