“Sorry, Chow Yun Phooey, but me and your boss need to talk. Privately,” Spalding informed him and turned back to the manager.
“My designation is not Chow Yun Phooey. It is Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73 and I can assure you that without services like mine any number of random errors or translation redundancies may crop up,” said the translator droid.
“Listen up, Fat Boy, I appreciate the offer but I don’t need I third wheel so buzz off. I’ve got this covered,” Spalding dismissed him.
The translation droid hesitated before stepping back. It then gestured toward its manager.
“Now then, there's just one thing I’d like to know,” the old engineer said, shoving a finger at the droid manager’s chest.
The manager buzzed a single questioning note.
“I’m here to check on the facility,” Spalding declared, glaring at the droid.
Bruce Lee something or other just stared at him stupidly. Or at least that’s what it seemed like to the old Engineer.
“What, cat got your tongue? What’s up with your production levels, is this a processing facility or not?” he demanded, his dander rising.
“Sir! Manager Bruce Lee 99 doesn’t speak fluent Confederation Standard,” advised Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73, taking a step forward.
“I said 'get back,' you tin can,” Spalding glared and then shoved the Fat Boy droid out of the way.
“Sir, racial—or in this case sentient slurs—are hardly the best way to facilitiate—” started the translator droid.
“Can it,” he said, rounding back to the manager. “Like to play dumb, do you!?” he asked his voice lowering dangerously.
The two droids exchanged a look.
“None of that high frequency communications now, droid,” warned the old Engineer, and seeing he still wasn’t going to get his point across pulled out a small bottle, took a drink and then cleared his throat.
“Speak Droid Basic like the rest of the machine world or you’re in for it,” Spalding instructed in Basic before breaking into a coughing fit.
“How do you speak our language?” demanded Bruce Lee 99 with an interrogative beep.
Spalding snorted falling back into Confederation standard. “Ever heard of the Automated Underground? A man can hardly sneak a bunch of overgrown toasters and too-big-for-their-britches grav-carts out of Capria without learning the basics,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“I’m aware of your reputation in the United Sentients Assembly, and of your working with the Automated Underground, but opinion on you is quite divided. While some claim that you are a hero of our kind, including some that you rescued, some say you are nothing more than just another anti-machine bigot out for himself,” said Bruce Lee.
“If you want forgiveness, explain why you can’t hold to your production schedule,” Spalding said eyeing the droid manager appraisingly. “As for those bellyachers, what do I care what a bunch of faulty processors like those ingrates think of me?” he rolled his eyes and then wagged his finger at the manager. “I’m a man that does what he thinks is right, that's all, and don’t go around listening to too much gossip. It’ll rot your brain. I’ve seen too many people, women in particular, especially a certain Yard Manager who…” he trailed off, muttering to himself unhappily.
“Come with me, human,” the Manager said, turning and leading the way deeper into the facility.
“Nice little operation you’ve got going here,” Spalding said as they walked through the antimatter production facility and used a lift arrive somewhere in the middle of the center section. He could feel a slight flutter in his stomach the moment they crossed through the blast doors.
“We have worked hard to make this facility operational,” said the Droid keying in a code and opening the blast door, “this is the area where we separate matter and antimatter. The two giant gravity wedges attached to either side of the main section are used to separate, stabilize and then store the antimatter.”
“Then what’s the hold-up?” asked the old Engineer, looking around the room curiously.
“There is no hold-up. We split the first shipment of antimatter directly into two parts and sent half directly to the Assembly. The second portion went to the Fleet, as directed,” said the Manager.
“You mean I’m stuck in this star system because of a clerical error!?” Spalding cried and then glared at the machine suspiciously. “And just what do you mean the first load was sent to the Droid Assembly? This is a Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet facility—you’re all employees of the fleet!”
The droid splayed his hands.
“Everything came through the proper channels. Look, here’s our electronic verification,” said the droid.
Spalding opened the file on his pad and then purpled.
“Is this some kind of sick joke?” he demanded shoving the file in the droid manager’s face. “It says here the requisition order was authorized by Advocate for the Disenfranchised, Acting Commodore of the MSP! If he’s an Acting Commodore then I’m an Admiral. What are you doing listening to that loon? Anything with his name on it is immediately suspect and should be discounted out of hand!”
The droid twitched his head from side to side like a metronome.
“I assure you all of the verifications match up with the codes we were given,” Bruce Lee 99 said stubbornly.
“More importantly, how exactly did you ship it out of this star system?” cried Spalding.
“It shipped out of here on a routine freighter run as specified in the manifest,” said Bruce Lee 99.
Spalding clutched his chest. “That stuff is highly unstable. It could blow up in transit! It needs special handling to ensure it doesn’t blow up whatever it’s transported in,” said the old Engineer.
“That’s why we sent half of our work force out with the proper equipment, to ensure it wouldn’t cause a catastrophic event. Our report is that it arrived safely and our worker droids are en route to return to us,” the manager beeped with scorn, “I presume you’re here because of our reduced production as a result of the loss of those workers?”
“I gave specific orders that everything was to be sent directly to the Lucky Clover, and instead you sent away half the antimatter and fifty percent of your work force,” Spalding said furiously.
“We were just following orders,” said Bruce Lee 99.
“Orders you should have known better than to follow. Vice Commodore, Advocate for the Disenfranchised indeed! What a crock,” Spalding said.
“If you have a complaint—” started the droid.
“It’s a conspiracy, that’s what it is! I knew I should have assigned a Lancer detail here,” Spalding declared, “the first thing after I get back I’m sending in a company of Lancers, just see if I don’t.”
“That is you’re prerogative,” shrugged the droid.
“Oh and you’re under arrest pending investigation until I get to the bottom of this,” cried Spalding.
The droid jumped. “You can’t do that! It’s a violation of my work contract,” protested Bruce Lee 99.
“Contact your legal droid if you want. but you’re coming with me,” Spalding said, leveling a finger at the droid.
Chapter 13: Grand Admiral Montagne
Two weeks ago I’d made the grand decision to cast aside any allegiance I owed to the old Confederation and embrace this new Confederation in the Spine, in all its dubious glory as the right, true and only proper authority in the Spineward Sectors.
I just hoped I hadn’t made the worst mistake of my life.
Even though I was only one jump away from Central with a course locked in, I had to admit I was feeling the worst case of buyer’s remorse in my lifetime. I couldn’t help but wonder if we all wouldn’t have been better off just telling the new Government that they could burn in the afterlife for all we cared and then thumbed my nose at them on the way out and then turned right around and went home.
As I grappled with my situation, I thought there had to be a play that let me retain my loyalty
to the Spine, yet not pledge myself in any way to a group that endorsed that jackanapes in the Governor’s chair.
Right now I was worried not so much because of our current situation, but because of where I could see this leading. Sure, everything would be just fine and dandy in the short term. I figured they needed the MSP as long as we were fighting the Imperials with everything we had. But as the esteemed Governor had just shown us, as soon as I was no longer of immediate use he would move to take advantage of us—or destroy us outright—and think nothing of it.
I couldn’t imagine the new government would be any better. Not as long as they allowed a snake like him in their body as a major faction leader.
Oh I could hope they were different, and that later on they’d see the light and eject the Governor from their ranks but as they say ‘if wishes were fishes…’ Combine that with the conundrum that I fully intended to live my life by the motto of 'never again put your life in the hands of a politician, if you can help it,' and I had the groundwork for a real stinker on my hands.
To my mind what it all boiled down to was one important question: did I think I could beat the Imperials without the new government’s help? Or in other words, did I think I was strong enough to stand off the Imperials by myself?
Since I wasn’t even sure if I could win with a united Spine behind me, I was in a real pickle. So did I once again sacrifice my safety, the safety of my fleet and risk potential death in prison or from a knife in the dark as soon as we won? When I was no longer useful to them or did I fort up, let the new Confederation soak up casualties, and try to ride to the rescue when I thought the odds were better in my favor?
In other words was I willing to act like a warlord and put everything at greater risk in order to get a better result for ‘me’.
Put that way, the answer was clear.
“Once more into our breeches,” I whispered even as the bridge started counting down to the point transfer. Maybe someday I would feel like I had no choice but for right now I chose to place my trust in the people of the Spine. I didn’t have faith in the new government not yet, they’d have to work to earn that. Instead I was going to gamble on the people.
When the Navigator started to count down, I knew that regardless of my indecision we were committed. There was no more room for hesitation it was time for a show of force. Seconds later the Royal Rage, and the two squadrons of fast Battleships accompanying us, jumped into the Central Star System.
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” I said as the shuttle ground to a halt on the tarmac. Standing up and flicking my old style Confederation cape to let it hang just right, I took a moment to mentally gather myself while the ramp was lowering. When it came to a stop, I drew a steadying breath and walked out onto the tarmac.
“Remember, Sir,” Chief of Staff Lisa Steiner reminded me, taking up a position just behind my elbow, “there will be a short meet and greet, something that we negotiated through legal, before you will be escorted into the Sector Assembly building. The provisional Grand Assembly will be meeting there until they can secure a new venue by Confederation Marines.”
“Confederation Marines,” I snorted loudly, “you mean Sector Guardsmen dressed up in newly printed uniforms.”
“Shush,” she whispered urgently, “they might be recording us and there’s no guarantee our sound scrambling technology will stand up to their countermeasures. With all the representatives here they’ll have the best countermeasures in the Spine.”
“I’ll be good,” I said sour at being quieted by my Chief of Staff, even if odds were good she was right.
Stepping off the ramp and into a sea of noise and flashing lights, I plastered a well-trained smile on my face and raised my hand in the patented royal wave.
As my vision cleared, I tensed.
In front of me stood a small clot of political figures, including the Sector Governor and an honor guard of new Confederation Marines with blaster rifles at port arms.
They all appeared happy to meet me, but when Sir Isaak smiled at me I could only imagine nefarious reasons behind the look. A motion from the person in front of the delegation sent the Marines smoothly moving towards me.
Outwardly still smiling on the inside I tensed up even more ready for literally anything. This was the moment of truth. Was it all a pack of lies intended to get me within their grasp? Or had my sincerity and show of force with the Battleships paid off, and would they follow through on their promises?
Either way my fate was no longer entirely within my own hands, and that rankled me something fierce. Inwardly steeling myself as we were surrounded by Grand Assembly security, I reminded myself that everything I did right now was for the helpless people of the Spine.
The Confederation Marines fanned out, establishing a perimeter around the MSP delegation and the politicians while the news crews and bystanders who came here for a good show looked on from the outside.
“Hello Admiral Montagne. Greetings and salutations,” said the lead politician, grinning as he approached me hand out-thrust.
I accepted his hand gravely, noting his dry grip. No sooner had he started to shake my hand than the politician immediately pivoted sideways to present a side shot to high profile camera crews assembled on scene. As swarms of hover-bots of all makes and sizes fluttered, whirred and adjusted up and downward for better angles, he continually pumped my hand up and down turning here and there for better shots.
What a leech.
Not to be completely outdone, I stiffened into a pose as I smiled and used my free hand to wave for the cameras. I hoped I came across as dashing but realistic. The news agencies could play all sorts of tricks with camera angles to make me come off almost any way they wanted.
“I realize you probably didn’t have the time to look up each and every politician in the new Spineward Confederation, but I dare say that everyone in this Sector and soon the entire Spine knows who you are,” the politician said with a pleasant expression.
“I remain as popular as ever,” I deadpanned as a group holding up a sign that read: '!!Tyrant Go Home!!' in big bold letters started jumping and shouting as they pointed to their sign and tried to gain my—and, more importantly, the media’s—attention.
The politician’s expression flickered before once again regaining its amiable appearance.
“I can see the Grand Assembly didn’t feel the need to screen the attendees of our critical first meeting,” I said with a hard edged smile.
“You wouldn’t have us trample on the people’s rights, blatantly picking winners and losers among the attendees, Jason?” Governor Isaak asked mildly.
The politician still holding my hand winced and let go.
“You would never trample the people’s rights, would you Governor? Thus there’s no need to start now. After all, it’s not like I’m all that important in the grand scope of things,” I said agreeably.
“You! What do you want to do?” demanded Isaak.
The politician quickly stepped between us. “Let me be the first to say what a real honor it is to receive the Admiral of the incredible Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet into the new Confederation at the head of its first official fleet!” he said enthusiastically while at the same time flashing a troubled smile and instinctively angling himself toward a camera for best appearance. “Let me personally apologize for the disturbance, Admiral.”
“The honor is all mine, Representative. In truth I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be welcomed back to the very world that imprisoned me and declared me a Tyrant,” I said with a winning smile to hide the edge in my words. I shot a pointed look at Governor Isaak, and the politician frowned.
“That was an unfortunate occurrence which will not soon be repeated,” the other man hastened to assure me, looking slightly ill. That wasn’t a surprise because he had just been forced to leap to my defense in front of billions of voters or see this deal fall apart. The pointed signs waving in the background certainly wouldn’t be helping his popularity any, and t
hings were only going to get worse the longer he was forced to publicly smooth my feathers.
I smiled sardonically. I would have felt some sympathy for the man if he’d cared enough to protect my arrival from the public, at least for as long as it took to hammer out an agreement. But he didn’t.
“I certainly hope we’ve moved past that sort of nonsense but you never know—” I started only to be rudely interrupted by yet another politician, this one a lady, who forced her way between myself and the man I’d just been speaking with. “Pardon me?” I asked, frowning at the discourtesy. Meanwhile my former conversation partner looked upset as he helplessly took a step back.
“Miss Kern—” he started only to be stopped by an upraised hand shoved into his face.
“My name is Kern. Valadencia Kern,” said the angry-looking woman in a skintight yellow sheath of a dress that flared up at her shoulders until the fabric reached the top of her well-styled hair.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kern,” I said reaching for her free hand. She deftly pulled her hand back and recoiled, but I continued blithely, “Regardless I believe I was speaking with, Representative...?” I stopped, realizing I didn’t know the other man’s name and looked over at him brows arched.
The female representative scowled. “Enough of that,” she interrupted rudely, taking back control of the conversation, “I come from New Prackter in the 23 Sector and I just have one question for you, Mr. Montagne,” she said hotly.
My face turned impassive. Who did this representative think I was?
“Assemblywoman Kern, if you could please,” started the man I’d been dealing with until this time while behind him Sir Isaak looked amused.
“That’s Sub-Faction Leader Kern of the Anti-Droid Alliance inside the MDL, and I only have one question for you, Mr. Montagne,” she declared.
“Admiral Montagne,” I said, lifting a brow as I prepared to watch a good show. If she thought I was some easy mark she was going to soon learn otherwise. I could tell a bad case of political grandstanding when I saw one, “And I so hope that divisive partisan politics won’t be allowed to sully the sanctity of our first meeting.”
Admiral's Nemesis Part II Page 10
