“Of all the unholy Imps, that’s all he can say at a time like this?” Laurent said grim-faced.
“It doesn’t get much worse than this, timing-wise,” I agreed, straightening up and trying to project resolve and determination, “but on the other hand we’ve been through a lot more catastrophic situations. We'll get through it.”
“Of course we will,” Laurent agreed scowling.
“It looks like we’re going to have to step up to the plate and buy the Chief Engineer some time,” I said, taking a deep breath, “alright then. Captain, prepare to bring the Phoenix around to protect the 2.0 and the lighter ships. We know they’re after us—or, more exactly, me—so let’s dangle ourselves the ship out there, do a quick little dance, and hope they take the bait.”
Laurent cleared his throat pointedly, “That’s my ship you’re talking about making like she’s some kind of port side dancing girl trying to pick up Johns, Admiral.”
“If the shoe fits,” I shrugged.
“Oh-ho, you did not just say that,” Laurent’s sharp look turned into an outright glare.
“Just run your ship and get their attention, Captain,” I said, waving him off forcefully.
“We’ll talk about this later,” said Laurent.
“You and my wife,” I grumbled, but even I was wise enough to maintain my silence beyond that.
Chapter 12: Let the Gloating Begin!
“Look at her dance,” Isaak sneered, doing a little jig as the Battleships, one after the other, slammed a powerful broadside into Montagne’s little 'flagship' before beginning to roll in order to present their other side.
“Shields down, some out-gassing and…now she’s rolling, Captain Bluetooth,” reported Tactical.
“Like a fox, we’ve run you to ground,” Isaak gloated.
“If the Admiral hadn’t sacrificed his legs in order to join and protect those derelicts, he would never have even been so much as kissed by our lasers,” Bluetooth said with a frown, “what I don’t understand is: why? Why did he stop, Governor? That’s the question.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Isaak said dismissively and then stopped himself, “I mean, look, obviously why he did it could be very important, and to my mind I’d go with a misplaced sense of greed combined with loyalty, but I could be biased. I’ll admit, however, for the purposes of this discussion why he did it is less important than the fact that, for all intents and purposes, we’ve caught him and hurt him.”
“I take your point, and I hope you’re right. But I’ve looked at the record of his exploits and as far as our information on the man seems to go, when Admiral Montagne does something inexplicable it’s almost always followed up by a sudden and unexpected side strike no one—including his confidants, and possibly even himself—was expecting. So if it’s all right with you, I mean to keep my guard up, Governor,” he said, his tone making it clear that even if the Isaak did care he, the Captain, was just going to do it anyway.
“You must do what you feel is right, of course,” the Governor said easily, “in the face of a Montagne, an overabundance of caution is never the wrong way to go for a military man such as yourself. Countering any last-minute wild gambits is your job, after all, and why you are here. Far be it from me to impede that. That said, for myself I intend to take as much joy in his comeuppance as possible. His chickens are finally come home to roost and I intend to savor every minute of it,” he finished with satisfaction.
“I just don’t want to be counting any chickens before they’re hatched,” Captain Bluetooth countered.
“Just watch out for the usual. Minefields, pop-up missile silos, jamming fields, hidden ships, et cetera. You know, the usual last ditch desperate attempts to stave off the inevitable long enough to somehow turn the tables,” he said waving an airy hand shooing the Captain off.
Bluetooth opened his mouth and then closed it. “Aye aye, Governor,” the captain acknowledged with a shake of his head.
He didn’t say anything further because he didn’t see a way for the Tyrant to slip through their fingers this time anyways. At least not without the fight of his life and minus anything larger than that medium cruiser flagship of his at any rate, he silently amended.
The Tyrant might fight to run away just so that he could live to run another day, but that was about as far as the Captain was willing to give him.
Of course, the Tyrant of Cold Space hadn’t received his peculiar moniker just because he had a good PR Department behind him and his exploits, but rather—as far as Bluetooth could tell—because he was almost as wily a tactician as he was a deluded megalomaniac.
It was going to be interesting to see how things played out.
Over the next several minutes, the lead Battleships advanced into range of the MSP Flagship and the fleet of derelicts she was protecting and began to pound the Tyrant’s cruiser.
The Furious Phoenix twisted and turned, actively placing itself between the Battleship’s turbo-lasers and the hulks drifting powerlessly behind her.
“Captain Bulmorni’s ships have achieved shield punch-through, Captain,” Bluetooth’s Tactical Officer said with a bloodthirsty gleam in his eye as Bulmorni’s ships completed their roll and the next salvo rocked the Tyrant’s ship, causing MSP Furious Phoenix to shudder and start venting atmosphere.
“Acknowledged, Tac-team,” Bluetooth said keeping up a stoic front as he continued to observe the developing battle plot with a sharp gaze. If the Tyrant was going to make his play, this would be an opportune moment to do so.
Then Bulmorni’s Battleships reached the edge of their engagement envelope without receiving more than a handful of shots returned in anger and had to come about and begin decelerating without anything happening.
Bluetooth frowned. “How long before the Isaak Newton reaches engagement range?” he demanded.
“Within the half hour, Captain,” Navigation came back on the snap with the answer.
His frown deepened.
“Helm, slow the ship; I want to extend the time to intercept from a half hour to forty eight minutes seventeen seconds. Coms, get on the horn and inform our Cruiser escort that they are to maintain current course and speed while they act as beaters with their sensors cranked up to maximum, and then tell the Battleships they are to maintain position on the Isaak Newton,” Bluetooth ordered.
There was a brief but notable pause. “Aye aye, Sir,” answered the Helm, with Coms acknowledging close behind him.
Isaak cocked an eyes brow. “Something up?” he asked.
Bluetooth ignored him, “Tactical, what’s the status on MSP Lucky Clover, MSP Royal Rage, and anything else MSP that’s Cruiser or larger drifting alongside the derelicts?”
“MSP Lucky Clover continues in a low-powered state, no indication she’s begun charging the capacitor for their so-called Hyper Plasma Cannon; MSP Royal Rage shifted position alongside MSP Furious Phoenix in what appeared to be an attempt to block any strike by Bulmorni's ships on MSP Lucky Clover and the derelicts. Anything else is either at a half-power status or floating dead in space and kept from floating away with bucking cables,” reported Tactical.
Bluetooth’s frown deepened.
“Captain?” Sir Isaak prompted.
Magnifying the plot, the Sector Guard Captain observed the way everything in the view screen seemed to be clustered around the half-built-and-badly-damaged MSP Lucky Clover, as if everything—even the derelicts—were there for her protection. And then there were the strange, over-sized pylon-like constructs framing the fleet of damaged and derelict warships. From their size and placement, the pylons were too big to be anything other than some kind of system defense—or possibly communications platforms—but they were too few in number and too slender a reed for the Tyrant to rely upon.
Something was off.
“Captain Bluetooth!” the Governor exclaimed.
Bluetooth’s head snapped around abruptly at the other man's outburst. Apparently satisfied and somewhat consoled by finally securing the Cap
tain’s attention, Governor Isaak partially relaxed, “What’s the problem, Captain?”
“Something just doesn’t feel right, Sir,” Bluetooth reported, “everything about their formation makes absolutely no sense. They don’t have the chops, in the form of combat power, to contend with us. And yet they’re in some kind of defensive formation, as if all the ships—including the captures they are so desperate to keep out of our hands—are set up to protect that ship,” his finger thrust out to hover over the icon of the MSP Lucky Clover. "But if it’s an attempt at a defense formation using derelicts and half-powered warships, it has to be just about the most incompetent formation I’ve ever seen. If we destroyed anything with a power plant, everything is packed so tightly together that they'd risk a cascade of ship-to-ship impacts that just might destroy half the hardware.”
“Hmm,” Isaak said like he’d just tasted something sour, “I think perhaps you’re reading too much into this. Jason Montagne’s finally kicked a steel plate and run into something he’s never been able to deal with,” he thrust a thumb at his chest, “me—and the Guard of course. So he finally panicked, ran off, and tried to hole up in the middle of nowhere with everything we want positioned around him as negotiating leverage. Not that it will do him any good, of course. Even if he’s set everything to blow, my previous offer is completely off the table. He’s not getting so much as half the original deal, and that’s final.”
“While I’m strictly a Guard Officer and I couldn’t say one way or the other if this is a negotiating ploy, if it is I’d have to say it’s a pretty dumb one, Sir. Maybe I’m reading too much into the situation, or just plain seeing things, but when a man as blasted competent as the Tyrant is—or at least as his advisers are—makes an inexplicable move, I start to get…itchy, Governor,” reported Bluetooth grimly, “real itchy.”
Isaak’s eyes narrowed. “I hear what you’re saying, Captain, and I still think you’re probably wrong but there’s one way we can find out,” mused the Governor.
“There is?” Bluetooth cocked his head in surprise.
“Most indubitably. Open a hailing frequency to the Furious Phoenix and tell then them it’s Sector Governor Isaak for Admiral Jason Montagne,” instructed the Governor.
Chapter 13: To Gloat or Not to Gloat…Let the Gloating Begin Again!
“Governor Isaak, what a pleasant surprise,” Jason Montagne said with that incipient royal smile of his, “My time is rather precious at the moment so if we could hurry this conversation right along I’d greatly appreciate it.”
“Did you think you could fool me?” Isaak demanded, making sure to put just enough jut in his jaw to project the proper emotional state.
“I’ve fooled you about any number of things, Governor,” Montagne drawled, his face just a little too smooth and unaffected as he responded to Isaak’s highly-trained mind. “What have I done to get your goat today, your Excellency.”
Isaak frowned. “As arrogant as ever, I see,” he said. Just like all the rest of your bloodline, the Governor silently added. It has to have been wired into the genetic code.
“Is it arrogant to speak the truth?” Montagne asked.
“The jig’s up, Son,” Isaak replied, ignoring the quip.
The young Montagne lifted a brow as his only response and Isaak’s frowning lips started to curl upwards.
“I’ll admit it was a nice scheme—fascinating, even—but you’re not the only one with a set of competent advisers behind you. And, Vice Admiral, you may have the better part of a planet to draw your best personnel from but remember that I have the best minds in the entire Sector,” Isaak paused, waiting for a response that didn’t come before continuing, “but now that we know what you’re up to there’s no way you’ll pull it off.”
Reaching a hand into the inner pocket of his outdated Confederation uniform, Jason Montagne pulled out a toothpick and examined it before putting it into his mouth and rolling it around on his teeth with every evidence of satisfaction. “Since you’re the ones chasing us and you seem to believe I’m up to some sort of dastardly plot, I really don’t see the percentage in trying to dissuade you further,” the young Scion of House Montagne said after a reflective pause. “I mean, it just doesn’t seem in my best interests regardless of the truth of the matter, now does it?”
The governor felt a chill and, outside the view of the holo-pickup, he grabbed a data slate and quickly dashed out a message for Bluetooth. The Captain nodded and then turned away.
Isaak noted how the burgeoning young warlord on his screen noted his distraction, but failed to remark upon it.
“Honestly, I don’t understand what drives men like you to fall into infighting at the first opportunity. And over what? A handful of battleships that we, the MSP, captured?” the young Montagne asked, leaning forward and going on the attack.
“'A handful of battleships',” Isaak mocked, pleased to see he’d elicited a response even if not nearly as pleased as what it implied, “you say that as if it were peanuts and not the literal balance of power in the Sector. You’ve got more than two full Core Worlds' worth of derelict ships of the wall—warships that were, if I’m not mistaken, in fact captured by the united forces of this Sector and not your personal fleet—and while you speak to me of ‘infighting’, I have to consider the balance of power in the Sector and the best interest of its people.”
“The balance of power...is that all you think about?” Montagne said angrily. “That’s your justification for attacking this fleet when the threat of a renewed Imperial offensive hangs over our heads?”
“You don’t need to play it up for the cameras,” Isaak snorted, “the Reclamation Fleet has been bested, its flagship destroyed and its leadership decapitated. You were there. In fact, you were the one who sent them packing.”
“Let’s forget such questions as 'where were you during the battle, Governor?'and ask: have you actually watched a replay of the battle?” the young Montagne asked with disbelief. “They still had a lot of fight in them when they jumped out of this star system. We didn’t drive them off—they left, Governor! You, me, everyone in this entire Sector of space—and those beyond!—are at risk.”
“There you go again, trying to make everything about you. Get over yourself,” Isaak said flatly, “I can assure you that we the Sector Government have everything under control. In truth, even if the threat is as dire as you claim, why, that only makes what we’re doing here all the more necessary.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” Jason Montagne snapped, “if the remnants of the Reclamation Fleet in Sector 26 attack, you really think that justifies attacking me? Just what are you thinking, Governor?” the young Montagne demanded furiously.
“I think that by spreading those battleships in need of repair over the shipyards of half a dozen Core Worlds, I can have them repaired, crewed, and back out defending this Sector much faster than you ever could, Vice Admiral. Get over yourself and, as you keep saying, look at the bigger picture,” Isaak smirked.
“Unbelievable. Up is down. Left is Right. And once again I need to take one for the team. What’s next? Put my head on the chopping block and thank you for the service you’re about to provide? You’ve finally lost it,” the young Admiral declared, jumping out of his chair and glaring at Isaak, “I defend you and this Sector using every bit of blood, sweat and treasure the MSP possesses and instead of a 'thank you,' you stab us in the back and expect us to be grateful?”
“I never expected gratitude. It’s a hard world over there. But please put aside your ginormous Montagne ego for one precious minute and think it through: not only do we have you dead to rights but, more importantly, it’s time to stop playing star-sailor and come home. Acknowledge governmental authority, set aside your personal vendetta with me and make the ships, officers and crews of the MSP what they are and were always meant to be: loyal members and protectors of this Sector.”
“A nice little piece of sophistry, Governor, but unfortunately for you we’re not biting,” Jaso
n Montagne said dismissively.
“It’s time to put aside this childish fantasy you seem to cherish,” Isaak said seriously.
“Oh, and which fantasy is that? Because as far as I can see, I’m the only one around on this com-channel that has his head screwed on straight and is seeing the galaxy for what it is: a dangerous place where people like me far too often die fighting so that people like you can screw us over as soon as we come back from the border,” Jason said cynically.
“I hate to break it to you but, just like there’s no tooth fairy and no Santa Clause, there’s just as certainly no Confederation out there waiting in the wings to validate everything you’ve done. Grow up,” Isaak said.
“Nothing you can say is going to convince me that I should allow a backstabber like you to decide our fates. The people of Sector 25 may have placed their lives in your hands but I’ll be good and blasted before I willingly give you power over the lives of myself and my people ever again,” Jason said with ringing finality.
“They abandoned the Spine and now it’s up to us to forge our own destiny—together, I had hoped—but clearly all you’re interested in is fear-mongering No amount of viewing our borders with alarm is going to save you now, Vice Admiral. Even though you kidnapped me and threatened to blow up my shuttle, I still offered you a toast but you refused to drink it. Very well,” Isaak said flatly and then turned to Bluetooth, “take us in and prepare to give these rebels everything they deserve, Captain.”
“With pleasure, Sir,” Bluetooth said savagely.
“You’d rather shoot your own side because we won’t bow down to your authority, when at any moment the Reclamation Fleet could return, and you still dare to call it principled? You really are something, Sir Isaak,” Jason sneered, “In a way I'd be glad…if it wasn’t so tragic.”
“They say you can lead a horse to water, shove its nose in that water, kick it in the ass all you like, but you still can’t make it drink. You’re about to die, so it doesn’t really matter, but on the off chance you don’t die I’ll be sure to take your alarmist rhetoric under advisement,” said Isaak.
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