Admiral's Nemesis (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 11)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “I move that we immediately vote to reward House Pontifex for its heroic actions in defense of the Empire in these troubled times,” said Senator Cornwallis. “But in recognition of this Senate’s busy schedule, and in recognition that the usual checks and investigations surrounding the addition of any ships to the fleet, for strictly quality purposes, are not needed when it comes to ships from the Pontifex yards, I propose we carry the motion on a aye or nay vote. There’s no need to waste our time with a roll call vote.”

  “Hear hear,” rumbled several Senators.

  “Then let us vote on establishing our new Expeditionary Fleet!” Senator Cornwallis exclaimed and then, just to twist the knife, looked over at Bellucci with a lifted brow.

  “The ayes?” asked Bellucci, her smile all teeth.

  “AYE!” rumbled through the Senate.

  “The nays?” she asked perfunctorily.

  “Nay,” came the clearly weaker response.

  “The 'ayes' have it,” she said, rapping the side of her desk with a clear, carrying crack.

  “Now for our next vote,” she said poisonously, “the exact funding and grant of power for our Expeditionary Fleet to the Spineward Sectors!”

  Cornwallis turned and looked at her warningly, but she merely sneered at him.

  Chapter 40: Cornwallis Reflects

  Senator Cornwallis swept off the Senate floor and proceeded with dignity to his Senate offices, his purple-fringed cape swirling behind him.

  Stepping into his offices, he promptly engaged his top-of-the-line jamming technology and sat down in one of the comfortable chairs in his lounge that was kept there just for such an occasion.

  “How could the Senate turn around and stab you in the back like that, Senator!” his aide cursed as soon as he was sitting.

  Cornwallis looked at him quizzically. “I thought things went better than expected,” he said with a shrug, “I just openly defied the most powerful man in the Empire, after all. There was bound to be blowback by proxy even if the man himself is not yet aware of what has happened.”

  “You should have received Proconsular authority,” his aide declared furiously, “and been bestowed three fleets, not just one!”

  “Don’t worry yourself, Benjamin. Everything was within my expectations,” Cornwallis said dismissively, “we knew Bellucci and Raubach would try to hamstring anything I proposed and give me less than whatever I asked for. Which is why I asked for more than I needed. At least I have a fleet instead of a flotilla. One fleet should be more than enough to do the job.”

  “And Wessex and Hampton! 'Ungrateful' doesn’t even begin to describe their actions against you today, Sir,” Benjamin said, staunchly outraged on his behalf.

  “I’m all but certain they’re behind the current economic woes of our House, Benjamin,” Cornwallis informed his aid and distant nephew. “That Raubach whelp has leveraged everything his House had left—and then some!—in his effort to incite our enemies against us. But House Cornwallis is strong enough to weather the storm. Once we achieve victory and, if possible, retrieve certain highly-classified artifacts then my position will be impregnable. And when that happens, all those who went against us today will rue the day they allowed pride and dissatisfaction to cloud their better judgment.”

  Because even if rumors said that Raubach may have picked up the Fragment already, Cornwallis didn’t believe it. Correctly leveraging such a treasure would be enough for even a middling House like Raubach to launch itself into the ranks of the top ten Great Imperial Houses. At first, Cornwallis' concern had been significant that perhaps the Raubach whelp had indeed retrieved the Core Fragment code-named 'Archie.' But with each passing day that saw House Raubach deplete its resources in a seemingly suicidal attempt to bring down the eminently larger, deeper-rooted House Cornwallis, without ever bringing the Fragment into play, Cornwallis became increasingly convinced that those rumors had been a bluff meant to intimidate Cornwallis into withdrawing from the Spine.

  No, Cornwallis was now as certain as he had ever been of anything that a Fragment of MAN was out there in the Spineward Sectors, waiting for him to claim it. He could feel it.

  If you say so, Senator,” Benjamin Cornwallis sighed.

  “I do. Now prepare a sealed courier pouch with self-destructive capabilities. I have a few critical messages to send if I’m to simultaneously shepherd the Senate along the rest of the way, form my command team to reclaim the Spine, and take care of certain…other matters while I am gone,” said the Senator.

  “Yes, Senator,” his aide snapped to attention with military precision.

  Former military service, specifically fleet service, was an absolute requirement for working in his office. At least when working in any kind of sensitive capacity. The Fleet taught discipline and discipline was key when it came to the well-oiled political machine that was Senator Cornwallis’s Senatorial office.

  In the meantime, however, that was all beside the point; the Senate and his command team could wait. It was time to transfer his instructions to Mr. Simpers from his data-pad to hard disk. Paid assassins and House special forces were just the tip of the iceberg. It was time to teach the latest Raubach the price of a House-to-House loyalty betrayed and, if possible, end once and for all the rumors of a MAN Fragment being in his possession.

  With that finally out of the way, and the missives sent off via courier ship to the Confederation heartland Sectors, it was time to buckle down and begin assembling the war machine that would bring the Spineward Sectors to its knees.

  Those rubes would soon be begging to join the Empire as its newest provinces.

  It was a two-pronged plan, but he really only needed one of his arrows to strike home. Either the new provinces under his belt, or the MAN Fragment all by itself, would be enough to ensure his place in history and continued political survival. Not just survival, but a rise to even greater power.

  Cornwallis rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he considered the endless possibilities now before him.

  Chapter 41: Brigga Worshipers

  In a dark corner of the ship, a small group of deck hands were muttering darkly when an environmental technician walked around the corner.

  “My my my, what do we have here?” asked the environmental technician.

  “Copper pipe,” said one of the deck hands taking a step forward.

  “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” asked the Tech with a wry smile.

  “He’s not with us,” muttered one of the larger deck hands before turning back to the tech, “the bacterial tank is down right now. You can come back later.”

  “Well that’d be a problem since I’m here to repair it now,” the technician raised and eyebrow.

  “Are you daft?” demanded the deck hand stepping forward belligerently.

  “You lot will shove off if you know what’s good for you,” the environmental technician said placing a hand on his tool belt and using the other to tap his rank insignia, “especially since I outrank the lot of you as far as I can tell.”

  “What of it,” sneered the Deck hand before turning back to his group, “I think we’re done here anyway boys. Let’s go.”

  “You know what, not so fast,” said the enviro-tech, “now that I think about it, I’d like the name of your supervisor. All of your supervisors.”

  “That aint necessary, tech,” said the big tech turning around and folding his arms across his chest.

  “Oh I think it is you see we’ve had a lot of complaints from maintenance lately about broken oxygenation tanks and people running around down here who aren’t with environmental,” said the Tech.

  “You don’t want to do this,” said the deck hand.

  “Then Shorty got her nose broke and came back so scared and terrified she wouldn’t tell anyone what happened,” the Tech said pulling a stun baton out from his belt and slamming it open with one quick flick of his wrist, “and you see while the department doesn’t mind so much being made to look like fools in front of Engi
neering because we can’t maintain our own equipment. When it comes to our people especially-”

  “Shove him in the tank,” snapped the large Deckhand pulling out a pipe wrench and behind him several other hands pulled out knives, pipes and various other tools.

  “Oh I’d so hoped you say something like that,” the Tech glared and behind him a flood of techs suddenly surged around the corner each of them holding a stun grenade in one hand and an unbroken flare in the other, “because technically that’s mutiny boys and our Lady of Glorious Combustion does not hold truck with mutiny.”

  “It’s an ambush!” cried the deckhand as another group of environmental techs appeared and almost as one body both groups of enviro-techs broke off the head of their flares against the duralloy walls of the environmental deck releasing a flood fire from the ends of their flares.

  “Brigga!” cried the techs as they suddenly threw a whole horde of grenades into the middle of the deckhands and then darted back around the corner.

  Shock waves rocked the walls as multiple grenades went off in close proximity of the group of hands and when the reaction cleared the armed and angry deckhands lay unconscious on the floor.

  Looking at the blood coming out of the noses and ears of over half the deckhands the original tech came back into the hall and looked down at them coldly.

  “What do you want us to do, Sergio?” asked another tech.

  “We’re going to find out what Department they’re from and then we’re going to send them back, care wrapped,” the seasoned Technician said coldly, “take their weapons and then use the med-kits to make sure none of them die.”

  “Seems like a waste,” grumped Dartmana lead technician from another shift who’d joined up without asking when Sergio had gathered up a group of third shift techs for a little party.

  “I said I didn’t want them to die. After we’re sure they’re stable we’ll throw them in the black hole and see how long it takes them to spill their guts,” said Sergio shrugging off the technician’s jacket he’d been wearing to reveal the Senior Lieutenant’s patches on his shoulders, “I’m tired of people breaking our equipment and I want to know which blighter laid a hand on one of our people.”

  “A couple hours in a vat of flesh eating bacteria and they’ll be screaming to tell us whatever we want,” grinned Dartman.

  “Are you sure they won’t report us to security?” asked one of the newer techs, a recent recruit from the border worlds alliance planets.

  Sergio’s eyes turned cold.

  “After trying to attack a superior officer with knives and clubs when he demanded to know who their supervisor was?” he asked harshly, “they do that and I might lose my commission but they’ll be out an airlock.”

  Ten minutes later the last of the men had been throw onto grav-carts, transferred across environmental hung by a motorized chain from a ceiling beam inside the black hole.

  “Lower them down,” instructed Sergio and motors whined as the chains were lowered down into the bubbling vat filled with black bacteria.

  Over the course of the next two minutes bodies twitched as the bacteria soaked through their work clothing and then the yelling began as one by one the unconscious deckhands started twisting and shouting.

  “Now then boys I want to know exactly what you’ve been up to inside my decks tell me everything and don’t hold back now,” said Sergio.

  “Go to Hades!” shouted the large deckhand, “don’t tell them nothing boys. Our supervisors will miss us before too long and there’s nothing these pansies can do that will-”

  Sergio motioned downward and the entire group of deckhands were dropped into the vat until their entire body including face, hair and eyes were coated before being brought back up.

  “Now let’s try that again,” said Senior Lieutenant, “who are you boys, which department are you from and which blackhearted blighter thought it’d be a sweet idea to start intimidating my techs when they’re on their rounds down here keeping the air on and everybody in this blasted ship alive!” he finished with a roar.

  The big deck hand opened his mouth.

  “You know what I don’t want to hear it. Give these tools another bath!” he ordered.

  When they came back up this time they had started to scratch and try to wipe the gunk off their faces.

  “This is illegal! Torture is against the dictates of man and the confederation code of interstellar warfare,” cried the large deckhand.

  “Like I care what a bunch of mutineers think,” Sergio sneered, “maybe you lot are the same ones that have been busting up my equipment and my techs. Probably because you had an illegal alcohol still running down here and, now that I think about it, it’ll be too bad the still caught fire while you were in a confined area—this very tank in fact—and you all suffocated and died with a drink in your hand. I’m sure my techs won’t mind sacrificing a little hooch if necessary to sell the story.”

  The group of deckhands stared at the Senior Lieutenant with horror.

  “I want you boys to think of something, and think hard before you tell me to go to Hades once again,” Sergio said baring his teeth, “right now, I can do whatever I want with you—and if by some miracle I did let you go, all it takes is one sensor malfunction in your living quarters, one blocked air vent, and a disconnected alarm and you'd suffocate in your sleep. You live or die right now and forever after on our sufferance…my sufferance. Lancer Department, Engineering Department and Gunnery, the big three, everyone thinks of those departments when they think of a warship because they’re the ones that make a ruckus and get all the glory meanwhile we’re quietly ignored. Well good, that’s fine, great even because we like it quiet the black rats down here in the bowels of the ship aren’t looking for glory or a ruckus. We’re just here to get a job done and done right and go home.

  “We certainly aren’t looking to get beat up by roving packs of wild deckhands,” said flatly and then decided to switch tacks, “now in this particular case we have you lot in a vat of flesh eating bacteria. So unless you like the idea of being eaten alive I suggest someone in this vat start talking and start talking fast.”

  It was no surprise to the environmental officer when they shortly began doing so.

  What was surprising to him was that he’d been more right then even he knew.

  “So let me get this straight. You’re not from one department and you’re not some ship or fleet wide drug gang. Instead you’re group is part of an anti-machine conspiracy on this ship, ready to stop the droids from taking over humanity and more specifically the Multi-Sector Patrol fleet by any means necessary, including beating up my female technicians when they’re doing their rounds. Do I have that about right?” he asked feeling his temperature spike.

  “It wasn’t our fault the little witch walked in on us during a planning meeting!” snapped the lead tech.

  “Good to know,” Sergio nodded slowly and then turned back to his people, “drop them back in the vat!”

  “You promised you’d let us out if we talked,” cried the lead deckhand before going back under.

  “Back up!” ordered Sergio.

  He had the techs stop when their heads broke through the bacteria enough to breath.

  “I promised you nothing of the sort. But in the name of Our Glorious Lady of Rapid Oxidation I swear I will put you all back under unless you tell me who your blasted leader is that thinks he can mess around in my Department! Right here! Right now! Answer me,” he shouted.

  “We don’t know! We just answer to our shift supervisor!” shrieked the deckhands.

  “Well Hades… Put 'em back in!” he snapped.

  He silently fumed as the deckhands were dropped back in and out of the vat until he was sure they’d given up everything they knew.

  He fumed because now he was going to have to take this up the chain of command—and that wasn’t going to be any fun.

  Chapter 42: Reaction to the loss of Personnel Contacts

  “Of all the inco
nvenient space rot,” the man known to his fellow future rebels as Malcolm Sagittarius muttered.

  First a group of the anti-machinist league he was building had been apprehended by security. Fortunately they’d known little to nothing about the organization and now his contacts in personnel had gone dark

  It was a sign that fleet security wasn’t, quite, as incompetent as it had appeared for the past several months. That or they were finally starting to get their act together. Either way it didn’t bode well for his operation. Well he’d known from the start that trying to free or eliminate that captured agent had been a fools errand but orders were orders. He was just going to have to accelerate the timetable, there was no other choice.

  Decision made, the man known as Malcolm Sagittarius pulled out a deceptively standard looking data slate and hooked it up to a scrambler that he kept in a concealed panel under his personal effects locker and then used it to send a coded message to his handler before disconnecting the slate and storing it back inside the foot locker.

  Minutes later he received a relatively innocuous electronic message in his fleet account. One that made him smile.

  Parliament would be notified as soon as safely possible but in the meantime he had the go ahead to proceed with his mission.

  Where Agent Oleander had failed miserably, ending up captured, Agent Sagittarius would succeed. Or die trying.

  His duty to the people of Capria required nothing less. In the process he would deal Jason Montagne a blow the likes of which he’d never experienced before. And the amusing part of it was that on this mission he hadn’t even needed to lie. The fleet’s precious ‘little’ admiral was making deals with machines and should have cut short hid dalliance with the robots long before now, eliminating the electronic creatures now that their usefulness was over.

  But all of that was beside the point. Right now it was time to move his people into position for the final decapitating strike.