Following the directions I’d downloaded onto my handheld screen, I walked as fast as I could to the ship’s armory. Regardless of whether I stayed in command of the ship and fleet or bailed at the first opportunity, no one, not an angry mob, an ambitious officer, or a secret parliamentary hit squad (if such a thing even existed) was going to throw me into a waste recycler! Not while I was still alive anyway. They’d have to kill me first. After that, I figured I wouldn’t care too much about anything.
Many twists and turns and the use of several stairwells (necessary due to the nonfunctioning nature of the lift systems, apparently a parting gift from Admiral Janeski and the other Imperials) to change decks later, I eventually reached the armory. It felt like I’d marched all over the ship. A six hundred meter long ship had a lot of deck plating to cover, as I’d breathlessly discovered. I gave myself a quick pat on the back for choosing attire appropriate to the task. At least I'd made one good decision today, I thought.
I was somewhat surprised to find that I'd arrived at my destination without encountering any trouble along the way. Not seeing anyone standing guard outside blast doors or lurking around near them, I pulled out the command crystal the Imperial Captain had ever so graciously lobbed at my feet. I shook my head and quirked a lip. I might have tossed the crystal at my feet too, if I’d been a real military professional like the Imperial Captain.
Another quick look down both sides of the corridor and I plugged the crystal into the emergency override slot on the panel. After several beeps and an unnerving whirring sound the door slowly slid open.
After stepping inside, the first thing I heard was the click of a weapon unlocking and the whine of its energy capacitor rapidly charging up. I immediately froze in place, some twisted version of the fight or flight response more suited to rabbits than planetary royalty, taking hold.
“What are you doing in here,” demanded a gruff voice to my right.
My head slowly turned so I could look at the source of the voice. I readily admit that my heart nearly stopped at the sight of a man in a suit of power armor crouching down with a heavy sonic rifle pointed directly at what appeared to be every inch of my body.
“Umm… Uh...” I stammered. ‘I’m so dead,’ I thought. So much for a career as a mighty Fleet Admiral. This end would rate right up there with Jean Luc's infamy. I wondered momentarily how this particular scene would play out on my headstone. Perhaps 'Shot in the armory of his own ship minutes after assuming command?'
How did the crew get here before me anyway? They were all supposed to be in their quarters.
“This is a restricted area,” Said the man in power armor, rousing me from my momentary stupor.
I gulped hard, then decided to brazen it out. If I was already caught, at least I’d go out with style. I took a deep breath to steady my understandably shaky nerves.
“I’m here to check out a suit of powered armor. I’m in command of the fleet, now that the Imperials have left,” I said, trying to disguise the quiver in my voice and project an aura of confidence instead. “Admiral Jason Montagne Vekna, Prince-Cadet of the Realm, Governor of Planetary Body Harpoon, Commander of the Lucky Clover at your service,” media training came back to save me and I clicked my heels together before performing an arm waving courtly bow. Hoping against hope I was successful at hiding just how very fearful I was at that exact moment.
It was hard to read the expression of the man inside the powered armor because the faceplate wasn’t entirely made out of a clear substance, but the way the sonic rifle wavered for a split second before steadying again, didn’t do anything to help my confidence.
Then the power armored figure pointed the rifle up in the air and popped open his face plate.
Under the weight of the crewman’s suspicious gaze, the fleet’s newest and as far as I was concerned least competent Admiral, nearly wilted. Nearly, but not quite. As it was, I struggled to maintain a stoic face as sweat beaded on my forehead.
Then suspicion turned to recognition and a dawning surprise. “Why if it isn’t the little admiral himself!” exclaimed the armored figure. “I never thought I’d get to see you in person. Unless I was assigned KP duty in the officers’ mess,” the crewman said with a smile.
“Yes. I suppose that would have been the most predictable forum for our meeting,” I said, trying to hide the puzzlement in my voice. This wasn’t going quite how I’d thought things would go when I had originally planned this trip to the armory. “So what brings you here to the main armory? Crewman…?” I asked in my most level voice.
A look of horror crossed the face of the crewman in the power armor and the man quickly set down the heavy sonic rifle and leaned it against the wall. “Sir, crewman Gants, Sir! I’m an Able-Spacer in engineering,” he said, verbally stumbling all over himself. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you as soon as you came in,” he bit his lip, but seemed not to notice as he continued his apologies, “I hope I’m not in trouble for not Sir-ing you right away, as soon as you came in the armory Prince… Umm, your Highness… I mean Admiral, Sir.”
It took a moment for the impact of what the crewman had said to sink in and when it did, the breath I’d been unconsciously holding whooshed out. Along with it went the nearly paranoid fear that the entire remaining crew was out to get me. Seeing the semi-horrified look stealing across Gants face, I couldn’t help it and burst out laughing in relief.
When I could control myself again, I hastened to reassure the crewman. “It’s okay Gants, completely understandable. Sorry I laughed there, it's just been a stressful day. I think I needed a good laugh to release some of the tension.”
Gants appeared puzzled for a moment. “Of course, sir,” he said, obviously confused. “Completely understandable.”
I couldn’t help a small smile. Things might not have been as bleak as they’d seemed at first.
“So, Gants… about that power armor I was looking for,” I said.
Crewman Gants immediately began stripping off the powered armor he was wearing. “Engineer Spalding sent you over for the battle suit he’s been working on, didn’t he?” He paused and looked earnestly at me. “I know he told me to come to Engineering right away as soon as I had it on, but there were just so many Marine Jacks running around the ship I figured they’d shoot me for sure and certain if they saw me running around outside my quarters in this battle suit,” he said, his speech returning to a frantic rush of words.
“I’m sure you made the right choice,” I answered, not quite sure what the other guy was talking about. “Just so we’re on the same page. Spalding’s been working on a suit of power armor and sent you to the main armory to get it for him?”
“Aye aye, Sir. After he locked the Chief Engineer in his office, he sent me over here to get this battle suit. The one I’m taking off right now, he’s been working on it for months. It’s supposed to be a surprise. We’ve been fixing it up special just for you, your Admiralship.” Gants was positively beaming now.
My eyebrows shot nearly through the roof.
“Well, I have to admit that I've never had a custom-tailored suit of power armor, Gants,” I said, trying to find the right words to convey my feelings without looking like a fool. I was genuinely surprised that anyone would secretly make me a custom suit of power armor, and of all the people who might have undertaken such a task, it turned out to be Spalding. It seemed a man I’d never even met before today had apparently spent a lot of time on it. I never would have guessed it from my first impression of the old engineering officer.
“But this isn’t the main armory, Sir,” Gants said.
My heart sank. “It’s not? My handheld it said it was and led me right here.”
“Oh, you must be using the old internal ship’s map. This used to be the main armory back before the Imperials came onboard for the patrol cruise. You see, they built a brand new armory on the other side of the ship and put all their shiny battle suits and personal weapons in it. This here is the original main armory,” Gants sa
id.
“Ah, of course, I must have downloaded the wrong map,” was all I could think to say in response. The Imperials had already left and by order of the Triumvir they were supposed to take all of their equipment with them. In a way it was fortunate I’d come to this armory instead of the one on the new maps. On the other hand, Gants' clarification was almost completely irrelevant. This used to be and, with the departure of the Imperials, once again was the main armory. I made a mental note of this. The Imperial Admiral had whipped the new database, which apparently included the ship’s internal map, so at some point the crew would need to update the old ship’s map.
Unnecessary clarifications aside, Gants provided a helpful set of hands, assisting me in donning the suit after the crewman had finished taking the armor off his own person first. In no time at all I was strapped, clamped, latched and buttoned up inside a suit of recently upgraded powered armor.
Gants stepped back to take a look at his handiwork. “You look a fine sight, sir,” he said, pride in his workmanship evident in the tone of his voice. “The armor looks good on you, if I do say so myself.”
“Thanks, Gants. I appreciate the work you’ve done on it,” I said awkwardly. I’d come down to steal or appropriate (take your pick) a suit of powered armor, and instead wound up getting an early gift instead. I couldn’t really appreciate the work the two (or however many it might have been) members of the engineering department had done on the armor. I’d never done anything remotely like this kind of work myself, so I had no real frame of reference. But I could appreciate the time they’d spent on it and the massive benefit it provided to me now, even if it was only a few hours of work here and there. That kind of time added up and for all I knew they’d been working on it for months.
I looked around the main lobby of the armory, and the servos in the neck of the suit whirred in response to the movement. There were rooms and more rooms further in that I hadn’t opened or explored yet but was certain there must be lots more weapons in here than what could be seen in this one, mostly empty, room.
“Gants, do you have any friends in the crew you can trust to back you up if push comes to shove?” Maybe it was the power armor, or maybe it was Gants' welcoming demeanor, but I found myself suddenly more decisive and confident.
He eyed me and then nodded slowly.
“I need to head back to the bridge for now, but I’d like it if you would call over a few of your mates and lock down Armory. Nobody in or out without my express permission. At least until things settle down and the ship gets reorganized,” I said, leveling my best piercing stare straight in Gants' eyes.
Gants hesitated, “Okay, I guess I can do that, Admiral,” he said. He visibly started and then corrected himself "Yes sir, Admiral Sir! I won't let you down."
“Thank you, spacehand. I won’t forget this.” With that, I turned and made my way back to the Flag Bridge.
Chapter 4: Meetings, warrants and warrant officers
Having arrived back on the Flag Bridge, I listened to the servos of the power suit whine as I paced back and forth on the Duralloy deck plates. I couldn’t keep the crew in their quarters forever. Not only were they needed to run the ship, but I was fairly certain they wouldn't sit in their bunks indefinitely, no matter what I said, or how well I said it.
I needed to let them out before they decided to wander out on their own and blamed their new Admiral for keeping them penned up too long.
There was no way I could do this all by myself. I thought back to the tables of organization I’d had to study as part of the midshipman’s courses I’d taken. My brow furrowed as I desperately tried to remember, but I couldn't remember enough to be helpful.
For the moment I had to be both the Admiral and the Captain of this ship, and I could do neither. I came to the realization that I needed help. I did recall that the ship’s crew was broken up into departments, with assigned department heads. I realized that I could just tell the ship’s computer, the distributed intelligence network, to send a message to the senior remaining member of each department informing them they were needed for a meeting on the Flag Bridge.
After that, it seemed like I was still missing something important, but exactly what it was eluded me. Then, I snapped my fingers in realization. A bridge crew, that was it! I’d tell the computer to message any remaining bridge crew, informing them they were needed on the Flag Bridge. I would set the time for that right after the meeting with the department heads.
Plan made, I turned to the communications console with a feeling of great satisfaction at my budding organizational talents. Things were starting to come together, at last. A great sense of serenity was beginning to form around me, like a warm blanket on a cold night.
A half hour later, I was positively fuming. To say that the ship’s old distributed network was clunky and infuriating to work with was something of an understatement. Sometimes it seemed to half work at finding the people I needed and then, for some unknown reason there would be music, something that had nothing at all to do with a personnel search or messaging, blaring out of the speakers and random search results scrolled over the main console screen. Shortly after that was when the first group of messages meant for the department heads were confirmed as having been delivered to members of the bridge crew, and vice versa.
So it looked like instead of having one group show up for the department head meeting and another for the bridge crew one, I might have a mix and match. I sighed, feeling absolutely pathetic. There was no helping it now. I would have to stick to the original plan and meet with the department heads first and the bridge crew would just have to wait until that meeting was finished.
As it was no one wanted to wait to find out what was going on with the ship they all lived inside. So as soon as they received any sort of permission to leave their quarters, they all bolted straight for the Flag Bridge.
The first one through the door was a crusty middle aged senior chief from environmental. “Who's been monitoring the air scrubbers and oxygen recyclers,” she demanded, sniffing the air. “Something smells off.”
She was interrupted as another senior chief - this one from supply - came in and nearly bumped into her. “We’ve been robbed,” exclaimed the senior chief from supply. “All the new equipment we loaded after we left Capria has disappeared from the ship’s inventory!”
Realizing there was no one in the Flag Bridge but the fleet’s ceremonial Admiral - who was now clad in power armor - they stopped talking, their mouths dropping open instead.
While they were still gaping at the improbable sight, a junior lieutenant with gunmetal grey hair pushed between them and forced his way onto the Flag Bridge. Behind him came two junior ratings. All three of these latest arrivals sported the black hats of ship security and while the officer had a side arm strapped to his waist, the two ratings carried sonic rifles slung to their backs.
“Jason Montagne, on suspicion of high treason against the Caprian nation, I hereby place you under arrest,” stated the solidly built lieutenant before getting a good look at my newly power-armored form.
As soon as he realized I was in a battle suit, the officer started clawing for the sidearm in his holster.
The two senior chiefs gasped and the supply officer dived off to the side, while the petty officer from environmental stood flat footed in dumbfounded surprise.
For my part, I was taken aback, shocked that I was about to be arrested. I had been afraid something like this might happen but while I thought there was a strong possibility of it occurring at some point during the trip home, I never really internalized the idea that the government would arrest me for something I hadn’t even done yet, and so soon! Up to this point everything had all seemed very much like a game.
"Where is your warrant, lieutenant," I managed to stammer amid the flood of anxiety.
The lieutenant sneered, "Warrant? They don't issue warrants for the arrest of a Montagne, they give medals! I might just end up with my own command out of this. So if yo
u intend to survive long enough to stand trial, I suggest you don't make any sudden moves."
I also realized something at that moment. I may have picked up a suit of power armor, and I may have tried to lock down the armory, but at the moment of truth I realized I wasn’t going to actually fight parliamentary forces. The good fight was always rewarded in the holo-vids with wealth, fame and improbable companionship, but in reality such principled stands usually resulted in little more than extra work for the clean-up crew who had to remove the valiant crusader's earthly remains.
Decision made, I decided to raise my hands above my head in the universal sign of surrender. I didn't want anyone to get hurt, and an unexpected sense of relief swept over me. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad upon return to Capria. They might even deem exile to Planetary Body Harpoon an acceptable outcome for me. Ultimately it wasn't all bad, being on a nearly deserted asteroid. I actually thought it might be nice to retire there, with visions of tending an algae farm and perusing hijacked vid-signals for entertainment filling my head.
Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 4
