Unfortunately for those fleeting dreams, it had been a few years since I had last practiced with power armor, and in this tense situation I didn’t have quite as light and deliberate of a touch as when I was completely calm. Instead of raising my arms at a normal, controlled speed, the power assisted servos of the suit gave a high pitched whine and whipped my arms up over my head.
The officer was taken by surprise at the blur of arm movement in front of him, and knowing he faced a potential opponent in a battle suit that was both stronger and faster than a normal human body, reacted instinctively and fired his weapon. The un-aimed blast tore a divot in the metal decking between us.
The two ratings behind the security officer were barely able to level their weapons between the time the officer first pulled out his weapon and when he fired.
Eyes widening, I took a step back, careful not to make any more sudden gestures.
“He’s trying to escape!” exclaimed one of the young security ratings behind the lieutenant.
The other rating didn’t wait to say anything, he simply fired.
The blast from his sonic rifle knocked me off my feet. Pulling myself backward, I scrambled for cover. How had everything gone wrong so fast? I was trying to surrender, not start a war in the middle of the blasted Flag Bridge!
All I could think to do was close the faceplate of my helmet and try to raise my hands again, to show I was surrendering.
The second rating fired, once again flattening me against a nearby bulkhead, but other than rattling my head around inside the helmet, I was extremely pleased to find that the sonic rifle had little more effect than a rough ride at a theme park.
I realized they weren’t going to let me surrender. I knew I had to do something, but what? I had only taken a two week course in power armor use and that was a few years ago. I knew how to walk and get around in the suit without falling over but the weapon controls were all so very different from the model I trained on that I wasn’t even sure I could activate them. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that someone was really trying to kill me when the lieutenant opened fired with an aimed barrage.
The first blaster bolt glanced off the heavy metal plate covering my chest and ricocheted into a nearby console. A second and a third followed close after the first, impacting on the arm and face plate.
Instinctively shying away from the hit to the faceplate, I nearly fell over yet again as I scrambled to my feet. The constant audio assault from continued blaster fire, as well as the alarm system built into the power suit issuing imminent failure warnings was almost more than I could cope with as I tried to stagger away.
“All you Montagnes were born drenched in the blood of innocents! In the name of the Caprian Parliament, I demand you surrender or die, you treasonous scum,” cried the grey haired Security Officer as he swapped out the power pack in his hand blaster.
Seeing the officer reloading, I thought about making a run for it and ducking off into the Admiral’s ready room.
But reality caught me up short when I remembered there was only one way in or out of the Flag Bridge. A design feature I couldn’t understand at that particular moment. To get out I had to go past the Security personnel blocking the door. At least if I was going to find a shuttle and make any sort of escape. So instead of running away, I let my outrage at this last insult overrule the logical part of my brain and I leapt forward instead of finding a place to hide. Not stopping to think, I lashed out with my left hand like a football player carrying the ball, attempting to stiff arm the officer out of the way.
No one was more surprised than I was when gauntleted hand made contact with the officer's chest and caused an unusual, muffled popping sound followed by the security officer's thudding impact into a wall eight feet away. Blood covered the fingers on my gauntlet, and I realized with absolute horror that it was from the ragged hole in the chest of the security officer I had moments before simply tried to push out of my escape path.
For a moment, the three remaining combatants all stood and gaped at one another. Then the senior chief from environmental jumped out from the behind chair she’d been hiding behind and slugged one of the ratings in the face.
Spurred back into action (but not wanting to kill anyone), I decided against further punches or other strikes. Instead, I tried to grab the other rating by the arm in an attempt to subdue him. Reaching wildly, while the security rating backed away and tried bring up the rifle for a shot at pointblank range, I managed to snag one arm. All I could see was a look of horror on the face underneath his black cap.
“Stop,” I yelled and gave the rating’s arm a squeeze. I heard a crack and the rating gave a high pitched scream.
I realized the power servos in the suit’s hand had crushed the rating’s arm. Feeling sick to my stomach, I released him.
The rating dropped to the floor screaming, his arm flopping around in unnatural directions until he managed to use his good hand to clutch the damaged one close to his body.
I opened the face plate of my battle suit and leaned over to the side as the contents of my stomach came spewing up all over one of the workstation consoles.
“Medic!” yelled the environmental chief from her position standing over the other security rating (the one with two working arms). “We need some help in here. Somebody call the infirmary,” she ordered.
More footsteps came running down the corridor and a grizzled looking doctor on the wrong side of middle age hustled into the flag bridge.
Feeling confident that my episode of involuntary emesis was concluded, I staggered over to the blast doors and hit the emergency lockdown button. I couldn’t handle anymore life threatening situations right this moment. Parliamentary agents had just tried to arrest me and I had done everything I could think of, first to show that I was giving up and then later when they wouldn’t let me do that, just to run away. How had everything gone wrong? I laughed hysterically and leaned against the bulkhead, sliding down to the floor as I stared at the bloody gauntlet. I realized that I might have just killed someone.
Instantly the laughter died and once again I felt like throwing up.
It took the doctor heading over to the blast doors with a hypo-spray in hand to snap me back into reality. I couldn’t risk being unconscious. If I let the doctor give me a sedative, who knew when or even if I would ever wake up? Temporary relief could turn into permanent sedation until the ship got home for trial.
“It’s okay,” said the Doctor. “This will help take the edge off.”
I shook my head and got to my feet. “No thanks, Doc. I need to be clear headed right now. Besides, these men need your attention more than I do.”
The doctor started to insist but I crossed my arms over my chest and he backed off, eyeing the still bloody power armor with wary respect.
“I need to get these men up to the infirmary,” the doctor said gesturing to the fallen security personnel.
I nodded.
“The door,” the doctor said pointing to the blast doors I’d just locked down.
I jerked at his reminder of the blast door partitions, and after a moment of consideration, turned off the emergency internal locks and cycled open the doors.
Outside the Flag Bridge was a large group of junior officers and senior crew chiefs. Their mouths were agape at what they saw.
I stared at the assembled bridge crew and department heads, once again at a loss. What did protocol dictate after you’ve disabled and/or killed your arresting officers by accident, because they refused to accept your surrender? The officers and senior enlisted crew stared back at me with mixed looks of fear, confusion and horror.
I didn’t know what to do, but something obviously had to be done. It seemed like I spoke before I had actually made any decision.
“The Department heads will meet as soon as the injured are escorted to the infirmary. Bridge crew can wait outside until we’re done.” Carrying on with things like nothing had happened might not be the best policy, but I coul
dn’t think of anything else to do other than going back to my room and hiding in bed, which was not an option. I will admit, however, that it was becoming an increasingly attractive non-option the longer this day went on.
Ignoring a few wide eyed stares, I turned and headed back onto the Flag Bridge, passing the doctor who was calling for helpers to carry the fallen to the infirmary.
I realize that I might not be the most knowledgeable or deductive person in the galaxy, but I was slowly growing very certain about one thing. None of this would be happening if Imperial Rear Admiral Janeski and his infernal Empire of Man had kept its word and fulfilled its promises.
Something would have to be done about that eventually. Exactly what that something was eluded me at present, however. Which in all honesty was probably a good sign, since the last thing the galaxy needed was to have me start setting interstellar policy.
The meeting that followed passed in something of a blur. I was introduced to all the new department heads in no discernable order. Everyone seemed uneasy inside the battle damaged flag bridge, so we reconvened in the briefing room attached to it. Even after the move they still seemed uneasy, but less so. There wasn't much to be done for that and honestly, I didn't care. Especially when all I could think about was that sickening crunch as I straight armed the grey haired security officer. Still, I tried my best to conduct the affair with an air of professionalism and dignity, even if I was still wearing a suit of power armor.
Eventually I got tired of the quiet and uneasy conversation, so I decided to act like I knew what I was doing. “I want a head count of the crew still with us, now that the Imperials have abandoned the Lucky Clover and left us to our own devices,” I said with as much practiced authority as I could muster.
“Abandoned, Sir?” asked a junior lieutenant wearing the black gloves of Intelligence. “I thought they were just going off to reinforce the fleets facing the Gorgon Alliance.”
I shook my head. “Triumvir Pontifex ordered a complete Imperial withdrawal from the Spine.” Gasps, quickly muffled, accompanied this statement. “Any Imperial assets that can’t be removed are also to be destroyed by the Imperial Rim Fleet before they depart.” I paused to let this sink in, “Imperial citizens are encouraged to depart of their own free will.”
“What!” exclaimed the Intelligence Officer. “Surely there must be more to it than that,” he then added a belated, “sir.”
The other officers and crew chiefs signaled their agreement. “They can’t do that,” declared the senior chief currently in charge of supply, bringing a round of affirmation from the assembled personnel.
I shook my head. “You’re all free to review the video logs for yourselves. In the meantime,” I said, raising my voice over the sudden buzz of dismayed conversation, “this ship needs to be reorganized, a new crew roster taken and any holes in leadership or other critical, skilled positions filled.”
Now they were all looking at me. I continued without pause, hoping to discourage further outbursts “For the meantime those of you who are here are the heads of your various departments. If you feel yourself unable to do the job,” at this several heads perked up and hands started to rise, which I studiously ignored, “then I expect you to let me know your concerns and at the same time who you feel is the most qualified person to replace you.” Several of the hopefuls visibly drooped.
“Until you can find someone more qualified for the position than yourself, don’t bother asking to be replaced. You’re stuck with the job until further notice.”
“Sir what about the crew,” asked the Intelligence officer and as soon as he spoke several of the crew chiefs nodded in agreement. “They’ve been stuck in quarters for well over half a shift.”
I nodded, trying to look as though I had anticipated the question at this very juncture. “Get them out of their quarters for a nose count and then put them back to work. This ship won’t fly itself,” was all I could think to say in response.
“You,” I said pointing at the Intelligence Officer.
The officer paused and pointed to himself.
“Yes, you, what’s your name?”
The officer looked surprised. “Raphael Tremblay, sir. Why?”
“I want you to stay,” I turned to the rest of the department heads. “The rest of you are dismissed. See to your crew, and prepare those revised department rosters as soon as possible.”
When they all looked at each other instead of immediately getting up and leaving like I’d just said, I slammed a still bloody fist onto the table.
Seeing the dent did more to get them moving than anything I’d said so far and after that they scrambled to leave the room. The Intelligence Officer's wide eyes alternated between the dent in the table and the now-congealed blood on the power gauntlet.
Too mentally fatigued to really care, I just stared at him for a moment without really processing anything. Then, I regained my composure and returned to a relaxed, seated posture. “As of right now you’re my new First Officer, XO or whatever they call it.”
Mr. Tremblay's eyes widened further, which I had only seconds before assumed to be impossible. “Sir, I'm far too inexperienced and junior to accept that position. I’d hardly even know where to start,” Tremblay said, shaking his head in negation. “Why would you pick me, you don’t even know me. We’ve hardly met,” he said.
“Hardly knowing what to do is better than not having any idea,” I said, knowing full well how true a statement that was and envious he at least had an inkling of where to start with his new job. Myself I was completely at sea when it came to running a fleet. “As for why? You asked questions during the meeting and I don’t think Intelligence is as critical a position as Environmental or Engineering right now.”
“Asking questions is your criteria,” muttered intelligence officer Tremblay. He didn’t look very reassured by my stated selection criteria.
“Speaking of which, why wasn’t my new Chief Engineer at the meeting,” I said with a hint of growl creeping into my voice. “I personally called down to engineering and told them to get him out of the brig.”
“The brig,” Officer Tremblay said faintly, obviously having difficulty fathoming my meaning.
I waved my hand abruptly, the servos whining at a higher pitch.
“Make sure they’ve freed Lieutenant Spalding from the brig and then go... Well, do whatever it is that First Officers or XO’s do.”
“Where will you be, Sir…,” started the officer then he paused. “What I mean to say is that I really have to insist. I don’t know the first thing about being a First Officer. That’s a line position and I’m a staff officer,” he protested. “Besides which I don’t have the seniority for such a post.”
Not having any idea the difference between line and staff officers and not wanting to display my own ignorance, I waved my hand again and walked out of the briefing room and off the flag bridge. “I need to get cleaned up.” Believing that to be the most politic moment to do so, I headed back to my quarters.
I may have told the Intelligence officer that I picked him because he asked questions, and that was true, as far as it went. But the most important reason I’d picked him was because, after security (which had already tried to kill me) I concluded that the intelligence section was the most likely place to be filled with parliamentary hit men.
An ancient earth philosopher (or maybe it was a poet) had once said, ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.’ I very much intended to keep this guy as close to me as possible. No extra free time would be allotted for him to run around plotting and scheming and generally feeling sorry for himself because he’d been passed over or any other stupid reason he came up with for causing me trouble. If he was too busy keeping the ship from falling apart he’d have no time for planning a palace coup, or mutiny, or whatever they called it in the naval service. At least that was the hope.
I am man enough to admit that I was paranoid. In my defense, they really were out to get me, as evidenced by th
e security detail that shot up the Flag Bridge. Just because this guy was in Intelligence didn’t necessarily mean anything. It was probably all just jumping at shadows, but I wasn't going to second-guess myself at this point. Still, in general it's a good idea to keep an open mind.
A few minutes with a rag cleaned all the blood I could see off the armored suit. After that all I wanted to do was take off the bulky thing and sleep until the hard part was over. Instead I’d already promised a meeting with the bridge crew. The very members of the crew most familiar with the task of getting us safely back home. The same home that was more than likely to take me into custody for the twin crimes of resisting arrest and assaulting a security officer, than it was to thank me for returning a battleship to them safe and sound.
Everyone was counting on me to do the right thing. The crew was counting on me to keep them alive and get them safely home. The parliament was counting on me to bring back the Lucky Clover and hand myself over to them for punishment. Admiral Janeski expected me to carry on where he left off and finish the patrol agreed upon by our various governments. All of which ignored the billions of everyday civilians going about their lives in peace, who relied on Rim Fleet to protect them from pirates and alien marauders, or whatever it was that we were supposed to intercept.
Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 5
