The Chief Engineer’s mouth closed and he almost stopped walking before getting a good look at my new face. His mouth twisted and he resumed his steady pace, but whereas before he had been animated and holding forth with the work party on matters technical, now he was silent and grim looking.
Engineer Spalding nodded, “Admiral,” he said, his tone all gravel and smoke.
I could tell the engineering crew was going to be hanging on every detail of this meeting and committing it to memory for later review with their crewmates. Hopefully, things didn’t degenerate like I feared they would.
“Mr. Spalding,” I replied evenly.
The Chief Engineer made as if to keep walking.
“How’s my ship,” I asked, keeping the tone serious but offering an opportunity for some dialog.
For a moment it looked as if Spalding wouldn’t answer me, and instead opt to just continue on down the hall. But he hesitated, then stopped and grimaced.
I knew that if there was one sure way to get the crazy old engineer talking, it had to be about the ship.
“She’d be a fine sight better if we could strip the main weapons we need off the prize ship,” he growled in response to the question, “and fill the hole in our broadside. Even if it is a pile of second-rate junk.”
I felt a wave of relief. This was something the Engineer seemed to want and I could give a positive answer to. “Assuming nothing’s happened to the former pirate cruiser while I’ve been out that would stop a weapons removal, you have my authorization to proceed,” I said, trying not to sound too overjoyed. My head started to itch and I half raised a hand before remembering all the new, still-growing skin. I blinked my eyes closed and sighed, lowering the hand.
The Engineering team was just now getting a good look at my face and neck. Obviously, the sight wasn’t a pleasant one. Even the hardest faces in the detail would only look at me for so long before looking away.
“All the new skin, it itches something fierce,” I said by way of explanation for my momentary lapse in attention.
The Chief Engineer gave me a good once over, looking at my face, head and neck. The urge to squirm nearly overwhelmed me, but I didn’t. I had learned to withstand the stares, glares and red faces of public debate champions during royal media training. The Chief Engineer had a good stare going on right now, but as a Prince-Cadet, I had dealt with worse. Plus I was ready for it. It's not like I had expected the meeting with Spalding to be all sunshine and lollipops. Not after how things went the last time, which was why I had the Armory crew at my back right now. Just in case things turned ugly.
“Looks like someone took a plasma torch to your head,” said Lieutenant Spalding, as if he grudged saying it. The old engineer’s hand, which was habitually near his own plasma torch, twitched and moved away from it.
“You've got the plasma part right, but it was of the grenade variety,” I said with a wry grin.
Despite himself, the old engineer winced at the news.
“Helmet should have stopped that,” said Lieutenant Spalding. Not quite a question, but he was clearly curious.
I shook my head. “I think the suit needs a redesign. The neck structures of the helmet just can’t take the full weight of the battle suit. At least not when you fall down a hole and land on your head,” I winced in memory. “Even if there’s a Bug directly below to cushion your landing.” I paused, still reliving the all-too-recent event. “Torqued my neck over so bad my head was forced up against my shoulder. I had to use the power servos to tear the helmet off my just so I could see again. It wouldn’t straighten back to true, it was so damaged.”
“Interesting,” Spalding said, actually sounding intrigued, “Sounds like a design flaw. I’ll have to take a look at it later,” he frowned, “after things settle down, of course.” Then muttered what sounded suspiciously like, “if they ever do.”
I nodded in understanding. It had been nothing but non-stop chaos ever since the Imperials had run off to the warfront and left us behind to pick up the pieces.
“Well, then. These slackers with me need to get back to work before they start getting foolish ideas in their thick heads and start making trouble just for the fun of it,” said the old engineer in a voice started out reasonable but ended in a growl as he threw an irritated look at the detail behind him.
For their part, the engineering crew did their best to look both startled and innocent. Although, in a few cases, the men looked genuinely surprised at the criticism.
“They say idle hands are Murphy’s playground,” I said, quoting a line that had been handed down since antiquity as far as I knew.
“Amen to that,” said the Engineer before pushing past, making to get inside the Infirmary. He was muttering something about greenhorns and slackers as he made his way inside.
“Chief,” I called over my shoulder.
“Aye,” grunted the Engineer.
“Bander- ah, that is, the vibro-blade you had Gants give me. It's missing, and located somewhere onboard the ship. I’d like it found. Sooner rather than later, if you could help out with that,” I said hesitantly.
The Chief grunted at that and turned back to medical.
“Oh, and be careful in there. There’s an angry young lady who’s spitting mad and a bleeding Security Officer, the same one that went after me on the bridge,” I shook my head emphatically, “anyway, he brought a detail into medical and tried to kill me with a pillow while I was asleep,” I said with mock incredulity.
The old engineer turned around, the surprise and alarm clearly evident on his wrinkled features.
I shrugged, “It seems he saw the sword and decided to take it off her while she was sedated. The natives off that Bug ship took offense at this, as well as at the pillow attempt, and are holding them in sickbay until they get some answers.”
“You’re not planning to keep the sword on you,” the old engineer asked in surprise. “You gave it to someone else?”
“Are you crazy? That thing’s a death sentence. I handed it off the first chance I got,” I retorted, somewhat sharply.
The grim expression on the chief engineer’s face slowly fractured until a wondering look appeared. “Jean-luc told me to give the blade to a good one,” then he chuckled. “At my age I figured you were the last and only chance I’d ever going to get to unload the stupid thing.”
I stiffened in shock.
“It’s a relief, knowing I’m not only the person who’ll have to worry where to hide a legendary sword like that anymore. But then you already gave it away,” he slapped his leg, as if remembering some great joke. “Old Jean-luc said I’d know I picked a good one from a bad one by how quickly whoever he was handed the blade off or if he tried to keep it for himself. Fifty years, I smuggled that thing around, looking for the right person and you get rid of the thing in less than a day.” He started muttering again.
“Jean-luc,” I said, slowly coming out of the shock. “You knew, as in actually knew, Jean Luc Montagne Vekna and he handed you Band-, ah, the sword before his…before the end.”
“Oh, it was just Jean Luc Montagne at the time. The Veknas were still only dreaming of the crown back then and hadn’t yet stamped their name all over everything,” said the engineer, a faraway look in his eye. “The best captain I ever served with, you know. Of course,” he said reluctantly, “he had a tendency to overwork the shield generators. Burned out more than our fair share of relays, double charging the forward shields like he did.”
“The history books say he served on an SDF battleship, called the CDF King Larry Montagne," I interjected, unsure of what he was talking about. "I looked it up since I’ve been on the ship. How did you managed to serve with him if you’ve been continuously assigned here, on this ship,” I asked, both puzzled and elated. I couldn't believe I was talking with a man who actually knew someone right out of the history books like Jean-luc, and held a secret trust from him for all these years.
“Oh, that. Well, it's simple, The Lucky Larry was the
Lucky Clover before they ever thought to rechristen her into a him, the King Larry Montagne,” the Engineer said with a wistful sigh.
“Don’t you mean they rechristened King Larry Montagne, and now she’s called Lucky Clover,” I asked, becoming more confused by the moment.
“No, no. They did that later,” the engineer said only adding to the confusion. “It's simple really. First off, she was the Lucky Clover. Then during the reconstruction,” his face darkened, “what they call 'The Coup' nowadays, the old King decided to celebrate his resumption of power by rededicating the CDF Lucky Clover. That’s how she came to be bear the name King Larry Montagne. Although, she was always The Lucky Larry or just The Larry to those of us who served on him. After the Parliament re-seized power, they didn’t like so much the idea of a ship that linked the memory of our Founder Larry One with the Montagnes. So they decided to change her name back.”
“Wow,” was all I could manage. I felt like a schoolboy learning about history for the first time. Although, what I was hearing now wasn’t in any of the history books I remembered reading. It's true history wasn’t my favorite subject, but if it involved space battles and action, I generally remembered it afterwards.
“The Captain always wanted to start a vineyard somewhere, you know. A terrible wine snob, that man,” said Spalding with a snort. “I hope whatever world he’s on, he’s enjoying his wine.”
I blinked in surprise, “Uh, I hate to have to be the one to break it to you,” I said, wondering if the old engineer was having a senior moment, “but he was thrown into the waste recycler by his own crew. It was pretty gruesome…,” I stopped short as I realized something. According to the Chief Engineer, Jean Luc’s crew had been the crew of The Lucky Larry, the very same crew of which this old engineer had been a part. How could he not know his old captain had been killed by the crew and the event broadcast planet wide?
He looked at the chief engineer. The old man had a guilty look.
“Ah, of course. Of course you’re right, he’s dead. A bad business, that,” the older man stuttered, looking like he did down on three deck before, saying he didn’t know anything about some supply discrepancy. “Forgive me. Sometimes my memory acts up. Old age, you know,” he said gruffly, tapping his temple with a gnarled finger.
It couldn’t be. I gave the engineer a sharp look, but the old man wasn’t revealing anything further. Maybe it was a senior moment like he said, or maybe Lieutenant Spalding had just inadvertently let slip the fact that the Captain, killed so violently by his crew during the Troubles, had instead faked his own death and was even now living on a vineyard somewhere?!
Well, if the old Captain hadn’t come back to cause trouble in over fifty years, it was unlikely he’d start doing so anytime soon.
I laughed at the preposterous notion and headed for the lift. I wasn’t going to be the one to blow Jean Luc’s cover, not after all these years. That's assuming it really hadn’t been a senior moment of the type the old engineer was trying to claim. Besides, I had always felt an affinity with poor old Jean-Luc. And even the possibility that the most important thing I knew about him was a lie didn't change my desire to somehow help the old man out.
As I walked by, I saw the Armory crew and the engineering detail eyeing each other like two packs of angry dogs, with poor Gants caught in the middle, being both a former member of engineering and the current leader of the armory.
“Good man, Gants,” I said to the head of the Armory. “Go in there and help the Chief Engineer, but remember I want those Security boys locked up so tight they can’t even dream of causing any trouble until we’ve have time to put them off the ship. And watch out for the tall blonde in there, you may think she’s lovely, I mean if you’re into that whole icy cold exterior thing, but don’t believe it. That Lady’s an extra helping of poison mixed in with a double shot of crazy and filled to the brim with superstition. Don’t trust a word she says unless you can verify it first. Oh, and she’s also out for blood after Security went and stole her sword. Planted a fork in the lieutenant’s neck and everything.”
Gants looked alarmed and more than a little worried at this recitation of the facts, but it was no longer my problem.
There, I thought. Now everyone’s warned about what they were up against and I could go the bridge with a clear conscience. I made my way to my quarters to don the old Confed Admiral's uniform and helmet. After that task was completed, I returned to the nearest lift.
A vineyard, I chuckled to myself as the lift took me to the same deck as the Flag Bridge. Who’d have thought it? I (and old Jean-Luc, apparently) had a good laugh at Parliament’s expense.
Chapter 27: The Bearer of bad news
The bulkhead doors slid sideways and I placed my command crystal back in my pocket. Making sure the ancient Confederation helmet was on securely, without being so tight it rubbed against my now delicate skin, I stepped onto the bridge.
I turned red when several of the bridge crew turned to see who had come in. I knew I looked like some kind of mutant out of a low budget holo-vid, what with this ancient uniform and even older helmet, and let's not forget the no eyebrows thing. Not to mention all the rest of the physical damage my helmet didn’t cover. I probably looked like I was playing dress up or auditioning for a part in a cheesy holo-historical.
It was better to look like a fool than it was to resemble a burn victim, I reminded myself harshly. I walked with as much dignity as I could muster and took my seat in the Admiral's Throne.
I looked over at the First Officer after seating myself, and I was somewhat pleased to see a semi-stunned look on his face. Whether the cause of his expression was the outfit or the terrible burn damage, I didn’t want to know.
Fortunately for me, while it might look bad it didn’t really hurt, it just itched terribly.
“Don’t just stand there, Mr. First Officer,” I said after the pause had grown uncomfortable. “You said there was an emergency situation up here that needed the Montagne magic, as you called it,” I blew on my fingers while shaking my hands loose, deliberately playing off the image of some cheap mountebank magician. If I was going to dress like a fool and look like a mutant, I might as well play the part to the hilt.
Tremblay’s mouth snapped shut and he turned slightly red. This time, instead of returning to his usual disapproving self after he regained his composure, he turned serious instead.
“Its chaos out there, Sir,” he said, and for the first time looked at me as something other than a civilian playing at being an Admiral and getting everything wrong while he did it.
I closed my eyes. If Tremblay was looking to me for answers, like I was a real admiral who could actually wave my hands and magically fix things, the ship must be in deep trouble.
“What seems to be the problem, Raphael,” I said, using the man’s first name. Maybe it was time to bury the hatchet, if that was even possible at this point, because right now I still didn’t know if Security’s attempt to kill me was limited to a handful of disaffected crewmen and one officer, or if others were actively involved in the plot.
“It’s the settlers, Admiral,” he said pointing to the screen. It showed the two ships orbiting Tracto VI along with the Caprian built warship. “The star drive on the Caprian settlement ship broke down. Apparently one of the pirate cutters launched some sort of limpet mines and they didn’t go off until the settler point transferred into the system. It's looking like the pirates, in their usual incompetent fashion, wanted to make sure the Settlers didn’t get away. Right now, the remains of their main dish are floating through cold space in little pieces.”
I closed my eyes. “This is not good, XO,” I said, an instant headache springing up behind my eyes.
“You’re preaching to the choir, sir. But there’s more,” Tremblay said, looking at the floor.
“I don’t see how it could be any worse, unless the Belters suddenly lost their star drive as well,” I said, giving the first officer a hard look, “They didn’t lose thei
r drive, did they?”
“No,” said the first officer, happy to give good news for once.
Of course, then he had to ruin it with the very next thing out of his mouth.
“Their drive still works just fine, but now it seems they don’t to want to leave the system. Ever. With the Empire gone, they’ve suddenly decided they want set their stakes and settle here, instead.”
“Here,” I blurted. “Are they insane?”
“The Caprian settlers sure seem to think so and they are demanding that if the Belters want to stay here, they should have to hand over their main dish, since it still works. The Caprian ship could then clear the system and continue on to their new home world,” Tremblay said with relish. “The Belters are worried about the large number of atmosphere leaks on their ship and insist that they need the main dish in case they can’t get a handle on the situation and have to head back to port before returning here. They also say they paid good money for their ship and aren’t willing to just hand away critical pieces of it to anyone who asks.”
Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 27
