“I’m hearing from some of our men in the shuttle hangar that instead of instead of taking Promethean families down to the surface and then coming back up here empty, the shuttles have started returning fully loaded with natives,” Brence said urgently. “I was wondering if we should send a few boys over to the armory, just in case.”
“Ha!” Lieutenant Spalding couldn't help his reaction. “Is the Lady up here with them,” he asked.
“No, but Gants and a few of the armory boys are. Supposedly, he says it's not a problem, but…” it was hard to tell through a shaded helmet, but the spacehand looked worried. “He’s with an awful lot of natives right now. He might not be speaking freely-” the Chief Engineer cut him off.
“Are Gants and the rest of the boys still in their armor,” the old engineer demanded.
“Sure are, Chief, but even still,” continued Brence, the worry rising in his voice with every passing word. “Why are they here, and what are we going to do about them? The Admiral can’t have ordered it; he’s in medical right now, unconscious. I mean he couldn’t, could he? What should we do, Sir?”
Spalding pondered the situation for a moment. It seemed the Lady Akantha was taking matters into her own hands, “Put ‘em over in Marine country. We’ve got all the Prometheans out of there by now,” he said decisively. “Should be empty and out of the way for the mean time.”
“Should we let the Bridge know?” asked the spacehand.
“From the reports I’ve been getting, it’s the Admiral who came up with the strategy that sent those pirates packing,” the Chief Engineer said grimly. “Now, he’s not got the formal training, unlike certain others on the bridge who I could name. Officers who should have known better than to leave us hanging out to dry on the hull,” the Engineer said, grabbing his plasma torch. “As far as I’m concerned, Mr. First Officer Tremblay can go and find out about this little surprise all on his lonesome, he can. Maybe when engineering moves a little further up in his estimation, we can see about more in the way of some decent interdepartmental cooperation.”
The engineering rating grinned and nodded before backing away.
Spalding had just cleared away another blockage and was deep into a new task when he received another urgent message, this time from spacehand Bostwell.
“Chief, I’m getting reports that the First Officer is in a fury and demanding to speak with you,” said the greenhorn at the engineering communication console. He’d been helping to coordinate work teams out on the hull, but also relayed and, in certain limited circumstances, handled interdepartmental communications.
“What’s he want with me,” Spalding asked in dry, mock surprise.
There was an embarrassed silence.
“Well,” demanded the old engineer.
“Sir, it’s all over the ship by now how we, that is I mean engineering, knew about all these natives coming up to the ship before the bridge did. How you told the men not to warn the First Officer. It seems he knows about the rumors and he’s pretty angry,” said Bostwell.
“He is, is he?” asked the Chief Engineer. “Well, patch him on through. I guarantee my anger is like the heat of a sun, compared to whatever little pot he’s got on the boil,” snorted the Chief Engineer.
There was the sound of the connection going through.
“Hello? Is this Spalding,” demanded Tremblay over the suit's speaker.
“It is. What can I do for you Mr. First Officer,” asked Spalding pleasantly.
“What can you do for me?! The natives take it into their head to invade the ship, and word all over the Clover is that Engineering knew all about it and didn’t bother to tell anyone, and you have the unmitigated gall to ask me what you can do for me?!” The First Officer's voice was so shrill that it was causing the suit's speakers to distort quite badly. Spalding grinned, savoring the young upstart's childish temper-tantrum.
“I did send them over to marine country when I started hearing reports they were at loose ends and just milling around,” allowed the Chief. “Can’t have them getting in the way of a proper working crew until they know what’s going on. It seemed like an out of the way place to put them.”
“You miserable old excuse of an engineer,” shouted the First Officer. “This is mutiny in cold space is what it is, you scheming old royalist!”
“I’d be careful throwing around big words like that, my young whippersnapper. I’ve broken bigger men than you,” growled the old engineer. "Unmitigated, mutiny, royalist,” he said, ticking off the words on his fingers. The First Officer couldn’t see him doing it, but it helped his thought process.
“Don’t try to deny you weren’t directly involved in whatever the Hades is going on here,” Tremblay said angrily.
“Very well. I’ve got a few words of my own for you, my young parliamentary bootlicker,” sneered Spalding.
“So you admit it,” exclaimed the former Intelligence Officer. “This is all part of some deep plot to put a Montagne back on the throne, isn’t it? You’re just too old and senile to see that it’ll never work!”
“Senile, is it,” roared the Engineer. “Am I a scheming manipulator with deep plots against both the ship and her government, or a raging buffoon too old and infirm to tell black from white and night from day? Make up your mind, lad. I need you to decide what I am, exactly.”
“I’ll see you hanged first!” roared the First Officer.
“Arrogant, incompetent, murderer,” said the Chief Engineer, still ticking off points. “Perhaps we should add traitor to the bunch as well? Don't tell me that an Intelligence Officer like yourself is just some stooge who's contented never knowin' who's really pullin' his strings!”
“I’m coming down with my sidearm and every man who’s still loyal to Capria. We’ll put an end to this incipient little rebellion of yours once and for all,” said Officer Tremblay. “We may die, but by the angry space gods of old, you’ll have felt it before we’re through with you.”
“Go ahead and make your third move against the Confederation’s lawfully appointed fleet commander. History is written by the victors, I’ve seen that much in my sorry old days. So comfort yourself with your little lies, because that’s all you’ll have when I’m through with you! Then I'll tell everyone who survives how you died a mutineer’s death, attacking our newly arrived Marine-Lancers in your latest and greatest try to seize control of the ship. Spaced out the airlock,” said the Chief Engineer furiously, “is what I’ll do to your corpse, and tell your family it was justice!”
“Don’t try to cover yourself with lies that won’t stand up to scrutiny,” sneered Tremblay. “I’ve never raised a hand against the Admiral, and if these natives qualify as old-style Confederation Lancers, then I’m a grease-monkey’s uncle.”
“Why don’t you ask the Admiral about our new shock troops then, if ye doubt my word,” bit out the Chief Engineer.
“A man who is conveniently unconscious,” yelled Tremblay, “If you think I’ll stand by while you load this ship with a bunch of scabs, you’ve seriously misjudged me.”
“What you are is not a monkey of any kind, nor its uncle,” grated the Chief. “What you are is incompetent, Mr. First Officer Raphael Tremblay.”
“You’re space-crazed, old man, and I can’t wait to see the expression on that wrinkled old face when I come down there to shove reality back down your throat,” said Tremblay.
“Incompetent is what I said and it's what I meant,” said Spalding. “You say no one can doubt your loyalty. Ha!” The engineer waved wildly, even though the First Officer couldn’t see him. “But only a fool or an incompetent would be the sort of First Officer who allowed two attempts to take place on the life of his Admiral, each time by the very same man!”
There was a pause. “I had nothing to do with that,” Tremblay said defensively. “There was no way of knowing…”
“Double ha!” exclaimed the Lieutenant Spalding. “Intelligence and Security go hand in hand. Like a hammer and wrench, they sit side by s
ide in the parliamentary toolbox. Claim to know nothing about a murderous ship’s officer running free and gathering up more men for another attempt. Well, it only goes to show that either you’re an incompetent fool who knew nothing, which is damning enough all by itself, or else you were in on the blooming plot from the jump! Which is it, Mr. Tremblay?”
“Security would never come to me looking for support in an unsanctioned hit on the Admiral of this ship,” Tremblay defended himself, “and any assertions otherwise are false, and perhaps motivated out of jealousy and spite.”
“Two attempts on his bleeping life, and still you find the mere suggestion that the man might be bringing onboard additional security forces entirely unbelievable,” said the Chief Engineer. “Once again, we have evidence of your sterling intellect, Mr. First Officer.”
“Even if I believed that the Admiral wanted a new security force, this is still a Caprian ship, Mr. Spalding. We do not simply allow native scabs to board her in sufficient numbers to endanger the ship, all because the man who supposedly authorized it is laying unconscious in sickbay and unable to confirm whether or not he did,” argued the First Officer. “I’ll open this ship to cold space and watch everyone in it die before I’ll let a ship in the Caprian SDF be taken-a-prize!”
After a significant pause, “Then let's wake him up,” said Spalding in an all-too-reasonable voice.
“What are you talking about,” demanded the First Officer.
“Let's go down to the infirmary and have the Doctor wake the man up. If the Admiral says he authorized them to be here, then we’ll have no more talk of venting the ship. On the other hand, if he says the natives - the scabs, as you call them - need to be thrown off the Lucky Clover, why then, if they won’t go quietly me and the Engineering lads'll help kick them off the ship for you,” barked the Chief Engineer.
There was an extended pause. “If this is some kind of trick,” warned the younger officer.
“Yeah, yeah, you’ll kill us all,” said the Chief Engineer wearily. “I’d just be careful all locked up there in that fortress they call a Flag Bridge. Even supposedly isolated environmental systems can be made to ‘malfunction.’ So I wouldn’t start getting it into your head that you can vent the rest of us and continue on, business as usual.”
Another pause. “I’ll contact the infirmary and set things up. You’ll be notified when it's time,” said the First Officer.
“I think Gants and the armory boys will be on hand to monitor and make sure there isn’t a third mysterious attempt on the young admiral's life while he’s still unable to defend himself,” cautioned the chief engineer.
“One man in power armor, the rest can either leave their battle suits behind or stay at the armory,” said Tremblay.
“For an innocent man, you are awfully cautious,” growled the old engineer.
“Just do it,” said the First Officer. “I’ll be bringing a few men who feel the same way as myself. If I see any more than what we’ve agreed on, that’s it and this truce is off,” he finished.
“Alright then,” said Spalding.
“Be warned, I’m bringing an Ion Spike,” so saying the first officer cut the connection.
The chief engineer cursed. Ion Spikes were portable weapons specifically designed for disabling power-armor. You had to get in close and physically touch the battle suit with the spike, but if you did, it could fry the onboard computer system and shut down the suit. The newer Imperial models were somewhat resistant, and a Spike might or might not fully disable such a suit. The older style versions carried on the Luck Clover and worn by the armory team had no such resistance.
Clearly, the first officer wasn’t taking any chances.
“That blue-faced blighter,” he said before turning to trudge his way back into the ship. "Saint Murphy save us from fools and first officers."
Chapter 35: A Rude Awakening and Arrivals
It wasn’t like last time, where I didn’t even realize I was waking up. This time I was dragged kicking and… okay, not screaming, perhaps grunting would be a better word for it. Anyway, I found myself kicking and grunting into the land of the living and suddenly conscious.
“I still think this is a bad idea. The Admiral has sustained repeated, massive blunt trauma events in a relatively short period of time. He isn’t healed from the first time he found his way into my sickbay. Now you want to interrupt the healing process a second time, before anything has time to completely heal yet again, in the name of expediency,” protested the Doctor.
“Your protests were noted already,” Officer Tremblay said irritably. “At this point, it's too late to change anything. Focus on your patient and make sure he wakes up in his right mind. There’s no benefit to pointless protest.”
The Doctor snorted and returned to his work. Which, as far as I could determine, consisted mostly of looming over me with a portable scanning device and taking measurements.
I opened my mouth to ask what was going on, but a dry mouth and throat stopped anything more coherent than a croak from emerging.
The doctor, who had been so vigorously protesting waking me from my nap early, looked down in irritation before picking up a cup with a straw and placing it in my mouth. As soon as I had taken two miniscule swallows, the Doc removed it and turned back to his measurements.
With my throat lubricated but still feeling sore, I decided to try again. “What seems to be the problem, gentlemen,” I asked, my voice creaking like hundred year old wooden furniture. “I’m up early?” For some reason, I couldn’t figure out why I was in the sickbay. After a confused moment, the memory of my recent experiences down on the surface returned.
I groaned.
“Are you alright, lad,” asked the Chief Engineer sounding concerned.
“Enough wasting time,” Officer Tremblay said sharply.
“I’m just checking to make sure the-,” started Chief Spalding.
The First Officer cut him off and forcefully placed his hands on the side of my oh-so-comfortable hospital-style bed.
“Did you order new Lancers for the ship,” demanded the former Intelligence Officer.
“Lancers,” I puzzled. I didn’t get the reference. It was some combination of the beating I'd taken and whatever drugs the Doc had pumped me full of which must have been muddling my faculties so thoroughly. Clearly, however, Tremblay had cooked up some new scheme intended to land me on the wrong foot. At least this time he'd started the confrontation from a position of strength, having his adversary (myself) pumped full of sedatives prior to engagement. The man was definitely learning.
Tremblay glared at me in frustration and slapped the side of the bed. “Did you give the order for more marines or didn’t you,” he demanded.
Someone must have seen something I didn’t, because the next thing I heard was the same cool voice that had just haunted my dreams. They hadn’t been very pleasant dreams, either.
“Lay a finger on him and die,” said my beautiful, blond ice maiden.
“I’m not going to touch him,” Officer Tremblay said, moderating his tone and then turning abruptly to give a proper nod to the Lady Akantha. “I’m not the enemy of any person in this room.”
Wild-haired Spalding snorted.
“Anyone not trying to seize control of this battleship, anyways,” he amended before turning his attention back to me. “But I won’t stand by and let you put words into his mouth either. Either he ordered additional personnel for this ship while he was down on the planet or he didn’t, and this is all some kind of power grab. Possibly headed up by a certain pre-reconstruction royalist!”
At first I didn’t get who he was talking about and then it came to me. The Intelligence Officer assigned by parliament suspected the Chief Engineer of being a royalist of the old school. What they called an apologizer, or worse back home. Someone who still supported the old Montagne Royals.
It made a certain amount of sense. The man had held the legendary sword Bandersnatch in trust for over fifty years, receivi
ng it from the hands of a certain Montagne Captain he still seemed to respect.
Then, the rest of what the First Officer said started to penetrate and I finally got the reference to Lancers. The Empire had Marine Jacks. The Confederation used to have old style Lancers for their ship boarding operations and away teams. I was a child of Imperial times, so the reference to old Confederation terminology took a moment to process.
With the advent of the Confederated Empire the Lancers had gone out of fashion and been phased out of the armed forces in favor of Imperial-backed Marine Jacks. Supposedly, the Marine Jacks had better training and discipline. I honestly didn’t know, it was from before my time.
Realizing the pause had grown uncomfortably long, I knew I had to say something.
“Ah, yes. That.” The words formed themselves in my mouth, seemingly bypassing any approval process my brain might have wished to take. “I’ve felt this ship needed a marine complement for some time. The Armory crew does its best, but what they possess in enthusiasm, they lack in other areas...” I trailed off, hoping I wasn’t making a hash of things.
Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 38
