Admiral's Throne

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Is your group looking to take up service in the Messene Guard or trying for the Montagne Warband, Signus?” I asked gravely.

  “Either would do, Protector,” he said with relief. In the background, the next petitioner started to look decidedly agitated.

  “The Messene Guard has already grown overly large, my dear,” Akantha pointed out and the other petitioner began to settle down.

  Meanwhile, Garabaldi’s relief turned to immediate concern.

  “I know we don’t have the lifelong weapons training or education you’re looking for, Warlord,” he said, switching titles quickly now the position in Akantha’s Messene Guard began to look doubtful, “but we’re hard workers used to doing back-breaking and dirty jobs. Give us a chance and we won’t let you down!”

  What he meant was between farming being hard work and a path to warrior training opening up before them, they were ready to leap at the chance. There was only one hitch in my mind but considering the men’s background, I figured we could work our way past it one way or the other. Worst case scenario, they could go home and keep tending the land and their families.

  “Unfortunately, I have more than enough Lancers on hand at the moment,” I said deliberately. Garabaldi began to wilt.

  “Of course, I understand. I’m sorry for taking up your time, Protector Montagne,” he said starting to walk back, causing the next petitioner behind him to step forward with an arrogant expression on his face.

  “Wait a minute. I’m not yet finished,” I said, lifting a hand.

  The Freedman looked back up with hope and the armored petitioner behind him froze.

  I mentally shook my head. The warriors, holders and politicians of Tracto were at least relatively cunning and sophisticated but the more rustic farmer types…

  I sternly reminded myself to not look down at the freedman and his group of farmers. They weren’t necessarily unsophisticated, merely unused to dealing with those in the halls of power and thus feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

  “I said there are no Lancer positions as of now. However, so long as you’re willing to work hard on your education and every other facet of a spacer’s, we can always use more trained persons for the Fleet. It wouldn’t be a Lancer position at least initially, but we can always use more Gunners. We’d start you out as regular crew of course, but given time in space and enough training or battle merits, a transfer isn’t impossible. Keeping in mind someone has to drive the ship and keep it running, we can’t all take the best spots, at least to start,” I warned.

  The farmer’s eyes lit up and burned with sudden hope.

  “We’re yours if you’ll have us, Warlord,” he said clouting his right fist against his left chest, “put any task before us and we’ll do it. We’re used to hard work.”

  “Learn your letters and numbers, if you don’t know them already, then prepare to learn a lot more. It takes serious education to become a spacer,” I said sternly. The main thing was to get them enrolled them in the new training centers. Even if they dropped out later, they’d reenter the workforce much more qualified to deal with this brave new technological world they were now faced with.

  “We’ll do it,” blurted the farmer.

  “I’ll have my man give you a plaque. Present it to the training center and you and your group will be enrolled on a scholarship grant,” I said, motioning to an MSP Officer off to the side.

  “A thousand thanks wouldn’t be enough, Warlord!” he said, eyes widening as he practically vibrated with happiness.

  “All I ask is that when you join the Fleet, you last long enough for your automatic deductions to repay the training center so I can afford to send another person from Messene through the program,” I said a bit perfunctorily.

  I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at the overflowing of emotions. I might be altruistic but only within limits! This was basically a loan they had to pay back.

  Just because Tracto—and thus Messene—had credits flowing out of its ears from ‘black market’ trillium sales, didn’t mean that we needed to just give everything away for free.

  In my experience a man worked harder when he knew he was actually earning something for himself. A hand-up rather than a hand-out.

  “You won’t regret this, Warlord Montagne. You won’t find a more dedicated or—or loyal band of followers, than Garabaldi Signus and his farmers!” the farmer said gratefully.

  “The lieutenant will see you out and register your people with the training center,” I said benignly.

  I waited as the farmer finished his heartfelt thanks and followed out the Fleet Officer, kept here as both an aide to me and for exactly these purposes.

  Taking a look at our next petitioner, I wondered if I could sneak off now.

  “Be patient,” Akantha advised in a quiet voice, hiding her smile from the rest of the room, but not me, behind her hand.

  I shot her a look and lifted a single eyebrow.

  “I’m always patient,” I diverted.

  She snorted.

  “Well, outside our chambers,” I defended.

  If looks could kill, hers would be a physical attack.

  “Not appropriate talk for the Palace receiving hall. Or anytime else,” she warned.

  “Be careful or I might run right now in fear,” I said with a cheeky look.

  While we were whispering back and forth, the heavily-armored Tractoan man came to a boot-stomping halt in front of the dais.

  I turned to look now that we had been disrupted.

  “Yes?” I drawled.

  “Warlord Tinibus requesting the honor of speaking with Grand Warlord Jason Montagne,” he said perfunctorily, running a hand over a stone rhino breastplate over his chest before looking up at me with steely eyes.

  “Granted, of course,” I said with a languid flip of the wrist, eyes sweeping over the other man, the self-proclaimed Warlord Tinibus.

  His breastplate was stone rhino hide, not the best cut for a breastplate, my now discerning eye pointed out, but serviceable enough all the same and therefore valuable. For the rest of his kit, he had a Tractoan blade, peace-bonded with a string tied to his left side, a cheap-looking blaster pistol on his right, also peace-bonded, but more importantly, the power cell pulled.

  The rest of his kit, more or less standard pre-tech Tractoan, and been cleaned until it had a shine to most of it but the job was really nothing to write home about. On the whole, I judged him a standard low-level warlord prior to our arrival in Tracto and perhaps one a bit on the poor side, post the MSP.

  I must have been contemplating things for too long because Warlord Tinibus finally burst.

  “By what right do you recruit all the able-bodied men?” he demanded.

  My eyebrows rose.

  “Those sound like fighting words to me, Warlord Tinibus,” I said evenly.

  “You offer too much to too many. How is a roving warband supposed to stay at strength when you’re practically throwing gold and glory even to the likes of common farmers!” protested Tinibus.

  “That sounds like a personal problem. I fail to see how ‘your problems’ are any of my concern, Tinibus,” I commented.

  I waited a beat for that to sink in.

  “So, unless there’s a challenge in there somewhere?” I added with cocked brow.

  “It upsets the natural order of things,” the Warlord protested.

  I shrugged, not really that concerned about the trials of a poor warlord used to lording it over peasant farmers now finding he had to pay more to hire good help.

  “But if you take in and train every farmer who will be left to till the fields? Others have done this before and it has led to mass starvation and breakdown in the social order. Is this what you want?” Tinibus asked rhetorically, turning half away to present his argument to the rest of the room.

  “Robots and auto-farms of course, these will take up the slack,” I replied, and—seeing the frowns from the Tractoan me
mbers of court at this somewhat flippant response—added, “imagine a day when we no longer need nine farmers to support one warrior. Instead, one farmer will grow in time to have the ability to support nine.”

  Tinibus looked startled then made a chopping motion.

  “Even if that’s true, and I have no reason to believe you lie or are misinformed, will robots be able to defend a smallhold? Can auto-farms break new ground or fill the polis with people when our way of life has been disrupted to such an extent?” the other Warlord demanded rhetorically.

  “You would be surprised what robots are able to do. Regardless, the new farming equipment will free thousands of Tractoans from back-breaking labor, enabling them to turn their attention to far greater exploits,” I dismissed.

  He didn’t know it but the resulting social changes typically brought about by technology advancing invariably brought a reduction in the population growth rate unless special efforts were attempted. But those effects generally took several generations to fully take effect. We wouldn’t have to worry about that for a while.

  “No robot can replace man or woman!” said Tinibus.

  “If all you’ve come to do is to protest our recruitment efforts, social programs and technological innovations, I’m afraid we don’t have much more to discuss.”

  I shook my head.

  Tinibus looked startled and then alarmed.

  “No! Wait!” he said.

  “Yes?” I replied.

  “Right now, your farmers and freedmen receive the fat of the land while my warband goes hungry for food, weapons and recruits,” said Tinibus.

  “Is this a challenge then?” I asked.

  “No, it is not!” He took a deep breath. “I’ll be forthright; my people want the stars,” Tinibus said finally.

  I blinked.

  “What? I’m sorry but I don’t provide free shipping off-world; if you want transport, you have to pay for it,” I explained. I’d shipped several Warlords and their warbands off-planet, to the Omicron specifically, where they could then go in search of greener pastures and blow off steam in a setting not as likely to cause me or my people issues.

  To my mind, it was similar to letting off a little steam and at least they weren’t hanging around turning Tracto into a pressure cooker.

  Tinibus hesitated.

  “Can you pay?” I prodded.

  He slowly frowned.

  “This is not a charity,” I reminded him.

  The Warlord’s eyes darted around.

  “I am prepared to be the first to recognize you as Grand Warlord and propose alliance between us,” he finally said.

  “Do I really need your recognition? And weren’t you the one who said you disapproved of how things are going in Messene? What kind of alliance would we have when you so clearly disagree with our policy directions,” I said.

  He waved my words away as if warding off a blow or smelly odor.

  “How your Mistress manages her hold is entirely up to her. My concern is and always has been war. A Warlord can never have enough men, blades or allies unless he’s a fool or insane, neither of which you have a reputation for,” he said.

  My brow furrowed.

  “A man is known by the company he keeps,” I said flatly.

  “Surely, you can use more blades and allies such as myself if you’re recruiting farmhands,” he exclaimed in exasperation as he spoke.

  I scratched behind an ear.

  “Yes, but they’re actually pledging themselves to me. You’re not and besides, they’ll learn whatever I teach them, and I’m not sure if I can say the same about any ‘allies’ I might pick up. By that, I mean the ways of the stars,” I pointed out.

  “But you can’t become a Grand Warlord unless other Warlords recognize your status! The Tinibus Warband can give you the recognition you need to further your grand ambitions,” he declared, assigning me a desire I was not at all sure I had.

  “We are a small but proud band with a history that goes back more than three generations,” he slapped his chest plate for emphasis. “While not as numerous as we were in the past, nothing could stop us from recruiting decent men to fill our ranks if it were known we were allied to you!” the Warlord said enthusiastically.

  “I see the real clear benefit to you in such an arrangement but do I really need to be styled Grand Warlord that badly?” I asked rhetorically.

  I looked over to see my wife giving me a troubled look.

  “You’re the most powerful Warlord in the world! It demeans your honor not to have your status recognized,” Tinibus said quickly.

  I didn’t like it. I didn’t want it, but I might have to entertain the idea, I wasn’t sure but the middle of court was neither the time nor place to explore the option.

  “We’ll talk again in a more private setting,” I temporized, determined to make time to talk with Akantha and a few Tractoan advisors before proceeding further. I wanted to know all the ramifications before making a decision. Worst case, I could say thanks but no thanks and ship him off-world to the Omicron, fulfilling his wish for the stars.

  There had to be some pirate group, mercenary band or hard scrabble world desperate for protection that would hire him and his struggling group.

  “Of course, Grand Warlord!” Warlord Tinibus said, clearly hearing something in my words I wasn’t saying.

  I waved a dismissive hand.

  As he shuffled out of the room, I rolled my shoulders.

  “If that’s all, I think I’ll be going my dear,” I said to Akantha. Maybe I could escape before any more trouble arrived on my doorstep, I thought optimistically.

  I deliberately didn’t think about the Sector Judge or the bag of trouble he was trying to foist off on me as I worked to make good my escape.

  “I know you’d prefer to go but I think you should stay, Protector. We have several foreign guests here to petition this Court,” she said pointedly.

  “I think I know who it is and as far as I’m concerned, all the more reason to leave before someone loses their head,” I said quietly.

  While we’d been talking, a small group of hooded figures approached the dais from the back of the room.

  I sighed; it looked like I wouldn’t make my escape after all.

  The leader threw back his hood and I suppressed an angry mutter.

  Just as expected, it was Kong Pao.

  “My Lady, Hold-Mistress Akantha, thank you for seeing us at such short notice,” he said while I idly wondered who he’d brought with him for backup. Another group of minders from the new governing body, I presumed, but I’d been removed from galactic and sector-level politics long enough I couldn’t be sure.

  “Why have you approached this court?” she asked, looking down her nose at the Sector Judge. The man had a history of broken promises, not just with me but with her as well.

  “Dark times and even darker tidings, Hold-Mistress,” he said grimly.

  “All is well in Messene and her many holdings. My lands do well,” Akantha dismissed with an impassive expression. “If times are hard for those of the Spineward Sectors, you of course have our pity,” she paused a beat and then added in a sorrowful voice, “Be assured you shall be in our prayers. If there is some charity organization you feel needs our special attention, never let it be said Messene is not famed for its charitable works,” she continued righteously.

  I snorted. I tried not to but it escaped before I could stop it.

  “You misunderstand. It is not prayers we need but warships. I have been sent to formally petition the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet for assistance,” said Kong Pao.

  Akantha’s expression turned gloomy. She stood from her seat.

  “Who do you think you are to come into my home and say such a thing? After what you’ve done?” she glared, her face turning into an icy imperious mask.

  Kong Pao winced.

  “I know I have no right to ask this,” said the Judge, straightening like a ma
n faced with a strong wind.

  “In the name of MEN, you could not be more right!” said Akantha.

  Kong Pao’s shoulders hunched.

  “I have been appointed Ambassador by the Semi-Autonomous Regional Authority,” Kong Pao said with a wince, “I know you are still angry over the events that took place two years ago, and with good cause. But please remember I was only one of many and—”

  “Shameless!” Akantha declared, “it is not the actions of the faithless, feckless, spineless and now fallen New Assembly I am enraged at, but rather your own! You have asked for our aid time and time again. Well enough, no one forced us to listen to you, Ambassador. But we trusted you and with that trust came certain obligations! Something that you understood at the time but conveniently forgot when it came time for surrendering to the enemy without a shot fired!”

  “The Hold Mistress did not control the government. Just as I did not control the military. I ask that you, please, overlook personal animosity and think of the people who will die if we don’t all take immediate action,” Pao said passionately.

  “You ask much and offer too little in exchange. We will not be teased with dire prognostications. Be gone!” Akantha snapped.

  “I implore you, Lady Akantha! We have made several deals in the past and I believe Tracto has profited quite handsomely as a result. Have there been disappointments? Without a doubt, but—” he urged.

  “Gold is no replacement for honor, nor daily conveniences for blood from our people and speak not to me of broken trade deals. You made strong promises but the moment our trillium or our fleets are not needed, another is placed in your stead and everything overturns. Why would we enter another deal?” Akantha mocked.

  “I have no control over what the government does after I leave,” said Ambassador Kong.

  “Besides, who are these ingrates that now need our help? The public that spits on my Protector? The people that celebrated in the streets over his political defeats and then came screaming for help at the first sign of trouble the last time around?” Akantha sneered.