Admiral's Throne

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “You have the biggest independent fleet in the Sector and the planet needs someone to take the reins while we re-constitute the top levels of government. It doesn’t hurt that the Marines and System Defense Fleet have a much more favorable view of you than in the general public,” said MP Maldrin La-Pierre, cutting into the conversation.

  “So, you want me for a convenient figurehead?” I posited.

  “I wouldn’t put it that way but…” the Marquis splayed both hands.

  “I see no reason I should throw myself into this mess when I’m not wanted by the public at large. The Marines and the SDF like me? They’re the people most likely to have their noses put out of joint by my arrival. Besides returning home a figurehead with no actual power? I’ve been down that road before and we all know where that got me. So, thanks but no thanks,” I said cynically.

  “The level of your involvement in the restoration of our homeworld is very much up to you. No one is saying there aren’t a number of barriers to your return but as of now, Capria’s in bind,” said de-Farqua.

  “We need all the help we can get,” chimed in La-Pierre.

  “Jason Montagne, you’re our only hope,” said Marquis de-Farqua.

  “At least for a peaceful transition of power until we can restore the normal order thanks to these bug attacks,” Maldrin said briskly.

  “This has to be the worst sales pitch in the history of hard sells,” I mocked.

  “To be honest, for all we know, there could be another bug Swarm out there waiting to attack while we’re weak. Can you really stand by and do nothing while your homeworld is eaten by bugs?” said the Marquis.

  “Capria may be down but she’s not out, and mark my words, she’ll be back stronger than before,” PM La-Pierre said forcefully.

  “We may be on the Rim but we’re not stupid. There’s no way the Tyrant of Cold Space is ‘your only hope’. I’m sure there’s any number of alternatives,” I scoffed disdainfully.

  “In many minds, better a bad ruler who can keep us alive until some later date rather than a planet desolated by repeated Swarm attacks, our people eaten in their hundreds of thousands and millions and if we’re lucky, a repopulation effort by our former colonies,” said the Marquis.

  “Don’t sugar coat it,” I sniffed, “and I still don’t see what’s in it for me. I mean, I can see why you’d like me to bring my fleet over to protect the orbitals. If I’m a figurehead, it’s all gain and no losses for the High Chancellor and the Government. But what’s supposed to be my angle, a repeal of my exile?” I snorted.

  “What more can I say that I haven’t already. Your people need you, your Highness,” said the Marquis.

  “We’re offering you the crown; what more could you want,” scoffed the PM.

  The Marquis shot him a harsh look and hesitated as he looked back at me.

  “I’m not sure if this still matters to you, but if there was ever a time you wanted to wipe clean the stain left on our world by the actions of your ancestors and clear the Montagne name, this is your chance,” he said.

  I mulled things over in silence for several minutes.

  “So an empty crown in other words. No deal,” I said in a slow voice, “the Capria I know was able to fight off a surprise imperial attack with battleships and warships to spare. You should be able to handle one bug fleet now that you’re forewarned. I’m sure things are bad back home but something smells and you’re not being honest with me. So I’m going to regretfully decline.”

  The Marquis De-Farqua looked at me.

  “It’s true we used to have a large number of warships and even without them, we would’ve been strong enough to fight off the bug Swarm. That is, if our orbital defense system had not been compromised from the top. As it is, we barely drove them off and the SDF is still struggling with the remnants,” he said.

  “The people are in a panic. They know we’re uncovered, which is why we’re here,” said Maldrin La-Pierre.

  “I don’t buy it; not even James was crazy enough to weaken the SDF to that point. There’s no way he could do it without Parliamentary buy-in. So what happened?” I asked, sardonically waiting to be fed another line.

  He took a deep breath and the MP beside him looked physically ill.

  “As it turns out, the Empire in the form of Magnus Davenport—or more exactly, his cousin the Factor—was very impressed with the performance of our new dreadnaught class II battleships,” said de-Farqua.

  “He was also very persuasive,” said Maldrin, looking ill.

  “After reaching a deal with the Court to upgrade our technology base to minimum imperial standards, the King—and as you quite rightly point out, Parliament too—was only too willing to sign a long-term series of ship building contracts,” the Marquis sighed, his gaze hardening, “they even paid the first half up front.”

  “But given this bugs attack…” I trailed off, working through the implications. Greed plus fast money and a Confederation supposedly there to defend them while they temporarily drew down their naval reserves… I could almost see it. It was short sighted, it was moronic and it had clearly backfired, but it was somewhat believable.

  “From a Caprian standpoint, the worst part of this, outside of the sudden bug attack, is the deal signed between Marcus Davenport, the cousin, and King James personally, not with the world at large. Neither the government, nor even a contract between Houses Vekna and Davenport, is involved,” the Marquis said like a man who’d taken a gut wound. “A month before the attack, the ships had already been delivered to House Davenport and the King had gone out personally to retrieve payment. His Majesty never deposited the money. Blaming pirates for the lost funds, he engineered the attack on the Bunker days before royal auditors were set to investigate the Palace. Our entire production line for the past two years and the three years before that already in service, five years total of new and upgraded production, all sold off and shipped out four weeks before the attack.”

  “If they’d still been here—” said Maldrin La-Pierre.

  “But they weren’t, they aren’t and right now, except for a pair of battleships heavily damaged in the attack and a dozen or so cruisers also damaged in the attack, our SDF has nothing bigger than a destroyer,” said de-Farqua.

  “So, the King ran away with the treasury, or maybe the pirates are real,” I mused aloud and then my gaze sharpened. “But stop lying to me; it’s not just my fleet you want. Right?” I asked sharply.

  “It’s true. The Royal Council in conjunction with our surviving PM members are well aware of Tracto’s great wealth and natural resources and your not inconsiderable personal financial status,” de-Farqua admitted.

  Talk about stating the obvious.

  “Considering the damage caused by the bug attacks and our precarious financial state, the government finds it is not currently in a position to honor all of its commitments,” he said.

  Talk about stating the obvious—again.

  “A number of corporations and private concerns big and small were heavily invested in the build contracts, and without the expected funds from the sale of more than a dozen battleships, are liable to go bankrupt, sending our economy into a tailspin,” he continued.

  “If something isn’t done soon, we’re liable to face an economic depression the likes of which our world hasn’t seen since the Fall. Not even the Great Recession caused by the imperial withdrawal will come close to what we’ll experience if a stop-gap measure isn’t enacted,” the Marquis admitted.

  “So, in other words, it’s all about money. You need me or rather my credits. All the rest of it about my reputation not being as bad as it once was and the people sifting through the lies, or even the SDF suddenly having confidence in me is all space rot just like I initially thought. You want me to bail you out,” I said with a tight smile, things finally starting to make sense.

  There was only one real question left. “Why not just go to the Confederation for another bail o
ut? I hear they’re all the rage.”

  “We don’t qualify for a loan and our case for foreign aid is weak because we’re technically still part of the Confederation. Plus, ours wasn’t the only world attacked by space bugs. It is speculated that more Swarm attacks will follow the dozen we already know about. Our damaged SDF might not win against the next Swarm and we can’t wait. Even if we tried to hold out, it could take so long to receive a Confederation loan that the economy is thrown into a depression anyway, defeating the whole purpose of the effort. On top of that,” he hesitated but I knew what he was getting at.

  I nodded.

  “Having me loan you the money still makes it a strictly internal affair and kings have been deposed before,” I finished for him. “On the other hand, if you stiff the Confederation, they just might take a big wet bite of our star system as forced repayment, a couple planets or a big chunk of the asteroid belt, something we’d never get back.”

  “On the other hand, if you rob the Montagne, an exile without even Confederation citizenship and thus no standing in a Sector court, you don’t have those problems and might even be able to get the Confederation Fleet to kick me out of the Star System and keep the entire investment. Meanwhile, I’m left out in the cold,” I said drily.

  “I’m not sure what to say to that,” the Marquis said, taken aback.

  “Convincing a Montagne that everyone isn’t out to get him is a tall order,” said La-Pierre.

  The Marquis cut back.

  “Except to say that by the time the Confederation responded, millions of people may have been eaten by space bugs. If not, our orbital industry will certainly be completely destroyed by a second Swarm if we continue to wait,” he said intensely. “With the Confederation, we have to wait, time we may not have left if a second Swarm arrives to finish off the job,” he said. “Meanwhile, you could fix everything with a wave of your hands.” He finished with a shrug, “you can see how we had…”

  “There’s that phrase again,” I said sourly. Was I some kind of magician, now pulling rabbits from hats with a single hand?

  “My apologies if I’ve somehow offended but…” de-Farqua looked taken aback.

  “You had to try. Problem solved,” I finished for him, mouth twisting. “Everyone knows with a wave of my hand, I could send a hundred warships to Capria tomorrow just like that,” I snapped my fingers, “with more to follow at need.”

  Everyone except me seemed to know what I could do. I, on the other hand, didn’t know if I had the crews to send a hundred warships out.

  I wanted to spit. The political calculations were just too cold blooded. Once again, the politicians were covering their bases and hoping I was too blind and stupid to see the traps.

  “I’m sure we could offer some kind of assurances if that’s the sticking point,” said the Parliamentary Member.

  I crossed my arms and he fell silent.

  Honestly, how much could I be expected to risk for a Star System that turned its back on me as far back as seven years ago or as recently again as just two years ago? Back home, the people despised my house on general principle and distrusted me specifically because of my supposed actions during the Imperial Withdrawal and the dark times that followed.

  Forgetting them, could I look my remaining Caprian officers and crew in the eye, not to mention the colonists in Messene also from my old homeworld, if I stood by and deliberately did nothing while millions of people, relatives and former neighbors were attacked from space and then eaten alive?

  Blast it all.

  “You’ve given me much to think about,” I said; there had to be a middle ground around here somewhere.

  I stood up, signaling the meeting was over.

  “I beg you not to take too long thinking. Capria might not have the time,” said the Marquis.

  “King Jason you say?” I asked, looking at him.

  The Marquis looked surprised and then gave a gratified nod.

  “Of the Royal House of Montagne,” he said, bowing low.

  I nodded perfunctorily.

  The three people on the other side of the room started to perk up and look hopeful for the first time since they’d entered.

  “If we did this, I would have requirements. Certain guarantees would be needed,” I said, having accepted that I had to at least appear to be doing something. Trying to look down the road a bit, I started imagining what tens of thousands of under-employed spacers in the active SDF and the hundreds of thousands in fleet reserve, if their story was true, could do if placed onboard echoingly empty warships piled up at the new Gambit Yards and Space Station.

  A smile crept over my face at the happy thought.

  “Whatever you need to feel secure,” Marquis de-Farqua said smoothly.

  My smile faded.

  “Save for a violation of the people’s civil liberties or the mass arrest and imprisonment of government officials,” Maldrin La-Pierre cut in.

  And then he finally disappeared as if he had never been.

  “Mass arrests or violating anyone’s liberties are the furthest thing from my mind,” I said flatly.

  “What exactly do you want? Perhaps if you told us, we could assuage your concerns,” said La-Pierre.

  “And what kind of amounts are we talking about in exchange for your assistance exactly? The budget shortfall is already in the hundreds of billions,” the Marquis cut back in.

  “In addition to my private funds and despite the trade embargoes Capria has been party to, Tracto has made more than enough in trillium sales to cover your shortfall,” I dismissed.

  “That’s excellent,” de-Farqua looked like a load had been taken off his mind.

  I was quick to burst his bubble.

  “In addition to the SDF continuing to perform its sworn duty to myself as Commander in Chief, I’d like to talk about Capria’s Shipyard Annex B,” I said with a smile.

  “Annex B,” the Marquis looked at me with narrowed eyes.

  “You want ownership of one of our most productive shipyard complexes?” asked Maldrin La-Pierre.

  I wiggled my fingers in midair.

  “The last I heard, Annex B was wholly owned by the Caprian SDF. Meaning the government. No one’s rights would be violated if the government transferred directly to the new King,” I shrugged.

  Maldrin La-Pierre spluttered.

  “I don’t see how this helps you?” he said.

  “Maldrin,” warned the Marquis.

  “Both the Bunker and Palace would have to sign off on it, as well as the SDF of course,” I said helpfully.

  “But I don’t! He says he’s concerned about risks so how does this help him,” the MP ignored me as he continued to press his point.

  Clearly, someone didn’t want to give up the Annex.

  “We can have the auditors go over it but it’s a reasonably fair value exchange,” I said with a smirk.

  “Perhaps his new Majesty is thinking to transfer it out of the star system as soon as he’s crowned,” the Marquis said intelligently.

  “But it would cost so much to disassemble, transport and reassemble, you’d almost be better off just building from scratch,” protested the MP.

  “Not if you’re King Jason and possess a pair of Elder Tech Jump Engines,” de-Farqua said shrewdly.

  Maldrin La-Pierre stopped and slowly sat down, a disgruntled look on his face.

  I gave a shark-like smile. I was done taking selfless action and getting the shaft. As the old expression goes, when you’re climbing the roof you have to keep one hand on the ladder or one hand for yourself.

  My ladder would be named Shipyard Annex B.

  “This would be a precondition for such a large investment in our mutual homeworld. You can consider it my coronation gift from the government for deigning to bring my fleet to its rescue. In addition, I will expect any funds I invested into our mutual homeworld would be in the form of a loan. Say with a five-year payback period,” I said,
leaning back my chair.

  “Five years?! Ten years would be the absolute minimum,” snapped Maldrin La-Pierre.

  I leaned back and listened to them squeal now that they realized I wasn’t in this business for the accolades.

  Cold hard assets only, please.

  Chapter 8

  Spalding’s Big Reveal

  “So, what exactly was so important, you felt the need to actively campaign for us to start a war three thousand of light years away just to avoid it here at home, Commander?” I asked without preamble, now we were finally alone and then gave the old engineer a deliberately neutral look.

  Spalding’s brow beetled and for a moment, he visibly hesitated before pulling out a chair and sitting down in front of my desk with a sigh.

  “I don’t know how to put it. So I’m just going to say it. Your wife’s looking to resurrect an AI and I have some serious reservations,” he said and pulled out a small flask, taking a long hard swig.

  It took a beat for the words to penetrate, and the moment they did, I blanched the carefully-crafted expression I had been working on going the way of the dinosaurs.

  “I should hope you have reservations! What is she thinking?” I asked, rapping the table with the first two knuckles of my right hand, ready to go ballistic. I knew my wife’s religious cult was a few crackers short of a value pack but this took the cake.

  “That’s why this trip could be a godsend on so many levels,” Spalding continued and seeing my expression, took another hit of the flask.

  “An—AI—as in Artificial Intelligence, Spalding!?” I swore.

  The long-term problem that was my wife’s people and planet, or at least what I’d previously thought of as a long-term problem, had just come home to roost, with a vengeance. “Did you explain to her what an AI means out here for the rest of the galaxy? You at least tried to talk her out of it! Right?”