Admiral's Throne

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Well… keep an eye on it for me,” I said, leaning back in my chair outwardly calm but inwardly unsettled.

  A few targeting sensors was nothing, by itself, but I’d been through too many scraps to be able to sit happily while some trigger-happy yahoo was targeting me with his laser cannon.

  “Contact! We have weapons fire and—” there was a white-hot lance of light followed by an explosion that rocked the shuttle we were in.

  One of the two cutters that had been accompanying us had just been hit, but two of our shuttles literally disintegrated into pieces, raining men, metal and machines as it tore itself apart midair.

  “Evasive maneuvers!” snapped the Pilot, jerking the shuttle we were riding into a corkscrew maneuver.

  “We’re taking fire!” shouted Steiner.

  “You think?” scoffed one of the armsmen in my detail.

  “Control yourself, Bartholomew,” snapped Sean D’Argeant taking hold of a grab-bar as the shuttle’s gravity plates struggled to compensate for the sudden shifts.

  “The flagship is going weapons hot, targeting the aerospace defense emplacement now,” reported the Pilot as another laser lanced up from the surface, barely missing the wing of our shuttle, “it’s a good thing someone decided to send out so many shuttles or we wouldn’t be making this ride down in one piece.”

  “Just focus on your job and get us down in one piece,” I instructed the Pilot, “we can see what’s going on. Don’t distract yourself.”

  “Sir,” he replied and then added, “are you sure you don’t want the formation to break for orbit?”

  I glanced over to see the other man sweating and shook my head decisively.

  “If it’s only one defensive battery, then most likely it’s been suborned. There’s no need to queer the deal over a few hold-outs,” I said, probably trying to convince myself as much as anything else.

  He nodded, eyes on his screens and attention focused on flying his craft.

  As we watched, our formation of remaining shuttles, landers and cutters broke apart like a flock of startled birds.

  Once again, Capria’s fixed defenses opened fire but almost immediately, the cutters and two of the landers returned fire.

  “What’s taking the fleet so long to get us some covering fire? We’ve got the blasted Prince himself onboard,” snapped Sean D’Argeant.

  “Admiral,” I corrected immediately and then added, “and that’s a very good question.” What was taking the fleet so long to….” I trailed off as more than fifty lasers smashed down to the surface.

  My com-link chimed.

  “Montagne here,” I said shortly.

  “Sorry for the delay, your Highness,” Druid said a bit stiffly, “there was an unnecessary holdup up here in orbit but it’s been dealt with for the moment. An admiral in control of one of the SDF’s orbital fortresses began issuing orders to cease and desist all military operations both on surface and in orbit, threatening to shoot anyone who fired after receiving his order. It won’t happen again.”

  “Meaning I got to receive three full attacks without suppressive cover fire before the military was ready to let their new King’s people move to defend him,” I fumed.

  “I may have made the wrong call. I didn’t want to blow things up on the political front because of itchy trigger fingers here in orbit but if you disagree, I am prepared to take responsibility for my orders, your Highness,” said Druid.

  “Oh, I’m not going to fire you at this point, Rear Admiral. And by the way,” then I added with a sniff, “and it’s still Sir, or Admiral to the likes of you, Officer Druid.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement, Your Highness. But recently it seems like there are entirely too many admirals and the like underfoot for comfort,” he said.

  I glowered at him.

  “I don’t have the time to play with you; consider this discussion tabled until later but not forgotten. Has the fleet identified any other threats?” I asked.

  “We’re constantly scanning and if anything else so much as aims a targeting sensor in your direction, we’re going to preemptively take it out,” Druid said with stolid certainty, “in the meantime—”

  “In the meantime, you need to stop wasting your time holding my hand and issue a general warning to the planetary defenses and then get on the horn with the Privy Council to ask them just what they think they’re playing with,” I instructed in a no-nonsense voice.

  Druid nodded with what looked like relief.

  “I half expected you to make for orbit like a bat out of the Hades. Are you sure you want me to be the one to talk with the local government? I mean, these are your people and I wouldn’t want to create a diplomatic incident unintentionally,” he said.

  “Meaning I should probably be the one to intentionally cause any diplomatic,” I lifted a hand when he winced and looked about to object, “your point is well taken. But get that general hail out. I’ll deal with the Privy Council.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” Druid said, relaxing.

  I nodded.

  “I leave you to it. Montagne out,” I said, cutting the channel.

  “Everything alright, Sir?” Steiner asked, looking a little more wild-eyed than usual after a firefight.

  “Fine, Commander,” I said with a smile and it dawned on me that while my Chief-of-Staff was a combat veteran, the suddenness of the attack and different sensations during combat caused by rapid maneuvers and less powerful grav-plates of the shuttle compared to those of a battleship, had thrown her off her stride.

  I didn’t really dwell on the fact I hadn’t been as affected. Some people were more impacted by a sudden attack than others.

  “Good,” she said, the tightness leaving her face. She took a deep breath and looked at me seriously. “Can I do anything for you, Sir?” she asked.

  “As it so happens, you can,” I said, smile fading, “Please set up a conference call with a representative of the Privy Council immediately.”

  Commander Steiner immediately leapt into action.

  “On it, Admiral,” she said, activating her holo-interface.

  By the time the Privy Council was ready to get on the line, we were roaring down toward the surface.

  That was the moment our ground-focused sensors started going off.

  “I’m reading a full battalion of power armor with surface-to-air weaponry targeting the shuttle fleet,” said the Pilot, pulling up a visual of the same battalion on a close approach to the Palace landing site.

  “Understood,” I said, activating a communications link to the rest of the landing force.

  “All forces target and take out that battalion next to the Palace. I want those surface-to-air weapons taken out immediately if not sooner,” I ordered.

  “Sir!” protested the Pilot, “are you sure-”

  “No more chances,” I said as the first laser beams shot from the nosecones and wings of our shuttles to the still-moving Caprian battalion on the surface, “no one warned me there was a battalion moving to escort us into the Palace and quite frankly, considering the foul-up with those aero-space defensive placements, I’m not inclined to give that battalion the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Aye-aye, Sir,” the Pilot sighed as a barrage of laser fire raked the Lancer Battalion on the surface.

  Chapter 19

  The Last Gasp

  “We can’t hold them, Captain!” shouted the sergeant at Arnesti DeLayn’s shoulder, “they opened fire before our heavy weapons platoons could get good target locks and most of our platoons are wiped out.”

  The Captain clenched his fists until metal squealed.

  “The Tyrant is even more ruthless than expected, Sergeant. We never had a chance after our aero-space turrets failed to so much as wing the Montagne Prince’s shuttle,” he said harshly, as another coordinated barrage of laser took out half of Company C.

  “Even if they get us, I just wish I could have taken out Jason Montagn
e Vekna,” the Sergeant said as the pair of them threw themselves down into a nearby drainage ditch in the fields surrounding the well-sculpted Palace grounds.

  “You and me both, Sergeant, but we both know that’s not going to happen. There’s no shame in our loss. At least we can say we tried to keep Capria for the people,” said Captain DeLayn as an assault shuttle screamed down the nape of the earth, spewing close in chain guns and plasma rounds into the once-proud battalion’s broken formation.

  “It’s been an honor to serve yo—” the Sergeant was cut off as his armor was stitched with a line of chain gun rounds and effectively cut in half.

  “It’s all up to those gutless wonders in the government now. May the gods have mercy on o—”

  Then Arnesti DeLayn’s cursing was cut off forever as a light laser tracked the last source of coordinated command-and-control emissions from the surface and opened fire.

  All that was left of the patriotic Captain’s attempt to alter the trajectory of planetary politics was a pair of smoking boots and the screams of the broken men and women who had followed him into his treason.

  Chapter 20

  A Palace Reception

  The group of politicians that came to greet their new King-to-be’s landing party waited for us just inside the main doors of the Palace proper, and they didn’t look at all pleased.

  I idly noted the beautiful scrollwork-carved hardwood that encased the solid duralloy center of the giant doors before turning a stony gaze on the High Chancellor and the rest of the Privy Council.

  “Gentlemen… and lady,” I said, inclining my head to the sole female member of the Council with cool courtesy to hide the rage I was feeling. The casualty count had just come in moments before I exited the shuttle, and while I didn’t give two figs for the people trying to kill us, the loss of each and every member of my fleet killed in what should have been, if not a routine, then at least a well-guarded descent from orbit was like a cut across my back. And my back was hurting.

  “Did you really have to come down in such a spectacular fashion, your Highness?” said the High Chancellor with disapproval, looking down the steps at me and sounding exactly like the Elder Statesman he was.

  Unfortunately for him, I was in no mood to take any of his guff.

  “Due to the very visible failures of the Privy Council, I had no choice but to take strong action on the way down, or not survive the trip,” I said scornfully.

  The High Chancellor scowled.

  “I’ll agree the optics look bad but for the record, that’s entirely debatable,” he said, lips thin.

  I looked at him coldly. My visit home had started off with a bang and from his reaction to my almost being killed, i.e. attempting to shift the blame onto me and avoid it for himself and his cronies, I could immediately tell the High Chancellor was likely to be one of the biggest impediments to my reign.

  “What I’ll agree to is that it still isn’t too late for me to get back on that shuttle,” I said jerking my thumb back over my shoulder and pointing it at my transport, “where I can then proceed to take my money and go home.”

  For a moment, the High Chancellor looked tempted and then he pursed his lips unhappily.

  “Then please let me be the first to officially apologize for this debacle,” the High Chancellor said with the smooth grace of a trained politician.

  “Thank you, Chancellor.” I inclined my head, “I will count on you to see that it never happens again.”

  The High Chancellor flushed.

  “Of course,” he said, now actually having the gall to look and sound embarrassed. It was too smooth. Clearly, the man was a politician of long standing.

  Then another man stepped forward.

  “What I want to know, my Prince,” said another Council Member in a General’s uniform, “is just how we’re going to spin this whole mess. Forget the physical clean-up. We’re going to have a media circus out here sooner than you can say boo and bob’s your uncle.”

  That was something else I was going to have to get used to, the media. Things on Capria were far more developed than on Tracto. They were also far more hostile and the battalion that had just attempted to stop my reign stillborn was just the start. That was, if I stuck around long enough for them to gear up to get me.

  “And you are?” I asked calmly, as the rest of my party spread out around me on the steps.

  “I’m not sure such questions are entirely appropriate, General Tilday,” the High Chancellor cut in.

  “I’m just a humble military man, High Chancellor,” the General said piously. He then looked at me sharply, “you may not care, being used to life on an underdeveloped planet, but the rest of us here are all too well aware how the claws of the media can do continuing damage.”

  “Humble, my keister,” I heard an irascible voice say behind me

  I shot the man in question a sharp look.

  “Lord Tilday—,” I started turning back around.

  “General, please, your Highness,” the General said with a smirk, “I do entirely too much work to answer to His Lordship every time I turn around.”

  I started to reply only to be interrupted by the sound of a loud voice clearing his throat.

  “Tell them that’s what happens when you try to run with the big dogs and can’t pee in tall grass,” Spalding interrupted, forcing himself past me and up the steps.

  “And just who is this?” General Tilday asked, rearing back with offense.

  “Terrance P. Spalding, your Lordship,” Spalding said with a grin, the light glinting off the small patch of chrome dome on his forehead that was all that remained after his latest round of regenerative treatments. “And what say we take this hoo-rah-rah off the steps of the Palace and inside where any friendly neighborhood snipers you might have missed won’t have such inviting targets.”

  “You whippersnappers may be too young to remember the last time a royal was assassinated on the steps of the Palace, but some of us have been around long enough to know this sort of monkey business usually takes place in one of the receiving rooms and not on the Palace steps.”

  “I believe that was back in ’22,” the High Chancellor demurred with a sharp look in Spalding’s direction, “and it was a result of internecine action within the Royal Family itself. Hardly something—”

  “An inside job, exactly my point, your High Chancellorship,” Spalding said, reaching forward to grab the Chancellor’s hand and then pump it vigorously, “so how’s about we just take this inside, yeah?”

  When the old Cyborg clapped the Chancellor on the shoulder and looked like he was about to sidle around the Elder Statesman like he was no more important than a piece of wood blocking the doorway, a pair of Palace Guards took a step forward.

  “Your Highness!” protested General Tilday, glaring at the old Engineer, “this is very irregular. I must protest.”

  “I agree with Spalding,” I declared, starting up the steps. These men would either have to give way and start moving to my pace or make it clear they had no intention of supporting me, even on the surface, “it is high time we took this meeting to the Throne Room so I can get the formalities out of the way and take your preliminary oaths of fealty,” I said firmly.

  There was a moment of sudden silence as the Privy Members looked at one another in surprise and my voice turned cool.

  “Unless there’s some sort of a problem with removing myself and my party from an unsecured location?” I asked pointedly.

  After a moment of silence, the High Chancellor nodded and with a jerk of his head, the Palace guards stepped back, allowing a now jovial-looking engineer to rattle and clatter his way into the Palace proper.

  “Nice stone you got here. You pick it up in the south hills?” Spalding asked, squinting down at the stone steps under his feet.

  “I’m sure I don’t know. The Palace is accoutered with nothing but the best Capria has to offer,” the High Chancellor said with strained patienc
e.

  “That’s the South Hills in the Stonelands then, for sure. I bet I know the quarry, too. The old man who used to run the thing was a real stick-in-the-mud, but he sure knew how to quarry stone like it was nobody’s business. Probably his son or grandson in charge of things now though,” Spalding said with satisfaction before finally moving out of the giant doorway.

  A large vein pulsed visibly on the High Chancellor’s forehead.

  “Although,” Spalding paused in visible consideration, “he had a granddaughter who was a real kick in the pants. A rock hound too. Now, if she decided to take up the family business, it wouldn’t surprise me if—”

  “That’s quite enough, Officer Spalding,” the High Chancellor said sharply, “there are any number of people waiting on you to enter, including your own Commander,” he added pointedly, “none of which I’ll wager are interested in the potential ownership of a Stoneland rock quarry. Now if you would be so kind!” He gestured sharply with his hand toward the inside of the Palace.

  “There’s no reason to get your knickers in a twist,” Spalding said with surprise before hastening out of the doorway.

  “You can’t fault a body for stopping a moment to take his time, not when you lot were the ones who were in no rush to let us in here in the first place,” Spalding grumbled, shuffling his way forward.

  “This way,” the Chancellor said, turning in a huff and then not waiting to see if anyone followed, beginning to lead the way deeper into the Palace.

  “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Spalding groused with a suspicious-looking grin tugging around the corners of his mouth.

  “You’re a very bad man, Chief Engineer,” I told the other man.

  “I aim to please, Sir,” he said.

  Ignoring him, I looked around at the rest of the party, the Privy Councilors and looked decidedly nonplussed.

  I raised an eyebrow in surprise and then looked toward the departing High Chancellor.

  “This way please,” General Tilday said after a short pause making a moue with his mouth.