Admiral's Throne

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “This is something more than that,” Van Stryke said with reserve, “if stopping this Swarm was all your focus, then you would have no need to call for this. You do this because you want to.”

  “Enough,” I made a cutting gesture, “I don’t have all day to bandy words with you. Maybe I could sacrifice everything I have and hold dear for no reward, not even simple gratitude, but what about next time or the time after that? Nothing I see here fills me with confidence that the next time there’s an invasion, you lot will rise to the challenge. As such, it once again falls on me to plan for our futures.”

  “You are not a God, Montagne! You are not even an Emperor, Speaker or Sector Governor. Who are you to talk down to us? We are the elected representatives of this region of space, not children to be spoken down to!” Chu Xia shouted.

  “Then stop acting like one,” I said sharply, “and when you do, I’ll stop treating you that way. Everyone here is quick to criticize me when what you should really be looking at is yourself.”

  “Now give me your answer. Yes. Or. No,” I said, crossing my arms.

  “A moment please,” Lead Governor Van Stryke requested, face dark as he turned to consult his fellow sector governors.

  I watched the little huddle made up of the most powerful politicians this region of space impassively. If I didn’t hold all the cards here, it was because they’d lied to me and they didn’t really need my forces as badly as they’d previously said. In which case, I felt free to turn away and leave.

  If they hadn’t lied, then they’d come to their senses eventually.

  “The Regional Authority is willing to consider your request but we’ll need to know the actual amounts involved before we can give this our final seal of approval,” Governor Van Stryke said with suppressed anger in his eyes.

  “You realize this is highly irregular, not to mention unconstitutional,” Governor Chu Xia informed his fellow governors furiously, “I for one refuse to allow the Montagne’s outlaw fleet into my sector of space. Whatever the Authority decides does not include Sector 22!”

  “Your objection has been noted already,” Manning said forcefully, “now back off, Governor.”

  So, no deployments into Sector 22. I made a mental note while keeping my face impassive.

  “Your terms,” Van Stryke prompted once Chu Xia moved to the side and it was clear there would be no more interruptions.

  “As I said before. I’m willing to offer the services of my fleet to any system government in need for a simple one-time flat tax. 4% to be exact,” I said.

  “Yes, we heard you before. But 4% of what?” asked Van Stryke.

  “All calculations will be based on each world’s yearly Gross Domestic Product,” I said.

  Several politicians standing behind the Governors choked.

  “Surely, you’re joking,” said Van Stryke.

  “That is on a par with what normal levels of military spending would be set at,” I rejected.

  “Gross or net,” Manning asked.

  “Gross of course,” I said.

  “Is there any way we can get a discount,” one of the politicians standing behind the Governors joked.

  “Sure,” I said with a broad smile, “any worlds that voted no in my exile can have their fee discounted to 4% of their ‘net’ GD as a measure of my personal gratitude for their solidarity during the last time our Region faced a threat of similar proportions.”

  “Meaning those who voted Yes, will be stuck with 4% gross tax upon their planetary economy. This is petty and punitive. It won’t sit well with the people. You’re going to lose a lot of your previous support and there are those who won’t pay,” warned Manning, “make sure you’re willing to bear the cost of this form of extortion.”

  I looked at him with flinty eyes.

  “Like how this body was prepared to censure my worlds, remove Capria’s voting status and impose further trade sanctions on Tracto and Capria if I wasn’t willing to dance to your tune?” I shot back, “forgive me if you’ve succeeded in bringing me down to your level and consider taking your losses like a man instead of the whiny politician you’ve become.”

  If anything, Manning’s face darkened further, his expression silently threatening a reckoning but who could care less? Where was he when I was confronting Cornwallis? Leading a mutiny against my authority instead of doing his duty to suppress it, that’s the answer. Where was he when I was negotiating for the future of the Spine, on the way but too late to the party?

  Talk was cheap and more importantly, anyone who refused to pay would not get my protection.

  “You are consigning millions of people to die when their leaders refuse your ‘tax’. Excuse me if I feel the need to point that out,” Manning said.

  “My Fleet is large but I don’t think it’s as big as you think,” I shrugged, “as it is, I won’t be able to save every world in the Spine. If you like, feel free to direct the efforts of your Sector Guards to those worlds that are unable or unwilling to bear the costs of their own protection.”

  “Oh, I will. You can count on that,” said Manning.

  “As will I,” Hammer said raking me with an openly disappointed look.

  I shrugged off her ire with a flick of the wrist and a snap of my fingers. She had her chance to shake things up and she took a pass.

  “This is not how such business is done, King Jason,” warned Van Stryke.

  I gave him a quizzical look.

  “What exactly are you saying? Through all my years observing Spineward Sectors politics, even when I was a somewhat unwilling participant in it, this here is almost exactly how business was done,” I said lifting a brow and shaking my head.

  “You, sir, are a very cynical person,” said Van Stryke.

  “It is unbelievable that we’re giving in to this terrorist,” stated Chu Xia as he turned and stalked away.

  You win some, you lose some.

  “Now how about we take a look at the draft of my proposal,” I suggested, “basically, all I need from this committee is your recognition of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet private security company as an organization with the right to offer any form of military protective services within the Spineward Sectors, specifically including fleet-level deployments upon request and system defense patrols.”

  When they stood there and stared at me instead of immediately taking action, I clapped my hands.

  “Well, let’s get started!” I said, rubbing my hands together eagerly.

  They didn’t like it but the Regional Authority saw things my way, eventually.

  Chapter 24

  King James Schemes

  “What is the status of our mutual homeworld, Lord Mordecai?” demanded the brown-skinned man dressed in a top of the line, self-sealing skin-suit, only his back and clasped hands visible.

  Mordecai gave him an assessing look.

  “I’ve just downloaded the latest information packets. We are currently data-mining the raw feeds but with our reduced staff capacity, it is taking longer than I’d like to verify the reports,” he said carefully.

  “I didn’t ask that,” said the King, his clasped hands turning white.

  “Would you like me to have a number of dancing girls brought in to help pass the time, Your Majesty?” Lord Mordecai asked.

  King James turned, his royal features distorted by suppressed emotion. In this case, the most likely emotion was rage.

  “I didn’t ask for that either, Lord Mordecai,” he said, a steely glint in his eye, “don’t try to manage me, just give me the facts.”

  Lord Mordecai hesitated.

  “I’m waiting, Mordecai. And when a King waits, it doesn’t bode well for those around him,” James Vekna said sternly.

  After ensuring his point was made, the Exiled King reached for a still-steaming cup of tea on the stand beside him.

  “My greatest apologies, my Liege,” Lord Mordecai said swiftly and James made a move-along gesture with
one hand while taking a moment to savor a small sip of tea, “but it would appear that the ‘rumors’ our agents dug up previously were in fact correct. We’re still verifying, of course, but unless our data-feeds have been tampered with, your cousin Jason Montagne Vekna has just recently been crowned the False King of Capria.”

  The cup in James Vekna’s hand shattered.

  The King hissed and then swore, reaching for a napkin to blot the scalding hot tea off his hands before thrusting his hand under a water faucet.

  “My King, are you alright?” Lord Mordecai asked paling.

  “Do I look the least bit alright?” James demanded.

  “Sire!” cried Mordecai.

  “Oh, in the fie,” James hissed, walking over to a bottle of Champagne. Taking out a handful of ice and wrapping it in a thin napkin, he held it to his scalded hand.

  “You were telling me that infernal cousin of mine, Jason Montagne, has stolen my throne,” the former King of Capria said darkly, “how is that even possible? He’s a Montagne, blast it all! No one trusts them. Has he pulled off some sort of military coup perhaps?”

  “A thousand pardons, my King, but it appears the Usurper was crowned just last month and there are no signs in the data-dump about a military takeover,” Mordecai said with a wince.

  “I am surrounded by imbeciles,” James said, giving the Lord a withering look.

  Mordecai stiffened.

  “Please allow your government-in-exile sufficient time to sift through the data flow and we’ll get to the bottom of this latest series of events,” he said stoutly.

  “Get to the bottom…” James said thunderously.

  Lord Mordecai drew back.

  “What is there to get to the bottom of? My cousin has stolen my crown,” he growled.

  “Uh, technically we brought that with us,” Mordecai said, gesturing toward a crown resting on a velvet cushion on a side table in the room.

  James flushed.

  “You know very well what I meant,” he hissed.

  Then the former—and soon to be again, if he had anything to do with it—King took a breath.

  “What do the numbers look like?” he asked.

  “Looking to come home early?” Mordecai cocked his head and then frowned. Pulling out his pad, he opened a screen, “right now, your favorable are down and your unfavorable are up.”

  “Meaning we need more time for the populace to cool down and realize they need me just as much or even more than I need them,” James sighed.

  “You did take off with the better part of the treasury and several battleships’ worth of imperial credits,” the Lord pointed out.

  James grit his teeth.

  “Blasted imperials,” he swore, “if I’d known they were going to try and cheat me out of the second half of the payment for those battleships, I would never have gone into business with them in the first place! Or better yet, insisted on the entirety of each payment being made in hard currency or high tech trade goods!”

  “Billions of credits down the drain and with no way to sue them in court until you’re returned to the throne, sire,” Lord Mordecai sighed sympathetically.

  “It’s fortunate I insisted a large portion of the second half of the second payment be made in cold hard credits,” the King declared, ignoring the fact he’d walked off with billions of credits desperately needed by the people and corporations of Capria.

  “Eventually, the people will come to their senses and realize I am not responsible for the loss of 95% of parliament. I mean it’s not like I asked the bugs to commit war crimes and eat the PM’s. Who would believe such a thing?” King James argued righteously.

  “Right. You only withdrew everything but their personal protective details from directly around the Bunker, and then there were all those mysterious anti-orbit defense failures,” Lord Mordecai muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?” James asked dangerously.

  Mordecai coughed.

  “Nothing, my Liege,” he said.

  “As I say, every right-thinking voter will eventually realize the undeniable truth, and public sentiment against my administration will die down.”

  “I’m sure the people will realize that without your financial support, they will face an economic depression that will make the great recession of the Imperial Withdrawal look like a walk in the park in comparison,” said Mordecai, shifting uneasily as he parroted the words he’d heard the King speak so many times, “except…”

  “Except what?” James demanded, focusing on his top advisor in exile with laser-like precision.

  “It seems part of the, leverage, that your despicable cousin used to seize the throne included a large cash payment, as well as trillium and high-tech asset transfers to stabilize the planetary economy. Only time will tell if he’s invested enough to stave off a collapse,” said Mordecai.

  A look of pure rage crossed James Vekna’s face and he started to tense before tossing back a full cup of tea in one swift swallow.

  Releasing a belly laugh, the King smirked.

  “His monies and star ships are immaterial in the face of a man born to wield true power. Let him invest the fruits of his labors in our planet, it will avail him nothing,” said James.

  “I fear he works to turn the people against the government-in-exile, Sire,” said Lord Mordecai allowing his genuine concern to shine through.

  “I guarantee Jason Montagne won’t wear the crown long enough to enjoy it. In the end, there can only be one King of Capria. The people may contest this, my cousin and the spineless, feckless fools on the Privy Council may contest this, but rulership is in my blood and to be King is my destiny. No one can take it from me, Lord Mordecai least of all, my fool of a cousin,” James said with positive assurance in his voice.

  “As you say, Your Majesty,” Mordecai said bowing low.

  “I think I will take you up on your earlier offer though,” James said, a predatory gleam in his eye.

  “My… offer?” Mordecai stuttered.

  “Send in the triplets,” ordered the King.

  “The, ah, yes of course. At once, Sire!” Mordecai said, giving another bow and then hurrying for the door.

  “I need to burn off this sudden surge of energy I’m feeling. Tell them to come in…,” James checked his wrist-crono, “five minutes.”

  “Your wish is my command, Your Majesty,” said Mordecai.

  As soon as the Caprian Lord had left the room, the predatory look in James’s eyes intensified.

  He activated his com-unit.

  “Yes?” asked the close-faced man on the other end of the circuit.

  “I have a message for you to relay,” said the King.

  “I’m all ears, Your Majesty,” the other man said, the smile on his face belied by the hidden depths in his eyes.

  “First, I want a message relayed to our pirate connections. I’m putting a bounty out on my dear Cousin Jason,” said the King.

  “Not a problem. Several of my old contacts have resurfaced in the dark community after going dark for several years,” he said.

  “Second, you are to contact this Agent Simpers and give all the access to our sleeper agents back home and in my cousin’s never-to-be-cursed-enough patrol fleet,” said the Exiled King.

  “I still advise against it but I’ll do it,” the other man said with a grimace.

  “I assure you, when I am returned to power, you will be installed as my new Minister of Intelligence,” the King assured his current spymaster.

  “Was there anything else?” asked the Spymaster.

  “Didn’t we have someone onboard my cousin’s flagship?” asked the King.

  The Spymaster grimaced.

  “We have what might be termed a, part-time, intelligence asset but our direct action team was co-opted by the PSS and then neutralized,” said the future Minister of Intelligence.

  “Tell our asset that he is to make an attack on the Pretender as soon as is fe
asible but with a hard time limit of one month,” said the King.

  “I’m not sure the asset will be willing to follow such an order,” said the Spymaster.

  “Don’t we have some kind of leverage we could use for situations like these?” asked the King.

  “We do, but so far, all we’ve received have been snippets of recorded conversations, supply manifests and equipment maintenance logs. I think you’ve over-estimated the asset,” said the Minister.

  “I want this done now, Minister. I hope you understand,” said the King, eyes boring into those of his Spymaster with predatory intent, “it’s been years since I made a similar request. I like to think that I tend to be reasonable about such things. So in that light, make it happen.”

  The other man sighed.

  “Our asset won’t move unless it can verify we’ve released at least half of our hostages,” the Spymaster said finally, “it will take time to arrange transport and send the verification. The timing will be tight.”

  “Detail,” James waved his hand dismissively, “am I the overlord of a planet full of more than a billion citizens or am I not?”

  The Spymaster’s head drew back.

  “Don’t answer that!” James snapped, “just make it happen.”

  “We will, Sire,” said the Spymaster.

  Chapter 25

  Spalding’s Orbital Research Station

  “Well la-di-dum-da-day,” Spalding groused, activating his maneuvering jets. Shooting through the bare skeletal frame of struts and girders orbiting Tracto and into a nearby airlock, he lifted up his knee to kick the computer touch-screen panel set into the wall beside the door.

  He waited for the bulkhead doors to cycle completely before the small section of the station was inhabitable.

  “Well, where’s the coffee, boys?” he boomed, removing his hardened space helmet and holding it at his side.

  There was the rattle and clatter of hard metal feet on the metal duralloy grating that covered the floor. Rounding the corner appeared a harried-looking droid.