I turned to level a stare on my former First Officer, current Chief of Staff and general all around official right hand man. I’m not talking about an itty bitty stare; this was a full-on frontal assault type stare. “Maybe if you’d shown the least bit of willingness and half of the same energy you’ve put into trying to stop this attack and tried to help make the thing a success, there would have been less likelihood of that eventuality. As it is, anytime you feel you can’t in good conscience carry out your duties as my Chief of Staff, you can consider yourself relieved,” I said in a voice as cold as space Ice.
“You couldn’t drag me away,” Tremblay said matching me glare for glare before abruptly looking away.
“Finally some fighting spirit, Mr. Tremblay,” I said mockingly, then after a moment spent regaining my composure, “let’s keep our energies focused on the real enemy out here: the murderous pirates who’ve been raping their way across the Border Worlds, and not on each other. There’s no foe we can’t beat if we work together,” I finished, making sure to say that last sentence loud enough to be heard across the bridge.
I thought it was a rather nice sentiment to express right at the current moment, and from the subtle reactions of the various members of the bridge crew within my line of sight, I believe it was successful.
Several more tense minutes passed.
“There she goes, Admiral,” exclaimed one of the Sensor Operators, “The first Merchant Conversion just completed a micro-transfer; she’s within standard hyper-emergence range of the station according to the information you provided us, Admiral!”
“Steady on Sensors,” Warrant Officer Laurent ordered, striding over to the sensor pit.
“The Second ship has also transferred into the regular pirate shipping lane for a standard approach vector to the Omicron,” reported another sensor operator.
“And there they go, Sir,” reported the first Sensor Operator, “the Merry Lucy has just fired on Vekna’s Pride.”
“We’re starting to receive broadband transmissions from the two ships, Sir,” reported the External Communications Operator with a smile, “it sounds like everything’s going according to script, at least so far.”
“Patch them in live to my console, Communications,” I instructed in my most serious Admiral’s voice.
“Yes, Sir,” said the Ex. Comm Operator, “patching the live feed in now.”
“Good work,” I complimented even as the voices of the two Captains started to come in loud and clear over the mini-speaker system built into the Admiral’s chair, or Throne as I tended to think of it.
“There’s no need to try and kill me just for attacking ya,” exclaimed the voice of the first fake pirate and real life Caprian Skipper.
“I’ve got shareholders to worry about, you fool,” said the Second Skipper sounding dire as he continued, “dealing with your kind is expensive, and I’m on a budget.” This last was followed by a hail of poorly aimed laser fire between the two ships; deliberately ill-aimed laser fire.
“Who are these share holders you’re so beholden to?” demanded the first voice, scorn dripping from him, “what kind of pirate are you anyway?”
The second captain chuckled over the comm., “My crew are my shareholders, but then I suppose an uneducated person such as yourself has never heard of the term equal shares.”
Another barrage of laser fire plinked back and forth between the ships.
Then out of the blue.
“Stay out of this Omicron, that soon to be navigation hazard over there is about to feel the wrath of my main guns!” barked the first skipper.
“I’ll split the loot with anyone who helps me kill or capture his ship,” roared the second skipper.
“We’re not getting the tight beam broadcast from the Omicron to the freighters, Admiral,” said the Ex. Comm operator, “only what the two merchant conversions are broadcasting in the clear.”
There was a pause as the two merchant ships maneuvered around each other as if searching for an advantage.
“How long do you really expect this ruse to work,” muttered Tremblay, stepping closer to the Throne and lowering his voice.
“Hopefully just long enough for us to get within weapons range of the station without being spotted,” I replied tightly.
“Only in your dreams,” Tremblay snorted derisively.
I nodded and said nothing, knowing he was absolutely right.
“A number of smaller ships have detached from the station and set a course for the merchant conversions,” reported one of the Sensor Operators.
“What about the heavies. Any cruiser classes or the Blood Reaver battleships,” demanded Tremblay.
“Nothing yet, First Officer…” the Sensor Operator paused and then coughed, “I mean Chief of Staff.”
“Steady on men, there’s no need to let your head run away in the excitement,” Warrant Laurent said sternly from his position in the Tactical Pit.
“How long until we achieve weapons range on the station,” I asked tightly, no longer able to contain myself. It was either start asking questions or start squirming in my chair, and squirming was definitely out of the question. I might not know as much as I’d like about this whole Admiraling business but I had that part down cold: never let the subordinates see you sweat, especially not when your right hand man is loudly proclaiming the foolishness of your plan to all and sundry. Thanks Tremblay.
“15 minutes, Admiral,” said the Ex. Comm Tech.
I put my hand down along my thigh and clenched the fingers of my right hand. We were close, all we needed was a few more minutes.
“Admiral, I’m sensing a power surge in two of the three pirate battleships. It’s the ones that are still fully assembled,” exclaimed a Sensor Operator.
Heads jerked around on the Flag Bridge.
“What!” demanded Tremblay, pausing only long enough to shoot me a raw and angry look before launching himself toward the pit.
This wasn’t the end of the line, I reminded myself sternly. Thanks to Glue and Laurent, not to mention a few little additions of my own at the last minute, we still had a move or two left even if they spotted us. The plan, as devised by the three of us, almost depended on us to be spotted.
“Incoming transmission, Admiral,” barked the Ex. Comm.
“What? Who from?” I snapped. “The Merchant ship Captains were specifically instructed not to contact us until after we’d engaged the station,” I growled furiously.
“It’s not coming from the merchant conversions! The transmission is coming from the direction of the Omicron…” there was a pause, then the Technician continued in a shocked tone, “one of the Blood Reaver Battleships is requesting to talk with Admiral Montagne!”
“What?” I asked dumbfounded, “They’re asking for me by name now?”
“Your fame seems to have spread far and wide, Cousin,” Bethany said hatefully, “every piece of gutter trash in the spaceways seems to have heard about you and your famously successful anti-piracy patrols.”
I glanced over, surprised to see her on the bridge. She must have snuck in while my back was turned, which should not have surprised me, given our previous encounter which culminated with her blade in my back. I wondered briefly how she got onto the Flag Bridge.
“Get that woman off my bridge before I do something we’ll all regret later,” I snarled. “Lock her in her room until further notice!” I watched only long enough to see a pair of Lancers promptly respond to my orders.
“You’re sure they’re asking for me?” I demanded after Bethany had been taken from the Flag Bridge.
The Tech nodded. “Yes Admiral, and—”
“Light up the main screen,” I yelled over the top of the Communications Tech, “Go active with every sensor we’ve got, and take our fusion reactors out of standby, I want everything alive and burning.
“Yes, Admiral,” said Tactical Officer Laurent, “going live with active signals. We’re about to light up like a Christmas tree,” he said with
a harsh chuckle, “those pirates are going to be urinating in their boots as soon as they see us.
“No doubt they’ll think we’re part of a Confederation Task force about to rain some pain down on their heads,” I said darkly, once again speaking over the Comm Tech’s efforts to speak. Other than knowing the pirates were aware of our plans, I really didn’t need anything more from communications right at the moment. The last thing I needed was to be distracted by pirate bluster.
“I’ve got a positive match on two of the three battleships docked with the Omicron, Sir,” one of the Sensor Operators said in disbelief and then stopped, staring at his screen.
“Well what is it man, spit it out,” said Tremblay, in a harsh tone, striding over to the pit.
“See for yourself, Sir,” the Sensor man said to Tremblay.
For his part my Chief of Staff looked down at the sensor screen in disbelief.
“Well what is it,” I demanded, not liking this look of dumbfounded amazement and horror stealing across the face of my former first officer.
“The computer has a 100% positive match, Admiral,” Tremblay said in a strangled voice, “it’s the Royal Rage and Queen Abella.”
I looked at him brow furrowed, I could see the effect this news had on the older members of the bridge crew but myself and, a quick glance confirmed, the rest of the younger members of the crew were at a complete loss here.
Tremblay looked at me in disbelief.
“Those two ships were sent to the breakers almost 50 years ago! They’re Caprian ships, not knockoffs created with our schematics,” exclaimed Tremblay.
I sat back stunned at this little nugget of information.
The Communications Tech took advantage of this brief lull to finally get his message out. “A pirate battleship identifying itself as the Vineyard is requesting a com-link, Sir. He’s still asking for you by name.”
Chapter 9: Secret Plans vs. An Enemy Revealed
“Put him on then,” I shouted in sheer frustration at all these, preconception shaking, interruptions, “I think it’s time we put the Fear of Larry into these pirate scum, who think they can get away with putting their hands on Caprian built warships!”
That’s when I received the next mind-shattering revelation of the day.
For on the main screen popped up the image of this Vineyard’s pirate captain. Balding, equipped with a stereotypical patch over one eye and a scar trailing above and below the covered portion in what appeared to be one continuous line, he also had a string of staggeringly expensive Fire Opals chained together and linked through his ears with studs and piercings. But neither this nor the fact that he looked like your average brown skinned Caprian was the mind blowing part.
Well… he was a stereotypical ‘royal Caprian,’ but still, that part could conceivably have been predicted…or at least glossed over in favor of a good head of steam. No, what took every preconceived notion I had about the universe, and Caprian SDF naval service, and stood it on its head was… I shook my head and took a second, then a third look, still unable to believe what my eyes were telling me.
“Hello, Nephew. I hear you’ve been a very naughty boy, joy riding around in my old Battleship and causing all kinds of trouble,” the Pirate Captain on the screen gave a nasty looking grin. “Give it up now, Son, and I promise my Blood Reavers will go easy on you,” said the Captain of the Vineyard, who it also appeared from the way he was talking, was the Master of the Blood Reaver Fleet, a Pirate King and general all around the baddest bad guy of the space lanes.
I sat back stunned.
“You’re dead,” I said in disbelief. My mind utterly unable to absorb what I was seeing.
“Did you know about this,” Trembaly demanded, turning a furiously disappointed look at me. “Is this all some kind of big Montagne Family secret?” he shouted.
I transferred my stare to Tremblay. Still stunned by what I was seeing on the screen, and if anything relieved to be able to look away.
“I won’t stand by and let you sell us out to pirates, Jason Montagne,” roared Tremblay, clawing for his sidearm. As if through a distance, I watched as Laurent came over quickly as he and Tremblay wrestled for control of a handheld blaster.
On screen, the Pirate raised his eyebrows and made a self deprecating little wiggle of the fingers.
“So you do recognize me. I’d wondered if I made it into the history books or not,” the Pirate King grinned, the expression on his face slowly morphing into the barest hint of a smugly superior sneer. “Having my crew throw me into the waste recycler for all of Capria to see, on world-wide holo-vid no less was a nice touch, wouldn’t you say?” When I failed to say anything, he continued without missing a beat, “But personally, I like to believe that getting away clean with a trio of Caprian Battleships was an even better encore,” Jean Luc Montagne said with a smile. The smugness present in that expression was enough to take a less practiced person’s breath away.
“Nothing to say?” he inquired mildly, “no witty retort, cunning little aside or smart conversational barb you’d like to toss my direction? Nothing to say to your old Uncle Jean Luc,” asked a former childhood hero, a man who through his singular example had inspired me ever since I had stepped on board this ship.
Although, it seemed I had known less than the whole story. His example of being thrown into the waste recycler by a mutinous crew, or alternately retiring to another sector to live out his life on a vineyard growing grapes had not been entirely accurate. He may have moved to another sector alright, but the Vineyard he had ‘retired’ to had been nothing more than one of the biggest heists in Spineward history!
“I see rumors of your demise have been greatly exaggerated, Uncle,” I said, forcing a smile. As it has a tendency to do under stress, my mouth took on a life of its own, “Although I must say, when I heard that you’d retired to life on a vineyard somewhere in the galaxy, I never suspected the type of Vineyard you’d been imagining,” I smirked condescendingly. “Well played, Uncle. Well played,” I finished, slowly clapping my hands.
Jean Luc’s smile soured ever so slightly and at that time, in that particular moment, I have to say that scrap of bitterness did more to lift my flagging spirits and sinking morale than anything so far.
“Surrender now, Nephew, and maybe I’ll even go so far as let you and your crew return to Capria,” Jean Luc said, his tone turning serious.
“And let a perfectly good battle plan go to waste?” I asked incredulously. “Surely you can’t expect me to just pick up my chips and go home with my tail between my legs at this late stage of the game.”
“Right now, I’m feeling generous,” Jean Luc retorted, his eyes boring into mine through the main screen, “I don’t promise my mood will hold.”
“You’re a veritable master of deception, Uncle. You even managed to deceive your own crew into thinking you’d retired to a simpler and more peaceful life,” I said, noting that the fight between Tremblay and Laurent had ended with Tremblay surrendering the weapon to our ship’s tactical officer. “Why should I believe a word you say?”
“Because if you don’t, you’re all dead men walking; like the dodo-bird, you’re just too stupid to realize it yet,” Jean Luc said flatly. “And I wouldn’t be so sure about what my former crew was and was not aware of if I were you, my young, unborn-at-the-time fool.”
I shrugged eloquently, my movements saying louder than words how little I cared about the last couple points he had tried to make.
“It’s your funeral,” Jean Luc said, narrowing his lone eye and shrugging, “but you can’t say I didn’t try.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. You’re not the only one with surprises,” I retorted, trying to sound superior. It’s not so much that I was feeling superior, but I figured this was about as sure-fire of a way as I could come up with to irritate the man. He was, after all, a trained military officer and seasoned pirate king, and who was I? A young, relatively untrained ‘palace party boy’ suddenly thrust int
o command. That I never really partied that much didn’t negate the fact I was untrained.
Jean Luc threw back his head and laughed, “Son, there’s not a move you can make that I haven’t already considered,” he paused, spitting out a few more chuckles before settling down to a broad smile as he looked at me, “considered, factored into my own planning and already countered,” he added, shaking his head piteously.
“If you’ve already got me all figured out, what need do we have to even to talk about it,” I asked, miming putting my wrists together so I could be cuffed and led away to prison, “let's just send me away to traitor’s row and skip all the fun stuff in between.”
“You’re about to make one of the universe’s classic blunders,” Jean Luc said his nasty smile returning.
“Oh,” I said putting an entire freight of meaning into that one word and arching an eyebrow. For the first time it registered that he was sitting in a chair that rivaled my own Admiral’s Throne for sheer size, but mastered it my an order of magnitude on the unadulterated opulence scale.
“Oh yes,” he replied, the corner of his mouth curling.
“And what would that be, Jean Luc,” I asked, miming a yawn.
“Never go up against a Montagne when death is on the line,” he quoted, shaking his head sadly, “and son, while you may be a watered-down version of an old style Montagne, I’m the real deal. I have more than eighty years of straight naval experience under my belt, compared to your few months. The outcome of this little affair should be more than obvious to everyone concerned. In fact, it really ought to be self-evident. Especially when you factor in just how heavily outnumbered you and that old battleship of mine actually are.
The superior smile I’d been maintaining started to curl at the edges. I glanced surreptitiously at my wrist watch and stole a look at the plot on the side of my Admiral’s Throne. What I saw there caused me to suppress the urge to grin. It seemed the Vineyard and her Confederates were still warming up their engines.
“I’m afraid that this battleship is mine, not yours, and I’m going to use it to put a crimp in this little operation you’ve got going out here. One you’ll not soon forget!” I declared, deliberately trying to sound bombastic and over the top. The longer I could get him and his crew to discount me, the more time I had for that little surprise I’d set into motion several days ago to come to fruition.
Spineward Sectors 03 Admiral's Tribulation Page 9