“All I had to do to get the better of my Nephew was imagine a younger, idealistic and infinitely more incompetent version of myself,” Jean Luc said flatly, “but that’s because I knew about him on the way in.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Captain Heppner frowned.
Jean Luc turned hot eyes upon his former Executive Officer and current Flag Captain.
“Why did no one inform me about Akantha of Messene,” Jean Luc demanded coldly, and it seemed as if the entire bridge went silent.
Heppner looked taken aback.
“Thanks to the incompetence of your political masters, not to mention the loss of our number three fusion generator, I just had to throw away a perfectly good battleship,” Commodore Montagne said severely.
“I sincerely doubt the throw is beyond all retrieval, Commodore,” Heppner insisted, shaking his head, “she is one woman!”
“I was called in because no one, not one,” he thrust a finger into the arm of his chair emphatically, “individual in this entire sector of bureaucratically motivated interests, knew how to remove an irritating little pipsqueak like Jason Montagne from command of this Battleship.” Jean Luc snorted with outrage, “let alone how to disband his little imitation Confederation Battle Fleet! And now you, Jim, of all people have the gall to try lecturing me on threat assessment!”
“Perhaps if you could explain, Sir,” Captain Heppner said sounding concerned, “how a barbarian woman of whatever stripe could cause so much trouble, that we have to automatically concede the Armor Prince as permanently lost to us.”
“When you looked at that screen, you saw a barbarian woman!?” Jean Luc stared at him incredulously. “You have spent entirely too much time riding a peace-time assignment in the SDF, if all you saw on that screen was some savage little ignoramus,” Jean Luc snapped, a vein bulging on his forehead.
The look on Heppner’s face suggested he was still at a loss, causing Jean Luc’s blood pressure to rise to a level he had not felt in decades.
“That impossibly straight nose, tall stature and signature features, and all you saw was some wild primitive playing with hi-tech toys! I don’t see a native savage when I looked at that screen, Jim,” he leaned forward in his Throne emphatically, “I see a genetically engineered monstrosity, a veritable AI slave-race fanatic, in the flesh!”
“Genetically engineered?” Heppner repeated, rearing back in surprise.
“Did you think that MAN was the only Artificial Intelligence to leave its mark upon the cosmos,” Jean Luc sneered. “I assure you, the remnants of the Multi-Access Network may be all around us,” he looked at the captain like he was some sort of bug under his microscope, “but it was not the ‘only’ AI to find something worth tinkering with in the genetic structure of the human race! Not by a long chalk, Captain.”
Heppner frowned and then shot Jean Luc a narrow glance, “Still, she’s just one person, Commodore Montagne,” he said doubtfully, “how much trouble can she be?”
“It boggles the mind,” Jean Luc deadpanned, looking toward the ceiling as if in search of inspiration. “Just one person,” he scoffed, “nearly the entire Marine contingent on board this ship was comprised of genetically-engineered super soldiers, and you ask how much damage can she do?”
“Super Soldiers… you didn’t say anything about that, my Prince,” Heppner said sheepishly, his features turning grim.
“And then you go and cap it all off, from your own mouth, Captain Jim Heppner,” Jean Luc stabbed a finger into the arm of his Throne.
“Sir?” asked Heppner, looking irritated at this game of twenty questions.
“Montagne, you fool,” he said glaring at his chief new subordinate, “those Lancers have most certainly been exposed to a Montagne, one Jason Montagne, the pipsqueak in the flesh.” The Commodore made a savage slash in the air, “And according to my clearly incomplete reports, they accepted him as some kind of war leader!”
Captain Heppner’s eyes slowly closed, and it was clear to Jean Luc that his XO finally understood the severity of the situation. “Not good,” Heppner agreed in a low voice after a demonstrable pause.
“Genetically engineered super soldiers accepted that watered down pipsqueak of a Montagne as one of their war leaders, and you still ask ‘why’ we have to burn the entire mess, root and branch? All I asked for was accurate intel, and it was staring everyone and his sister right in the face the entire time!” Jean Luc bellowed, storming out of his chair, he grabbed the Captain’s power-armored collar. “This was very badly run, Jim,” the one-eyed Commodore said damningly. Giving the man a forceful shove, he turned to reclaim his Throne.
“Should I order the main guns turned on the Armor Prince,” Heppner asked after a moment, when his face had the chance to lose it reddened appearance.
“The destruction of the Armor Prince has already been set into motion,” Jean Luc gestured as if throwing away something unworthy of his attention, “there’s no need to waste another moment on her. If all else fails, within the next 4 hours the Armor Prince will be nothing but a rapidly expanding memory,” he said with a grimly satisfied expression on his face. “No, let’s waste no more time on that abortion of a salvage project. Instead, hail Station Command; it’s time for the Blood Lord’s last ride from Omicron Station.”
“As you command, Sir,” Heppner replied with a salute.
Jean Luc leaned back with an extremely satisfied expression on his face, “As always, Number One,” he said unable to keep the barest hint of a gloat out of his voice, “as always… although,” he paused in reflection and then smiled. It was a smile that made those who knew him turn away with a shudder. “There might be some potential use for the rest of that genetically engineered people,” Jean Luc said with an unholy gleam entering his eyes. “Since my nephew was more than kind enough to lay the groundwork, why not advantage myself of at least a portion of his misguided effort? It would be such a shame to let it all go to waste.”
Chapter 45: The Last Charge of the Grease Monkeys
“We’re two turns away from victory,” shouted Chief Bogart, raising the arm on his good side but too wary of that intense shooting pain on the side he’d been stabbed to risk using both hands to emphasize his point, “Down this hall and turn right, Main Engineering will be straight ahead,” he hollered, and putting action to words he began limping down the hall.
All around him the little grease monkeys, battered and bloody as they were, made a hungry sound and picked up speed. The Chief Gunner made a determined effort but was too exhausted to keep up with the front of the pack.
“Those with ranged weapons to the front,” he started to shout before breaking off in a coughing fit. Glancing at the back of his hand he saw bright red blood. “Bah,” he flicked loose droplets of it on the floor before rubbing the back of his hand against his trousers.
The worst of the blood now smeared on his legs and not the back of his hand, the Chief paused to gather his strength. Lifting his battered auto-wrench and a sonic pistol he’d picked up somewhere along the way, after his blaster pistol finally ran dry, he blanked his face. This was going to be the hardest part yet; even those parliamentary fools up on the bridge had to know they couldn’t let loose of Main Engineering without a fight.
The first of his grease monkeys had just rounded the corner when the blaster bolts started flying and his valiant boys in the front ranks fell in droves.
“Heirophant,” he shouted, pointing at the hailstorm of blaster bolts cutting, in some cases, his brave gunners in half.
Heirophant raised high his Imperial boarding axe and hopped to the front.
The first of the Marine Jacks were rounding the turn in the hall when the oversized gunner and former lancer piled into them.
Leveling his sonic pistol, for all the good it was going to do him, the Chief Gunner unloaded the little weapon as fast as he could depress its sensor trigger.
“Die, you parliamentary lap dogs,” he barked, waving whatever reinforcements were s
till behind him forward.
Chapter 46: Lieutenant Colonel Kyle Riggs
“Those royal buffoons walked right into it,” a junior Lieutenant said to him with glee in his voice, “just like you said they would, Sir!”
“Fighting a bunch of Gunners hand to hand is no more difficult for a Marine than taking candy from a schoolyard bully,” Riggs said dismissively, even as the first rank of mutinous gunners started falling in job lots.
“It’s like leading lambs to the slaughter,” remarked Captain Jones.
“They had to come here if they had any prayer of taking the ship. It was as predictable as it was stupid,” Colonel Riggs said flatly. “Are the holdouts still pinned down in the ship’s barracks?”
“Companies A and C still have them pinned down, those few Lancers that were too injured or too sick to take part in the main attack on the Omicron are isolated in the Lancer Contingent’s quarters, Colonel Riggs,” Captain Jones said stiffly.
“It’s not like they’re fellow Marines or even real Lancers, at that, Jack,” Riggs said consolingly. “Half of Company B along with the Volunteers equipped out of the ship’s armory will be more than enough to break this insipient little rebellion. We crush the Gunners outside of Main Engineering right here, right now, and last chance these Confederation holdouts have of surviving until reinforced are history, along with their foolish notions of re-taking the ship.”
“Toast, Sir,” Captain Jack Jones agreed heavily, but with rather less enthusiasm than the Lieutenant Colonel would have liked.
“Come now, don’t tell me you are actually feeling sympathetic towards this pack of Confederated Royalists, after they way King James has been running roughshod over our civil liberties back home?” Kyle Riggs said angrily.
“One man, one vote Sir, it’s what we all believe in,” Jones agreed stiffly, “it’s just these boys haven’t even been home since the new troubles started, and many of them aren’t even Caprians in the first place!”
“What does one man one vote even mean when you live under a King who can disband Parliament and send your elected leaders back home!?” Riggs raged. “Sometimes, to make an omelet you have to break a few eggs, Captain,” he said shoving a finger in Jones’s face, “are you with us or against us, Jack?”
The Captain of Company B’s face hardened, “Down with these royal bootlickers, Sir. No one loves our civil rights more than I. You can count on me, Colonel!” he braced to attention, even if he didn’t offer an actual salute, this was the next best thing in a warzone.
“Good man,” the Colonel said slapping the Captain on the shoulder, “Long live our glorious New Revolution!”
“It starts here, Sir,” Jack agreed. “I’d like the chance to personally lead my men and prove myself, Colonel!”
“Go get them, Captain Jones,” Lieutenant Colonel Riggs ordered happily, under his breath he muttered, “we’re just fortunate that old royalist curmudgeon Wainwright had splattered against the shield in the first wave.” He shook his head. Who knew what might have happened with the rest of the Brigade if that angry old royalist had still been around to contest Riggs’s assumption of Command Authority?
Speaking of which, it was just about time to order a general recall to the rest of the regiments in the Brigade.
“This is Lieutenant Colonel Riggs,”’ he began, patching into the ship’s communications system, “I need an omni-directional broadcast link so I can speak with the rest of the Brigade still outside the Vineyard and Lucky Clover. It’s time to issue the recall order.”
Chapter 47: Broken Dreams
Watching Heirophant lunge into the fray, the Gun Chief felt a brief moment of hope. That deadly boarding axe of his smashed through one visor and then nearly cut off an arm holding a blaster rifle before lodging in the heavy chest plate of yet a third onrushing Marine.
Heirophant disappeared briefly under the tide of Jacks flooding the hall, only to briefly appear again, this time with a fresh marine holding him down while another man brought a blaster rifle to bear. There was a flash, and the armor suit encasing Heirophant twitched and went limp.
“Oh, lad,” Bogart groaned and turned around amid the force of the crowd that was his shocked and panicky ratings.
Merciless as only Jacks can be, he could hear the Marines put the boots to anyone left alive further up the hall.
The last charge of the grease monkeys had finally broken.
Going back the way he’d originally came, he saw the pair of sonic cannons. Their bearers had been forced to a standstill at the side of the corridor due to the sudden reversal of movement as the grease monkeys broke in the face of the fury that was the heavily trained and battle-suit equipped Marine Jacks.
“Here! Right here,” roared Chief Bogart, pointing imperiously at a point just to the side of the middle of the corridor, “set those cannons up here!”
Putting words to action, he grabbed the barrel of one cannon and kicked one of its bearers in the leg to gain his attention.
Face lightening with dawning comprehension of the task and recognition of Chief Bogart himself, the ratings leapt to place the tripod and situate the sonic cannon atop it.
As soon as it was in place, Bogart stumped up behind the padded metal harness and placed his hands on the dual triggers. Depressing the sensor, he unleashed a stream of sonic blasts over the top of his retreating gunnery force.
“I’ll hold them here,” he screamed at the rating, indicating with his shoulder that they were to retreat along with the rest of the group. “Set up the second cannon at the next hallway!”
The little group looked uncomprehending, but the flood of fleeing ratings had slowed to a trickle by now and Bogart had a target rich environment to deal with.
He roared wordlessly, flicking a switch and sending the cannon to full auto.
Laughing maniacally, he swept the corridor from one side to the other, knocking Jacks off their feet and sending them careening into walls. He might not be able to kill any of the green faced blighters, but by all the Demon’s angry Blazes, he could die content with the knowledge he’d fallen beside the lads he’d led to the slaughter.
He was still laughing when a well-aimed blaster bolt took him in the shoulder. He spun around from the force of the impact and hit the floor. Those Parliamentary lickspittles had hit him on his good side! Seeing power-armored boots starting toward his position, he tried to rise but when he couldn’t and the world spun around him, he lay back. He’d run his course and it’d been a good show right up to the end.
When a hysterically screaming young rating jumped to his former position behind the sonic cannon, he would have shook his head had he the strength.
“Run, lad… save yourself,” he mumbled.
Then a pair of hands came under his shoulders.
“Take the Chief to an escape pod,” yelled a rating with a blaster rifle using part of a wall at the intersection for cover, “we’ll hold them here until you can get him away!”
“No,” Bogart groaned, “No!” he repeated with rising force and then collapsed back limp from the exertion.
“We got you Chief, don’t worry we can carry ya!” said a worried-looking face over him.
He tried to push the blighter away. “Leave me and save yourselves,” he attempted to say, but his lips moved silently.
“He’s going into convulsions,” said one of the ratings as they dragged him further up the hall.
“We just have to get him back up two more corridors,” said another, “I left the grav-cart back there in lock down mode!”
“Fools,” he tried to say but all that came out of his mouth was blood, they were too ignorant to realize he was as good as dead already and they were supposed to leave him here for the Jacks to finish, buying them precious seconds to get away.
Feeling nothing but the vague sensation of motion for an indeterminate amount of time afterwards, he was soon beyond caring about whether he was going to die in the halls or from being carried by a pack of fools too s
tupid to realize he’d just led them to their deaths. Then everything spiraled into darkness, and blessedly he no longer felt anything.
Chapter 48: Akantha or Jason?
The young rating’s head darted from side to side, and he reached forward his hands simultaneously pulling the emergency eject handle as he slapped the silence button on the alarm.
Feeling insanely guilty, he hazarded he could almost feel the eyes of invisible security cameras recording his each and every move. Lower lip quivering, he stood for a moment filled with indecision. Then, realizing his lip was moving in a most unmanly manner he straightened, placing the traitorous lip firmly between his teeth both upper and lower.
Heroism and bravery don’t only exist on the bridge during combat or turn up in the middle of a fusion reactor just before it’s about to destroy the ship, he reminded himself firmly.
Nor did such a person have to necessarily come from royal blood or be the son or grandson of an important person. Today he, Robert ManCaster, was going to enter the Hall of Records.
He paused and glanced at the name of the person he was about to condemn to death. For a moment he felt his whole body waver. Then the ship lurched underneath him, it was the most minor of lurches but it was enough to remind Robert of his task.
“Sorry, Luke Sky Wachter,” he said pulling open the glass lid. Squirming with the slimy feel of the healing substances surrounding his soon-to-be victim, he grabbed a hold for all he was worth and rolled the hapless crewman toward him. Dropping him to the deck with a thump, he could hear the crewman gasping for life at his feet.
Stomach lurching up somewhere around his eyes, ManCaster collapsed forward, spewing the contents of his stomach into the healing tank.
By the second and third heaves he had corrected his aim, and now instead of contaminating the tank with his gastric rejects, he was covering the victim of his crime with the detritus of his stomach.
Spineward Sectors 03 Admiral's Tribulation Page 29