Spineward Sectors 6: Admiral's Spine

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Bah,” growled the Master Chief, spitting blood but also failing to continue insulting the Lady.

  For a long moment the two men stared at one another.

  “You can bring me on this ship but you can’t make me work her—and you’d be crazy to try, you old Royalist,” Aubertine said flatly.

  “You expected it from us, Parliament,” Spalding rejoined, grabbing a hold of his broken finger and snapping it back into place with a crack that made even him flinch. The return of sensory input wasn’t any bag of fun, neither, “I don’t tend to do double standards. I don’t know why the Lady wants you lot on board but she does, so it’s my job to sift the wheat from the chaff and let me tell you, right now I’m looking at an awful lot of chaff.”

  “What’s to keep us from sabotaging the ship?” the Master Chief asked frankly. “You can’t trust a man who’s not on a ship willingly—and this isn’t even a Caprian ship, so there’s not much reason not to scuttle her just to give you lot a bad day.”

  Spalding waved the other man’s words off as if shooing away flies. “We’ll give any man who can’t work the same offer they gave me back in the day: if you feel you can’t do the job then feel free to follow your conscience,” he said evenly. “There’s a nice, comfortable brig cell in the Station with your name on it.”

  “And if a man had the desire to stay on but with ill intent?” the Master Chief growled.

  “That’s what chemical interrogation’s for,” Spalding growled back.

  “Think you’ve got it all figured out, do you? In the end you really are nothing more than the pirates the news service makes you out as—and I’ll have no truck with pirates,” Aubertine said stiffly.

  “Careful, boyo,” Spalding warned but mindful of his own experience with ‘reluctant’ service following the coup, or as this man would call it the reconstruction he held his piece, “any rate, you ask why we would trust you not to blow up the ship. Well after weeding out the malcontents—such as yourself—I’ll then be telling them the gods’ honest truth, which ought to go a long piece to convincing the rest to put aside any factional differences and unite us as Caprians first and foremost, and Parliament and Royal a distant second.”

  “And that miracle truth is?” the Master Chief said incredulously.

  “There’s a war on and we need every man willing,” Spalding said ironically, knowing how the words were going to be received.

  “There’s always a war going on somewhere,” retorted the Master Chief.

  “Yes well, in this particular instance on one side you have men like you and me, and on the other you have a bunch of trigger-happy attack droids,” Spalding said matter-of-factly.

  “Droids!” Aubertine said with one part alarm and two parts disbelief.

  “Yep,” Spalding said nodding agreeably, “that’s why I’m here to enlist any man willing to fight on the front lines against the machines. Oh, and I’ve got the files and an Ambassador from Sectors 23 and 24 to prove it." Even though Spalding didn’t particularly care for the extent of the anti-machine bias that gripped most Caprians, this kind of situation was exactly why that bias existed and in the face of a Machine threat of this magnitude, so he had little choice but to shamelessly play off it. No truly principled person—or even an intelligent hypocrite who only thought he or she was principled—could talk themselves out of killing humanities front line defenders.

  The Master Chief looked like he’d just bitted a lemon. And why shouldn’t he? The man had just gone from sticking it to where those, in his eyes, dag-blasted Royalists lived, to being turned into an errand boy. But anyone with a pair of neurons to rub together knew that these droids wouldn’t stop until they were forcibly convinced to do so, or possibly even annihilated.

  “Blast you,” cursed the Master Chief.

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” the old engineer bared his teeth because, temporary allies or no, this man was fighting for the opposing team and he was old enough to have been around for the ‘reconstruction’ nonsense, unlike a lot of these other youngsters. The old engineer didn’t agree with holding a man responsible for the sins of his parents…his own sins on the other hand, were not only fair game, there was an obligation to get some payback for them.

  So while Shore Patrol glared at him with hate in his eyes, he continued to bare his teeth. Oh yes, this one would bear watching, Spalding made a mental note.

  Chapter 21: Back to Tracto

  “Point Emergence,” reported Navigator Shepherd, it was nice to have the old team back in harness, even if I was in a strange and unfamiliar ship.

  “Extending engines out of the sump and bringing power on the secondaries up to 25%,” DuPont said smoothly.

  I sat back in the strange Captain’s chair I was currently occupying and let the now-routine cadence of a hyperspace emergence roll over me like a familiar comforting wave.

  We’d already broken the inertial sump and pointed the nose of the Phoenix in-system before the first Sensor returns came in.

  Everything was routine, as Sensors reported that the ships and stations we’d left behind were still all present and accounted for, until one of the sensor operators jumped out of his seat.

  “Point emergence two points off our aft quarter at a distance of…she’s right on us, sir!” cried the Operator.

  “What are they playing at?” cursed Captain Laurent, who I’d tapped to transfer over to command the Furious Phoenix for me the same way he had for the Little Gift and the Armor Prince.

  Despite the way both the Gift and the Prince had nearly been shot out from under us, there was no man I trusted more to run the ship I was on and besides those near losses had been entirely my fault, not the Flag Captain’s. I had a system that worked and wasn’t about to make any changes now. Not even if it would have been nice to put the Captain in command of the Parliamentary Power and know that he would be following behind me, literally as fast as he could manage to get it up and running.

  “I ordered a broad dispersal to avoid just this sort of thing; whoever’s in command over there and their navigators are going to have a lot to answer for! Get me the name of that ship and its captain,” he ordered.

  “I’m getting a transponder reading now,” the Communications Tech spoke up leaning down toward his console intently, then he stiffened, “its transponder says it’s the armed merchant ship, Sector Pride, registered out of Central!”

  “Sensors confirm that she’s armed and she’s a freighter,” cut in the Sensor Officer in charge of the entire sensor section, “and she’s still in the sump.”

  I sat bolt upright in my chair.

  “Sector Pride,” I growled sharing a glance with Captain Laurent.

  “They may not have heard about the change in control of this Star System, Admiral,” the Flag Captain said smartly.

  “Which change?” I said rhetorically and then my face hardened. “However I am quite interested to hear what the Assembly has to say to whoever they think is in charge of this system. Bring this ship around and close on the Freighter,” I said with a dire expression on my face, “I want them under our weapons and without even the idea that they can get away.”

  “Yes, sir,” Laurent said pivoting on his heels to relay the orders, “Helm, hard to port; bring us around to bear on the enemy and close at our best speed.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Helmsman DuPont said crisply, “they’ll never get away from us in that bucket of bolts.”

  “Focus on the task at hand, Helm,” the Captain replied and then turned. “Tactical, I want our guns tracking that ship and prepared to fire upon my command,” he glanced at me quizzically, “shoot to disable?”

  I nodded in response to the implied question.

  “If they are given the order to fire make sure the gunners understand they are to shoot to disable,” Laurent repeated and then expanded his instructions.

  “I’ll let the Chief Gunner know,” the Tactical Officer replied.

  The captain looked at the Tactical O
fficer for an extended moment before turning away.

  Now that we were on the way and the chances of Sector Pride escaping seemed to be somewhere in the vicinity of slim and none, I felt it was time for the velvet glove.

  “Comm., open a channel to the freighter,” I said after turning to the com-tech.

  “Right away, Admiral Montagne,” he said, flashing a smile at me.

  Ignoring the smile I turned to face the main screen and compose myself for the upcoming confrontation—for a confrontation it would be. Fortunately for me, I was holding most of the cards.

  “I have the freighter on the line, sir,” the Tech said seconds later.

  I blinked and then remembered that this sector ship wasn’t halfway across the sector, of course we’d be able to hail them and get a quick response. I straightened in my chair and allowed a small pleased expression to cross my face.

  “This is Admiral Montagne of the Confederation’s Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet and you are about to become the subject of a routine inspection. Heave to, step down your fusion generators, and prepare to be boarded,” I drawled, looking directly into the holo-pickup of the main screen.

  The familiar brown face appeared and stared back at me with a flicker of surprise, pert nose lifted slightly into the air before her expression quickly shuttered. It was a face and a look that made me want to both rage and yet at the same time dance a victory jig.

  “Flat Nose,” she said bitterly.

  “Bethany, dear cousin; it’s been too long,” I said with false warmth, allowing a genuine, less-than-warm smile to slowly spread across my face.

  “Not long enough,” she practically spat.

  “I’m surprised your masters sent you here knowing that control of Tracto has returned to the hands of its rightful, indigenous, rulers,” I said, sidestepping the fact that technically I was the one in control of everything outside of the planet itself by not specifying if I was referring to Tracto the System or Tracto the Planet and stressing the fact that the natives had control for public consumption.

  “If the natives actually have control of your ‘fleet’ or flotilla or whatever you’re calling it now, then you’re stupider than even I’d imagined,” Bethany said sweetly, but I could see from the flicker in her eyes that the shot had hit home.

  “The MSP follows the rightful Confederation chain of command, as always; we’re not beholden to any single star system,” I said coolly, meaning that as of right then it followed me. Then I leaned forward, “Not that I’d expect a civilian like you to understand the ins and outs of a military organization. That might actually require some study and take time away from you manicures, pedicures, and trying to look good for the cameras.”

  Bethany snorted indelicately and then sneered at me, “I can understand why the man infamous throughout the Sector as the Tyrant of Cold Space might be a little sore about his image,” she mocked.

  “Come to ‘Represent’ your masters in the Rump Assembly, like a good little girl?” I shot back, switching the words ‘Sector’ for ‘Rump’ at the last moment as well as our conversational gears. There was no reason to give those blighters in Central any more legitimacy than necessary or Bethany control of this little discussion of ours. Not after she and the people she represented did everything but declare war on me and everyone in my organization.

  Her eyes narrowed and then a false front swept over her face and she smiled pleasantly—almost indulgently—at me. “Unlike some people I know how to do what I’m told and if I’m told to go to act as a representative for the Central Government then that’s what I’ll do,” she said lightly. “I can’t help it if both Capria and the Sector Assembly recognizes talent—loyal, dutiful talent—when they see it." The sweep of her eyes as they examined me left me with no doubt that when she looked at me she found me wanting in this regard.

  I stiffened at the dig. “Is that what I saw on the Cosmic News Network?” I said contemplatively. “A loyal and dutiful lapdog spewing her master’s lies and sound-bytes when you said I was mentally unhinged and as such shouldn’t be held accountable for my actions?”

  “They say ‘truth is in the eye of the beholder’,” Bethany sniffed. “However, despite my best efforts on your behalf you clearly were about to be held accountable but alas…that is not why I am here.”

  “Of course not,” and now it was my turn to mock.

  Her lips tightened fractionally.

  “When your ship stops over for our,” she paused sardonically, “inspection, I am prepared to tender my portfolio. In it you will find I have been sent on a Diplomatic Mission to Tracto, here to liaise with Authority of this star system on behalf of the Sector Government.”

  I snorted, drawing a cold look from my cousin.

  “I am to provide whatever services I can to the betterment of both our governments,” she ended stiffly, the little moue that her mouth made indicating this was far from her favorite thing to be saying.

  “’We’re from the Rump Assembly and we’re here to help you’,” I shook my head wondering just how stupid she thought I was and then gave her a level look.

  “There’s no need for that insulting diminutive any longer,” she said primly, “despite the lack of Representatives from a small fraction of the border worlds, we—that is, the Sector Assembly—finally acquired enough participating member worlds for a quorum. The vote was close,” the smile that crossed her face wasn’t a pleasant one and it came and went in a flash, “but in the end the Sector Government was restored to full functionality and as we speak a new Governor pro-tem is being selected by the Assembly for ratification by the Core Worlds until such a time as contact is reestablished with the confederation wide Grand Assembly.”

  “So you’ve finally got around to telling yourself you have the power to unilaterally elect…” I paused and corrected myself, “that is, selected a Sector Governor and then ratify it by only a fraction of the worlds of this sectors worlds, the most powerful Core Worlds of course. Have you bothered to replace any of the Sector Judges while you’re at it or did you stop at usurping the Governor ship?”

  Bethany’s eyes glittered oddly. “An emergency selection requires a majority vote in the Assembly with a quorum of all the worlds of this Sector, regardless of population size, in attendance. However once every world, high population or low, has had the chance to weigh in and,” her lips quirked, “make their vote count, ratification of this selection only requires a plural majority of the sector population. With billions living on the Core Worlds and only millions, or hundreds of thousands, on the border, a majority of the Popular Vote can be achieved in several ways. Of course,” she paused demurely, “any border world that cares to send in its vote totals will be counted. They simply aren’t necessary to fulfill our constitutionally mandated duty requirements.”

  I shook my head in disgust. “I don’t need to hear a blow by blow account of how you gamed the system, Cousin,” I said, not entirely truthfully. While I didn’t ‘need’ to know, I was more than mildly interested. You never knew when a lack of such information could come back and bite you in the hindquarters.

  “I didn’t game anything, nor did the legitimately elected Sector Government or it’s soon to be Governor pro-tem,” Bethany shot back, “and I’m sorry if you feel that way!”

  She didn’t sound very sorry and I mimed covering a yawn with my hand.

  “Before we got sidetracked with this amusing little aside,” said in as belittling a voice as I could manage, “I believe you were saying something about how the Confederation Representative was prepared to tender her credentials to the System Authority here?”

  “Yes, ‘I’ am ready to hand over my portfolio to whosoever is in control of this system as the duly assigned Sector Representative,” Bethany said, once again looking as if she’d swallowed something foul.

  I pretended to be surprised, as if the fact that she was once again acting as our Sector Representative had somehow slipped my mind.

  “That’s low, even for you,
Admiral,” she said her voice as she used my military rank dripping with scorn.

  My face hardened, but I said nothing.

  “But I suppose it’s all that can be expected from a Montagne,” she finished with a sigh after a dramatic pause.

  Captain Laurent stepped over to my side and then leaned down. “The shuttles are en route and only two minutes from being within docking range of the freighter,” he said mouth next to my ear to foil the audio pickups.

  I nodded my understanding of the Flag Captains words and smoothly turned it into a nod towards Bethany’s last words as I looked back into her eyes.

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Cousin, because while it fits you to a tee it simply doesn’t suit the situation,” I drawled as condescendingly as possible; it was time she felt the sting. “I mean, we both know you came here expecting to deal with one Montagne and instead found yourself dealing with another. So attempting to play the Montagne card is fairly passé, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Bethany gritted her teeth and I watched with pleasure as the barb sank in.

  A little too much time spent vilifying the ‘Tyrant of Cold Space’ for his Montagne ways, Cousin? I thought coldly. I wondered if she’d started to lose her edge spending all that time on the Central media circuits.

  Then my smile which had been cold and rigid enough suddenly turned deadly as a wonderful idea popped into my brain. Two…no, three birds with one stone. Is it possible? I wondered before quickly refocusing my attention back onto my erstwhile cousin.

  “Let’s get down to brass tacks, Representative Tilday,” I said switching gears over to my officious best.

  “Yes, let’s, Jason,” she countered by choosing to be insultingly familiar.

  “What exactly are you here for, Representative?” I said formally, sticking to my guns.

  “Provided my status as a Representative of the Sector Government and its Assembly, and as long the diplomatic immunity I am therefore entitled to is recognized and respected, I am here to smooth the waters,” she said, speaking much but saying little.