Spineward Sectors 6: Admiral's Spine

by Luke Sky Wachter

  It wouldn’t make up for a lifetime of lies and disappointment, but it would be a start. And he wasn’t going to stop until he escaped or the old man was crushed.

  “You holding up okay there, sir?” Penelope asked sounding concerned.

  “Never better, Pen,” he said with a tight smile.

  “I’m just asking cause these Royalists, Confederals or whatever they decide to call themselves, idolize the old cyborg. I know how it can be to serve alongside family,” she said, her face darkening in a way that bespoke of personal experience, “especially when there are political differences.”

  “I’ve heard a bit about how much they look up to him,” Tiberius allowed, thinking that if he was the only trained engineer among a group of green ratings and crew it wouldn’t be that hard to get a reputation. And, to give the Demon his due, the old man had walked into a bloody fusion reactor. Doing that took equal parts courage and crazy. And while he’d never had any problem ascribing the latter, the former had never really been tested, at least in his own mind.

  “Murphy’s disciple and a miracle worker all rolled up into one,” Penelope frowned. “Earned or not that can’t be easy to swallow,” she said, making it clear which side of the line she stood on.

  “Like all frauds, as soon as you pull back the curtain all you’re left with is a man. All we have to do is show what real engineers do and the hero worship will fade,” Tiberius said evenly.

  Penelope made a skeptical, but generally supportive, noise. “Are you sure, Lieutenant?” she asked a tad too skeptically for his taste. “No one ever accused Royalists of using their brains, except maybe for graft and corruption. They may not take to well to having their icon exposed, if I may say so, sir. Are you sure it’s not better to just let him and them ride it out until he retires?”

  Tiberius frowned at her.

  “All the more reason to crush the legend and get them thinking for themselves again, instead of whatever cult of Murphy my Father,” he cut himself off and rephrased it, “the Commander, has tried to instill in them.”

  “There could be a backlash,” she said uneasily, “our boys and girls will be for it, they’d follow you wherever you want to go but the others. No.”

  “I’m not talking anything underhanded here,” he told the power room tech, and was almost irritated by the look of relief that flashed across her features. “All I’m talking about is just exposing the shortcuts, half-measures, and general all-around insanity that this cult of personality has built up around the Commander by contrasting it with dedicated, professional engineering work. And really, all he knows is Dreadnaught class battleships: a fifty year old design only new back when he was young. Take him away from those and put him on a top of the line piece of new tech like this Cruiser and he can’t help but flop around like a fish out of water,” he waved a finger in the air to indicate everything around them and their whole general situation.

  “We’re with you, sir,” the little power room tech said firmly.

  “Good, now let’s run another test on the plasma cannons; the last thing we need are them failing in the clutch,” he instructed firmly.

  “Aye, Sir,” she said flashing him a grin.

  “All they’ve seen for officers have been retirees, reservists or those who should have been retired,” he said, “that shouldn’t be too hard to show them for what they really are.”

  As Tiberius nodded confidently the power room tech did likewise, albeit with slightly more reservation.

  Chapter 25: The Lost, the Forgotten, and the Lame

  Akantha was spending her last few hours in the Tracto Star system on Tracto. More specifically, she was in Argos and out among the people of her birth-polis. She didn’t know when she would have the chance to come visit the mother-polis again, now that her religious duties at the conclave were over and her Protector had set a firm date for the start of the next campaign.

  That was why she had spontaneously decided to take a trip down to the surface. Because she knew it could be years before her next visit to the home of her girlhood and she wanted one last chance to see her people…well, her former people. Messene was now her proper home but with all the time she had spent away, when she had felt the need to make a big decision in her life she had come home to make it.

  Like all daughters eventually do, she had grown up. And while Argos would always have a special place inside her, Messene was now her home when she wasn’t sailing through the river of stars on a starship. But while Messene was now home, her mother was in Argos and Akantha felt the need to speak with her for advice.

  But she had taken a few hours to escape the palace while the opportunity was available. Stepping around a cart with a broken wheel taking up part of the road, she approached a food vendor. The victuals onboard the flying citadels were filling, but there was nothing quite like real food the likes of which she had grown up eating. When a grimy figure in worn and filthy clothing detached itself from a wall and stepped toward her, she became immediately wary.

  Akantha drew herself up as the person—a man, as far as she could gauge from his height and general size—drew to a stop in front of her.

  He was quite obviously missing his right arm, and his left arm was held close to his body as though it was crippled, and he came to a stop in front of her. He walked a touch stiffly, and she could see that the right side of his face was scarred, as if by fire or acid. Between his attire and his appearance, he looked disreputable in the extreme.

  Akantha’s whole body tensed, preparing for whatever might come next.

  “Greetings, First Daughter,” came a once-familiar voice that almost blew her away.

  “Persus?” she whispered in absolute shock.

  “I apologize for my appearance,” he said wryly, and then haltingly gestured down to the rest of his body with a slow movement of his left arm, “I would have cleaned up into something better, but the simple truth is that I no longer possess such.”

  Akantha was thunderstruck. The crippled, almost beggar-like person before her was her old bodyguard, Persus; a man who had all but raised her. He had dutifully guarded the heir to Argos throughout her youth, and he had followed her into the disastrous campaign against the Sky Demons which had ended with him crippled, and her captured by the Demons. All of it had taken place before she had been freed by her Protector and launched into the journey among the stars, and Akantha was immediately struck by just how distant those events seemed to her.

  Shame darkened her face. She felt no shame that Persus had been maimed in a worthy cause, but rather that in all her time off Tracto—and on—she had spared so little thought to one who had defended her since she was a girl-child. He had even fallen on the field at her orders, and the last she had known he had sustained potentially lethal injuries.

  “As if a little dirt would be reason for me to take offense at your presence, Persus,” she said huskily, “well met.”

  “Well met, First Daughter,” he acknowledged, inclining his head gravely.

  “Hold-Mistress now, although not of Argos,” she corrected shakily, “it is good to see you…” she was about to say ‘hale’ or ‘in one piece,’ but that would be an untruth, so she lamely finished, “…here.”

  “Of course,” Persus replied, lifting his left shoulder as if her verbal stumble was unworthy of attention, “even where I have been we have heard of the Hold-Mistress of Messene and her powerful Warlord Protector.”

  Akantha nodded and a thin, enigmatic smile on her face as she was unsure what she should—or could—say.

  “Are you happy, my Lady?” he asked, meeting and holding her eyes. And it was as if the years, the dirt, and the hard living all faded away and she was once again a little girl looking up into the eyes of her personal guard—the man who had practically raised her.

  “Nothing is perfect,” she prevaricated and then, almost with a sense of wonder, said, “yes. Yes I am.”

  “That is good,” Persus said with satisfaction and then his face darkened,
“your Protector was of your own choice and he does well by you?”

  “I thought tales of his various battles in the circle, both with my Uncle and after, where all over the polis?” Akantha said, her lip twitching. “But yes, I chose him and he does his best.” Although his best isn’t always good enough to keep him at my side, she thought with irritation.

  “Then I will be satisfied that you are in good hands,” Persus said with a bow and turned to leave.

  Akantha watched him take the first step feeling perplexed and some strange emotion she wasn’t used to. “Surely you did not accost me in the street just for that?” Akantha said, her voice cracking with anger. Anger at what, she did not know. Persus’s wounds, his denigrated station—having gone from a proud warrior to a cripple on the street—or the fact that she hadn’t really so much as thought about him in almost two years.

  “My duty as a warrior, and your safety and happiness, were all I’ve cared about, my Lady Adonia,” Persus said, turning stiffly until he was facing her again. “And with the one denied me and the other in good hands, I feel my work is as well done as it may be.”

  “You intend to take your leave?” Akantha asked, seeing him ready to leave once again. She was determined not to let him bolt until she had more than this and besides it was just plain rude, “Surely you wanted more than to just ensure yourself that I am well and then leave.”

  “You seem in fine form, my Lady,” he said with a thin, but wholly genuine, smile, “that is all I could ask.”

  “It is all you could ask, but is it all you could want?” she demanded.

  “One grows tired of the streets and back alleyways; I thought perhaps of a return to service. Not as a warrior,” Persus said, his kind smile betraying a hint of bitterness. He then pivoted on one of his stiff legs for emphasis, “Not that it cannot be done, but kicking one’s enemies to death is a tiring way of fighting—not to mention too slow for proper guard work. Perhaps I could have served as a servant. But as I can barely lift a spoon with this arm, and a blade is beyond me,” he said, showing his left arm for emphasis, “simply knowing that you are well, I can finally set aside that burden. Who knows? Perhaps I will undertake a pilgrimage to the shards and seek an upload.”

  This time when he turned to go it was with a hint of finality to it, and something warm trickled down her cheek.

  “Do not go,” Akantha said, and when this failed to slow him she glared at his back as Persus continued walking away.

  “I need you,” she said, uncaring of the eyes of random citizens staring at her.

  Her old guard paused, his foot in midair but he did not turn.

  “What do you need an aging cripple for?” he said shaking his head and still not looking at her. “Let me go, my little thorn.”

  “I will not,” Akantha hissed.

  “I do not seek, or desire, your charity; my burden is heavy and it will be good to lay it down. One last, fine, adventure…” the once, and clearly still, proud Tracto-an warrior said wistfully as he still refused to look at her.

  “I need you,” she repeated sternly.

  “What possible use could I be?” Persus said, rounding on her with fire in his eyes buried within a heavily-scarred face.

  “I am surrounded by those who place greater value in my life than they do honor,” she said sternly.

  “I am not unsympathetic to such a position myself,” Persus informed her with a bitter laugh.

  She took his meaning plainly enough, and his words bit deeply but she pushed past them. “I need someone who can help me balance both,” Akantha said, biting the words out.

  Persus looked at her with surprise. “Who are you…and what have you done with my former charge?” he demanded, shaking his head with disbelief.

  “Is that really so unbelievable?” Akantha said coolly.

  Persus’ forehead wrinkled. “What’s changed?” he asked looking at her through slightly narrowed eyes.

  “Are you sure something has?” she shot back.

  “Oh, yes,” he replied evenly, “and if you aren’t willing to tell me then I’ll continue on my business.”

  Akantha looked at him crossly.

  “I mean it,” he said, his face a mask but his voice carrying the deep note of authority which no other man in her life had possessed.

  “Oh, very well,” she snapped and then took a pair of deep breaths to calm herself.

  He continued to look at her patiently, and with each passing second she became increasingly convinced that she had no choice.

  “If you think that the idea I’ve grown more cautious with my personal safety after numerous battles out in the river of stars is so unbelievable—” she began.

  “It is,” he interrupted blandly, “but it still fails to even partially explain why you would need me.”

  “Then,” she continued through clenched teeth, “perhaps you might believe that I don’t simply want the man who practically raised me around solely for my benefit.”

  Persus breath caught and he looked down and then back up to her face. “Are you…?” he asked with surprise.

  “Not yet, and maybe not soon; I have not yet decided for certain but…” Akantha said greatly displeased at having to reveal something she herself hadn’t wanted to speak about until after she had made a final decision, “times have been tumultuous, Persus. Messene is not my only consideration; I have a potential Hold among the stars that must be secured—it is called ‘Omicron’.”

  “I see…” Persus said sucking on his teeth in the same fashion she had grown accustomed to when he was considering a matter seriously.

  “Regardless of Argos, the line of succession must be secured,” Akantha pressed.

  “Unless you want it all to go to your sisters,” Persus pointed out somewhat belatedly.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Now can you see why I might need my old guard,” Akantha said severely.

  Persus nodded reluctantly and then slowly, and possibly painfully, he dropped to one knee. “My Lady,” he said, bowing his head more deeply than she had ever seen him do, and the sight of her once-mighty defender reduced to such a shell of his former self lit a fire within her that she felt certain would never truly die, “I am yours.”

  Chapter 26: Leaving Tracto

  “Every ship except for the medium cruiser, Pride of Prometheus, has been slave-linked into our Nav-Computer,” Navigator Shepherd reported tensely. “For some reason the medium cruiser has refused and rebuffed all my attempts to link into their Nav-system for a coordinated jump out of Tracto System.”

  “Acknowledged and understood, Mr. Shepherd,” I said, leaning back in my chair completely in command and control of this new bridge and everything in it and the fleet at large, for once. “The Pride of Prometheus is acting on my orders and with my permission; ignore it and focus on the rest of the fleet.”

  “Yes, Sir,” the Navigator said, shooting me a startled look before buckling back down and leaning over his console.

  Then as if to give the lie to my internal assertion of control the blast doors cycled open and my wife, mother, and sister all walked onto the bridge together and I clenched my jaw. Trailing Duncan Tuttle behind them like some kind of bodyguard, his eyes intently tracked every person—and potential threat—as he swept into the room behind them.

  I guess ‘once a Royal Guard, always a Royal Guard.' I was just thankful he seemed to care more for my mother’s happiness than he did King James’. That, and it would have torn me up inside to have to put down my former fencing instructor; we’d shared a lot of mother’s cooking together for lunch back when I was younger.

  My partially gritted teeth instantly turned into a smile as soon as the women looked my way.

  “Greetings, ladies,” I said, trying and succeeding in making sure the words sound unforced.

  “Protector,” Akantha said, inclining her head regally.

  “Jason,” my sister, Crystal, said neutrally while my mother just stood in the background looking ar
ound and seeming proud of me.

  The thought that she was proud of me—actually proud of me—made my chest swell. It was nicer than I’d thought to have a parent look at me and to know that, in her eyes at least, I had done well. It was especially satisfying since I had never been particularly skilled or successful at anything before getting stuck on this rollercoaster ride called ‘fleet command.’

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here?” I asked hopefully. “I’m sure Tracto or one of the orbital stations controlled by the Belters would take you and put you up in style while we head off into a war zone.”

  The look my sister sent me would have chilled a lesser man, but with me being who I was, I just took it as a definite, resounding, ‘no.' Even though I’d hoped Akantha or mother might have a sudden attack of concern about her Hold, or entering a warzone, respectively, I wasn’t about to hold my breath. Moreover, I knew better than to even ask the question.

  “Right,” I temporized, “well, that settles that. Besides, we’ll be point-transferring soon anyway so if we sent a shuttle out, we couldn’t get her back.”

  “Are you feeling well, dear?” Mother asked with a concerned voice and a look that made it clear she thought I was suffering a case of verbal diarrhea.

  “Never better,” I said and if my voice was smooth my face started heating up. It wasn’t cool to have your mom openly worried about you while you were on the bridge of a Strike Cruiser.

  While Duncan had smoothly taken up position behind my mother, another man I didn’t know smoothly slotted into position behind Akantha. His size was a dead giveaway: the man was Tracto-an. But I was surprised to see he had his left arm in a sling, while his right was actually a clunky-looking, low-end, cybernetic arm. I was more than surprised; I was actually taken aback.