“This star system is on permanent lease to the Confederation from this Sector but, since technically we have been abandoned, I’m afraid the Sector no longer considers this Star System as belonging to the Confederation,” he said, motioning to an aide who then laid a data slate and a stack of papers on the table, “now that is not to say that we are intending to forcibly annex this system. Right here are the incorporation papers giving title to the place to the system's current inhabitants. However, as your current claim to the hulls captured in this system is based upon the notion that this system is a Confederation one, I’m afraid you no longer have firm legal ground to stand on.”
“How nice of you to so easily concede that which already belongs to us,” I said with a sneer. “However, no resolutions you pass or laws you make are going to take either this Star System, or those hulls—as you called them—out of our possession. And, as they say, possession is nine-tenths of the law. So you can take your papers and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine.”
“This is a flagrant violation of Sector and interplanetary law!” Isaak declared, standing up with high dungeon and knocking his chair over. I could see that he was playing to the camera from the slight way he angled his body toward a surreptitiously held data slate in the hands of one of his aides.
“A law that doesn’t bind me as either a Confederation Admiral,” I retorted, lifting a finger of my own, “nor as the head of the Tracto-an SDF, a world and star system which has signed nothing except trade treaties and a mutual defense pact with the worlds around it along the border.”
Isaak paused, as if this was something that hadn’t occurred to him before and then he visibly shrugged it off “Your Border Alliance can’t save you now, Admiral Jason Montagne,” he said, using my rank for the first time, “no one will protect a pirate except other pirates and make no mistake if this is the road you chose to go down that’s exactly what it will be called: attempted piracy!”
I stood up, placing both hands knuckles-down on the table. “You’ve got a lot of balls, Isaak,” I said in a dangerous voice, “this is the second time you’ve felt free to bandy that word around and malign me in my own presence.”
Isaak froze and then squared his shoulders, “Perhaps an unfortunate choice of word considering our personal history.”
“Very unfortunate,” I agreed, motioning with my hands and moments later the doors swished open and a pair of guards swept into the room, “for you that is.”
“Stay your hand, Montagne,” Isaak warned, leveling a finger at me, “I didn’t want things to degenerate to this point but don’t think that I’m such a fool as to deliver myself into the hands of my enemies without a backup plan.”
“Personally, I think you’re a moron for placing yourself entirely within my power and then having the gall to dictate and make threats to me,” I said lifting a hand to temporarily stop the guards. I was interested in what he had to say.
“Not entirely,” Isaak said his shoulders loosening and a slight smile appearing, “in addition to my personal guards who can easily be neutralized, if you desire, I’ll admit. I also have at my disposal a small fleet of warships ready to jump into this star system within the hour and force the issue. That, combined with the SDF warships from the worlds of this Sector which even now surround you, gives me an enviable negotiating position. And make no mistake, Jason, that’s what this is: a negotiation. I’m aware that you wanted all of the spoils of this little war of ours. Frankly, everyone in the Sector is aware right now, but you knew we could never let that stand,” he sighed, shaking his head wearily. “Still, despite whatever you think of me I am not quite the monster you imagine. You’ve done this Sector a great service and I would never deprive you of a fair cut of what’s been taken, but you simply cannot keep it all. There is enough in this trough for more than just one hog, as the stonelanders back home would like to say.”
“You know I don’t like to be threatened,” I said harshly.
“It seemed to be the only way to get your attention of late. Lord knows I’ve tried everything else,” sighed Isaak.
“I think you made one crucial mistake in your calculations.
“What’s that?” Isaak asked raising a brow.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” I said with a smirk and then gestured to the guards. “Take the esteemed Governor to the brig for processing.”
Isaak blinked. “You’re making a mistake,” he said calmly, “I urge you to reconsider.”
“The only thing I’m reconsidering is whether or not I’ve gone far enough by just putting you in the brig. But since that's how you decided to start our relationship with me, it does seem strangely poetic,” I demurred.
“You cannot simply lay hands on the elected representative for an entire sector and get away with it. This is rebellion, Montagne,” Isaak warned.
“You’re right...this is rebellion,” I agreed ponderously, rubbing my chin with my thumb.
“Then surely—” Isaak said leadingly as if teaching a particularly slow child.
“Your rebellion,” I interrupted him flatly, “against the Confederation government in the form of its lawful representative,” I turned that thumb and pointed it at my chest, “me. However, I am not an unreasonable man. This is your come-to-Murphy moment, Governor. Confess your sins and be absolved.”
The Governor’s jaw bunched, but the faint smile never left his face. “Dress it up however you want. In the end the victor writes the history books, and unfortunately for you I have both the numbers and the perfect thing to incentivize them to act. It doesn't matter if you clap me in irons in some childish attempt to even the scales; those battleships still sitting in this star system are ripe for the plucking,” he said without rancor with a clinical tone to his voice, and gestures that were belied by the slightly bunched muscles of his jaw.
“It's called 'protective custody,' Governor,” I corrected mockingly, “similar to when you yourself were holding me incommunicado back at Central and…” I paused for effect, “entirely for your own safety of course,” I mocked, picking up a glass of water and taking a sip. “For shame, Sir,” I continued, “for we would never do anything so crude as lock up the elected representative of billions. Rebel traitors, perhaps, or misguided patriots eager to let others fight their battles and then swoop in leaving the Confederation Fleet with the bill as per usual operational procedures.”
“You’re a Montagne; of course you would as long as you thought you could get away with it,” the Governor spoke as if revealing some kind of universal truth and then his gaze sharpened. “Besides as you quite rightly point out one man’s rebel traitor is another man’s elected governor. But you and I both know you’re not as stupid as you’d like everyone to believe.”
“I’m touched,” I said flintily.
“I believe that, right or wrong, you have some angle you still think you can play,” Isaak said, his eyes flashing with calculation and then he looked back at me, “what is it?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know my each and every thought?” I deadpanned, motioning for the guards to get back into action and take them away.
D’Argeant gave a sharp nod and then instructed his men.
“Not all of them; just these,” said the Governor, standing up after a token protest.
“Take them away, Pierre,” D’Argeant instructed.
“Yes, Chief Armsman,” the Armsman said.
“Be careful you do not walk too far down the path of no return, Jason Montagne,” Sir Isaak warned his voice rising to ensure he was still heard as the guards escorted him out the door.
“I can assure you that as soon as these rogue warship commanders cease threatening piracy in cold space and re-acknowledge the chain of command,” after all, I myself was at the top of their pie charts as their current Sector Commandant, “I will once again be able to ensure your safety within this star system. Men, take the Governor down to the most secure part of this warship—the brig—for his own personal safety
.”
“You won’t get away with this, Montagne!” Isaak bellowed.
“I already have; you just don’t know it yet,” I muttered. The timing was tight but doable, and I couldn’t wait to see the reaction of Governor Isaak and his warship-hungry supporters.
“I’m going up to the bridge,” I informed my remaining guards after waiting sufficient time for the Governor and his team of advisers to reach the lift and leave the deck.
“Yes, Highness,” nodded my armsman.
I suppressed a scowl.
Capria and its trappings were, as far as I was concerned, several long jumps ago. However, to these men I was still a potential heir to the Throne and the Prince they’d decided to throw their lot behind. I had to respect that much of our traditions—if nothing else.
Chapter 4: On the Bridge
“Are you sure you don’t want to transfer your flag, Admiral?” Captain Laurent asked with a small moue of concern as soon as I stepped onto the bridge.
“And just why exactly would I want to do that? The battleships are already at the transfer point or on their way, including the half-destroyed ones,” I shook my head as I stepped over to the Captain’s chair on the bridge of the Furious Phoenix and sat down.
Laurent frowned as I appropriated his chair without so much as a 'how do you do,' but I didn’t let it concern me. Captain Hammer might have different—perhaps higher—standards when it came to the separation of powers between Captain and Admiral when said Admiral (meaning me) shared her warship, but she also had the luxury of a main bridge and a re-purposed flag bridge (it used to be the ship’s auxiliary command center). The Furious Phoenix, on the other hand, had to make do with only one bridge and quite frankly Laurent and I, despite a few rough patches here and there, had a fairly good working relationship.
Oh, we’d had our ups and downs but on the whole we did just fine. He was competent enough that I’d given him an independent command, and he trusted me to command the fleet right.
We’d been through some major battles together, and that created a not-insignificant bond.
While I was brooding over such matters, Laurent cleared his throat pointedly and my attention snapped back to him. “I was thinking about something more along the lines of putting you on a fast ship, a corvette or destroyer, and shooting you over to one of those battleships faster than the Phoenix or anyone in this system can manage, Sir,” Laurent said in a respectful voice that nonetheless clearly indicated his feelings on the subject.
I stopped the instant rejection on the tip of my tongue and gave the idea a real moment’s reflection before speaking.
“I don’t think we’ll go that route, Captain,” I said finally, “I hear what you’re saying about moving faster than our enemies but I think the Phoenix is fast enough for my needs.”
“Potential enemies, Sir. Please don’t forget that,” Laurent advised, “I know there are a number of commanders in this system that would follow the orders of their home systems over yours if push comes to shove. But they might prefer to follow the 'letter' of those orders, let us say, so long as we don’t back them into a corner. We do still have a few friends out here,” he reminded me.
I grunted. “Point taken,” I finally agreed, because in fact he really did have one—a point, that is, “it does grow a bit tedious though, the way we’re called in like the cavalry whenever there’s galaxy-shaking trouble on the space winds. But as soon as things settle down the slightest bit they turn on us faster than a parliamentary member breaking a campaign promise after an election.”
Laurent snorted. “Enough with the whining, Sir; you knew what you were getting into after the second or third time through the ringer. At this point it’s like death and taxes: something you can count on. There’s no point bellyaching about it.”
I stiffened, suddenly remembering all the various reasons I’d transferred to a flagship with a new captain and left Laurent behind. Well, those reasons were valid but they were in addition to the fact that he’d been more than ready for an independent command.
“Hmph!” I grunted and shot him a harsh look before I settled back into my chair. “Take us out of here, Captain.”
“Shall I take us toward the captures, Admiral?” Laurent asked crisply.
My brow wrinkled. “Where else would you take us?” I asked rhetorically before adding, just in case he was feeling smart, “yes. Take us to the captures.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
I leaned back in my chair and flipped open the screen built into arm of the captain’s chair. Keeping one weather eye on the bridge I started flicking through the slate.
Nothing broadcast unconcern with current events better than a senior officer working to catch up on his paper work…or at least appearing to catch up on his paperwork. As right at that moment I was…
“The Sector Governor’s escort are moving to follow and they're hailing us, Captain,” reported the Com-Officer.
Laurent turned to me with his mouth open.
“I heard, Captain,” I said eyes narrowing. What to do about our unwanted guests? I wondered as I pondered the situation/
“Do you want us to respond?” prompted the Captain after several seconds.
“Ignore them,” I said shortly.
“You heard the man, coms,” Captain Laurent said.
“Aye, aye; ignoring the hails now, Sir,” replied the Com-Officer looking highly concerned.
I nodded with satisfaction, pulling up the schematics of the Sector Battleships as I waited. It was high time the Sector Guard started learning their place in the scheme of things, or at least the place where one Jason Montagne was going to put them. A little waiting would be good for them. Or rather it would be good for me, and right at this particular moment there was little they could do so that worked.
My lips quirked in a smile as I imagined the outrage currently taking place, both down in the brig and more immediately over on those Sector battleships and the impact this maneuver would have—assuming it didn’t blow up spectacularly in my face, of course. Someone lightly cleared their throat, breaking me out of my calculations both local and regional.
I turned with the barest hint of a frown. “Yes, Ensign…?” I asked coolly. If he was smart he would lie and say it was nothing, or immediately back away claiming he needed my permission to carry out some asinine duty but of course he didn’t.
“I’m sorry for the interruption, Admiral, but I felt it incumbent on me as an officer and your Flag Lieutenant to remark upon the normal course of ship-to-ship protocol: which is to promptly reply to hails from ships labeled non-hostile in case they are experiencing an emergency and ask your instruction on the subject,” Ensign Jones said, his voice professional while his eyes watched me with a keen interest I wouldn’t expect from a mere ensign.
“Oh you would, would you?” I asked, my voice deceptively mild. He could play all the games he wanted but the fact was that he was, ever so respectful and under the guise of asking for me to teach him, calling my judgment into question on the bridge of a warship.
“I’m here to learn from you, Sir,” Ensign Jones said respectfully, but I could see it in his eyes. It didn’t matter how smooth or respectful the voice—the eyes rarely lied. He was a wily one, my new Flag Lieutenant, foisted off on me by Captain Hammer a short time before I jumped ships.
“Hmph,” I snorted, lifting a brow. Well if he wanted to play games, then we'd play. I was master at playing games. “So you’d like me to teach you, would you, Ensign? I suppose that since you are my Flag Lieutenant, and as I have been remiss in the educational aspects of your training, we should begin immediately,” I said with a smile that, if he was smart, would send him running for the door. “I appreciate the timely reminder. After all,” I continued mock pompously, “I suppose it is the duty of all senior officers to pass their skills onto the next generation.”
He didn’t look cowed but I could see that Ensign Jones suddenly appeared a lot more cautious. It was too late for him, though.
He’d already brought himself to my attention, and once a person came on my radar they didn’t easily leave it. I’d had dozens of yeomen come and go with my teacup or bottle of water without ever registering as a potential thorn in my side, but bare days into his duty and Jones was already making waves.
“I appreciate the chance to serve, Admiral,” Jones said, one eye drifting back toward the very agitated battleships on the main screen. “The ships, Sir?” he prompted yet again.
“Ah yes, the ships,” I flopped a leg over the arm of my command chair, letting it rock back and forth several times before bringing it to a stop before continuing in a serious tone, “as you will gradually come to understand, when you’re in command of your own ship—or star base—it is not often the wisest course to immediately open a command channel with a quad of battleships when they have every reason to believe that you have just kidnapped and imprisoned the elected Governor of the Sector, especially when he is the man who signs their paychecks.”
Jones suddenly started coughing, as if something had just gone down the wrong pipe—even though he hadn’t been eating or drinking anything during our conversation.
“Careful there, Ensign. You’re liable to cough up a lung if you’re not careful,” I said with faux concern, just to throw salt in the wound.
“Are we?” the Ensign asked, swallowing rapidly to clear his throat and looking at me wide-eyed.
It seems I’d finally got under his skin. Good.
The Ensign seemed to realize something and hastily added, “I mean 'are we, Sir?'”
I scowled at him. “What kind of question is that?!” I demanded. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Ensign. Asking such questions like that on the bridge of a fleet flagship where every Tom, Dick and Henrietta with a pair of ears and recorder button could just as easily spread rumors below decks as they could squirt the information to the enemy. Thank the blessed Saint we’re on the Furious Phoenix and not some other ship or your loose lips could start sinking interstellar warships,” I scolded relentlessly.
Admiral's Nemesis (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 11) Page 3