Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  How could I be accused of possessing something I didn’t have and no one could find? Maybe there was something to letting her continue on in the mistaken belief I had somehow given it to her as something other than a tool to cut her and the others free. I had power armor and a big battleship; I couldn’t see ever wanting that sword again. At least, not in this lifetime, but I supposed if need ever arose I would at least be able to find it if I needed it back.

  “Yes! He took it,” she said again, giving me the, ‘how stupid are you' look.

  I honestly couldn’t tell if that was a hint of genuine outrage in her demeanor or if the pit viper was somehow caught up in her own twisted web of superstitions and forced to play to the crowd. In the end, I guess it didn’t matter to me either way. I was just concerned by my inability to accurately read her. It was important to know which way she’d jump in a given situation, and I was still stumped.

  Crazy people are hard to read that way. Was she really outraged the sword was gone or wasn’t she? I needed to play this right, so I could get out of here with my skin in one piece.

  “And now I am shamed before my ancestors that I do not have it back,” she added into the prolonged silence. “How can I look at you, knowing I have lost the sword? You must think me unfit to be a sword bearer, without honor, to let a man like this take it from me.” She turned her eyes away again.

  Okay, I guess it didn’t really matter the truth of the matter. She was so heavily invested in the story by now, that even if she was lying, she was in too deep. I could just sit back, play this thing straight and get to watch her squirm. I don't deny that the idea had some measure of appeal, but this situation felt like a powder-keg waiting for a match, and I wanted out of the room. Anything this witch thought was a good idea was only going to get people killed. Like on the Bug ship. If I trusted her to take action, people were going to die while she stood by doing absolutely nothing, clinging to her ridiculous, primitive superstitions.

  “And I take it he won’t tell you where it's hidden,” I asked, trying to sidestep the obvious emotional turmoil she was inexplicably dealing with.

  “He will not talk. Even after we do this,” she said, grabbing the security officer’s hand and showcasing a blood-soaked piece of bedding wrapped around his hand. He’d been hiding it down by his side, which was why I hadn’t seen it before.

  It looked like maybe she had cut off his finger. I couldn’t tell for sure and wasn’t about to ask. These natives were as barbaric of a group as I had ever heard about. I felt vaguely sick to my stomach at the thought of how casually she mentioned the disfigurement.

  “Lady, there are better ways than cutting on people to get information,” I said evenly. All I wanted to do was spit until that suddenly awful taste was out of my mouth.

  “You’ll never get the sword back, Montagne. I’d rather die than see a fool like you tear apart our home world,” spat the Security Officer who had been listening to everything we said with interest.

  I gritted my teeth. “We’ll see about that.” I turned to the Doctor. He still didn’t look too good, but he should be able to do what I needed. “Can you set up to perform a chemical interrogation,” I asked conversationally.

  The Doc looked even more sick and very uneasy. “The uniform code prohibits commanders from interrogating their subordinates,” he said.

  “Is that a yes or a no,” I asked, sensing an upcoming wall in the conversation.

  “That means I could do it, but I won’t,” said the Doc.

  “Even after this man tried to murder me in your sickbay, you still won’t question him to find out why he tried to kill the Admiral of this ship, or even if there are others out there besides this particular bunch,” I demanded.

  “It's against the Law, but more importantly it's against my own set of ethics to assist in the interrogation of a member of this ship’s compliment. I’d say the same thing to him if he were the one asking this of me,” said the Doc.

  “Somehow I doubt that,” I said. “I’d be willing to bet good money that if he came in here claiming to have a writ of parliamentary authority and demanded you assist in my interrogation, you would do exactly as he asked.”

  The Doctor looked away, unable to meet my eyes for a few moments.

  The sad part was that I couldn’t blame him. They say you can’t fight city hall. Bucking your planetary government over ‘principle’ had to be ten times worse. In comparison, defying a mere honorary Admiral, one at odds with said government, had to be a no brainer.

  “Then just show me where to find the stuff and I’ll take a crack at it myself,” I said, making a show of trying to sit up but experiencing the same riotous pain up and down my entire body.

  “No,” the Doc repeated with more resolve than last time.

  “I see,” I said, and I did. In this matter he was more against me than he was the man that attempted murder me. “Were you also in on the plan to kill me? Is that why your men are stretched out on these beds unconscious?”

  He looked genuinely shocked. “Security disabled them before being captured by the natives,” he pointed to his own head. “I’m not about to let anyone do anything to my patients and they knew it, that’s why they gave me this,” he said, again pointing at his forehead. “This is a place of healing.”

  “Forgive me if I’m uncertain about how far you're willing to bend certain principles, and on which ones you’ll stand firm,” I said coldly.

  I turned to face the blond ice maiden. What I was about to say made me sick inside. “I was wrong. I guess there isn’t a better way.”

  “No!” said the Doctor.

  “Yes!” exclaimed the ice maiden, adjusting her grip on the fork.

  “I’ll never talk,” roared the Security Officer and deliberately threw himself on the fork.

  Blood spurted, indicating that he must have nicked an artery. There would be no talking. Stomping Bugs and seeing their insides decorate their ship wasn’t half as sickening as watching the Security Officer bleed profusely in the middle of sickbay.

  “I’ve failed, the blade is lost,” wailed the blond maiden, her icy veneer crumbling.

  “It’s just a vibro-weapon, lady,” I said harshly. “If it doesn’t turn up, I’ll get you another one, since you suddenly seem so concerned about it.”

  She stared at me in horror. “You really are nothing but a boat driver. I didn’t want to believe it when I first heard the words out of the metal box that talks, but now I know the truth! I’ve taken a sword from a man who does nothing but choose the direction of a boat, a common freight hauler who carries goods up and down the river between the stars! You probably stole your weapons and armor to value them so low. You’re not even a real warrior at all, are you?”

  For some reason, her saying this about me stung more than all the times she’d called me stupid for not understanding her.

  “A boat driver!” I shouted, genuinely furious and unable to control my outburst. “I’m a blasted Prince of the Caprian Realm, a member of the blood royal and I’d be a heck of a lot closer to the throne if my ancestors hadn’t been such bloodthirsty fools fifty years ago! For your information, this so-called boat is over six hundred meters long and a powerful warship as well, not some tramp cargo hauler. The Lucky Clover has enough firepower to level a small mountain! It also holds over nineteen thousand crewmen and refugee settlers right now, all of whom look to me for leadership.” I stopped to take a deep breath and lower my voice before continuing coldly, “So forgive me if their needs, and the needs of over a quarter of a million homeless settlers in the rest of the ships of my ‘fleet,’ people who are currently in my care, come before finding an ancient family heirloom that you went and blasted well lost in the first place!”

  In the growing silence, I couldn’t resist finishing with, “I guarantee you I am anything but a boat driver. The driver of this boat, as you call it, is the Helmsman and he works for me, not the other way around!”

  The pit viper had her mouth open in
a perfect ‘O’ of surprise at this outburst. The expression did not look to be one with which she was at all familiar.

  But I was done with her, and her whole crew of bloodthirsty savages. I stood up and gritted my teeth at the pain as I walked with as much dignity as a man holding his heavily bruised midsection can, towards the comm. panel. I was daring someone, anyone to try to stop me.

  No one did.

  Behind me the Doctor broke the silence by saying, “Someone help me get this man onto a gurney. We’ve got to get in and close this wound before he bleeds out.”

  But even the thought of that traitorous Doctor saving a murderous security officer from a well earned and, as far as I was concerned, very timely death, couldn’t make me turn around.

  I punched in my access code and instructed the DI to patch me through to the Flag Bridge.

  “This is the Bridge, go ahead Medical, what do you need,” inquired a cheerful voice. It sounded like one of the comm. techs had taken the call, just like they were supposed to but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure.

  “This is Admiral Jason Montagne. Get First Officer Tremblay on the line and tell Gants over in the armory to suit up and send a squad over to the ship’s main infirmary. I have a situation involving the natives and former members of Ship Security,” I said in my most practiced commanding tone.

  “Admiral!” The tech sounded wildly excited, “They said you wouldn’t be up and about for at least another day.”

  “Did you hear what I just said, crewman?” I was in no mood for happy outbursts.

  “Yes Admiral, put Lieutenant Tremblay on the line and instruct the Armory to send over a detail to the ship’s infirmary, in armor,” the Tech repeated back to me with less cheer and more caution in his voice.

  “Then do so, Comm. Tech,” I instructed, then waited while the com tech scrambled to put me on hold, and waited…and waited. The longer I waited, the more I fumed.

  A chime finally sounded, indicating someone was back on the other side of the line.

  “This is First Officer Tremblay. Who am I speaking with, please,” he said cautiously.

  “This is your Admiral, Officer Tremblay,” I replied icily.

  “I beg your pardon, but I was under the impression the Admiral was currently under heavy sedation due to wounds he sustained during the boarding of the Scout Marauder. How do I know you’re him,” asked the First Officer. I couldn't tell if he was playing around or being serious.

  “You know it's me because of the sudden sinking sensation in your belly that says 'I’m not in command anymore,'” I growled.

  There was a pause.

  “It’s good to have you back, Admiral,” said the First Officer. He sounded entirely too happy to have me back in the loop. What was wrong now, I wondered. The bad feeling was soon confirmed.

  “We’ve got a bit of a situation up here, Admiral,” the First Officer said with relief.

  “Is that so? Wouldn’t you know it, but I was calling to say the very same thing,” I replied, my tone as dry as it could be.

  “Does yours involve a quarter of a million settlers and a failing Settlement ship,” Tremblay asked with false brightness.

  I leaned forward and pounded my head against the wall three times before responding.

  “I’ll be right up,” I said, suddenly aware of how closely everyone in the room was watching me.

  “Glad to hear it, I’ll be waiting. We could sure use some of that infamous Montagne magic right about now,” Tremblay said and cut com line.

  I tried to pull at my hair but my hands skittered off a bald dome and overly sensitive skin. I hadn’t realized I was bald now, too. I went over and looked at myself in a flip out mirror surface on one of the sickbay beds. The First Officer was my worst and most vocal critic, and he hated just about every decision I’d made so far. If things were so bad he was actually looking forward to my decision making process and another taste of the so called Montagne ‘magic’ that had kept us skirting along the edge of one disaster after another, without ever quite falling over, then I wasn’t exactly eager to find out what was wrong.

  Looking at myself, I decided I looked exactly like what I was; a burn survivor. My hair was gone, my eyebrows were missing and my skin alternately looked an angry red, or scar tissue white. It really didn’t complement my natural skin tones, I thought facetiously.

  If I went up to the bridge looking like this, the last thing I’d be inspiring was confidence. Fear might be the first reaction, closely followed by pity and/or disgust. Of course, if I didn’t go up to the bridge, that caused problems all of its own.

  I decided to compromise. I thought I remembered my Confederate Admiral’s uniform coming with an open-faced dress helmet. It was padded and made out of composites, so it was probably light enough for my wounded scalp. I’d stop by my quarters on the way to the Flag Bridge and see if I couldn’t find something to cover my head.

  The blond ice maiden had been charitable when she said I was ugly. I looked absolutely horrible and felt worse. At least I could comfort myself with the knowledge that this was a temporary condition until my body had time to recover, so the Doc could finish patching me back up. Modern cosmetics probably weren't his strong suit, but dealing with burns most certainly was, so I was confident he could put me back together eventually.

  Feeling almost as badly as I looked, I turned around and imperiously ordered the natives to open the doors out of sickbay. What was the point of having a mechanical language translator if you weren’t going to use it?

  To my surprise, they actually did what I told them. I didn’t bother checking if they’d asked their blonde-haired leader first. Of course they had. It's not like saving someone’s life had ever made that person want to fill any of their eminently reasonable requests so far.

  The door to the rest of the Infirmary was soon opened wide. Medics, support doctors and other medical personnel glanced nervously in our direction, but no one was, or had ever been trying to get inside the sickbay.

  My mouth twisted bitterly. When the black hats came marching through my ship, apparently no one was brave enough to do anything. That the natives inside the room might have turned the tables on Security probably hadn’t even occurred to the medical staff as a possibility.

  This ship needed a new security force, and as far as I was concerned, the Armory crew were too few, too untrained, and too over-enthusiastic with the high-powered munitions for me to be willing to trust them with the job. Not even on a trial basis. This was something I’d have to think on when I wasn’t busy handling whatever was the latest crisis of the day.

  I mean honestly, what if I docked at a port and a Caprian hit team walked on board with murder on their minds, like was the case with that grey haired security officer? Admittedly, in his case he hadn’t left the ship for months, but still, would anyone lift a hand to stop them? I seriously doubted it, and I found my recently discovered faith in humanity dashed upon the rocks.

  I was on my way to the bridge and had just stepped outside of medical when I was approached from either side.

  Clomping down one side of the hall was a detail from the Armory. They must have really moved to get here this fast. Gants was nothing, if not ready to serve.

  Down the other corridor, I could hear some others approaching, but I couldn't see them yet. My heart sank as I recognized the voice of what must have been the leader of the as-yet unseen group.

  “Saint Murphy’s wretched wrench! No wonder Medical’s been havin' intermittent power supply issues. How do you expect to integrate a 3500 series Hyborean Works coupling with a 2000 series Caprian automatic regulator, only using one of them new fangled multi-tools,” barked the Chief Engineer.

  “But, Sir. The tech manual specifically says that this multi-tool is rated for both the coupling and the regulator,” protested another voice. Presumably one of the engineering crew.

  “Listen, son. You can’t trust everything you read in a manual. Especially one that’s written and produced by
the blasted multi-tool company,” the Chief Engineer sighed, “Multi-tools are wonderful devices, but they will only automatically adjust to 80% of the fine tolerance necessary for an integration job like this. It takes longer foolin' around with the internal setting on your multi-tool and manually bumping up the tolerances than it does to just get the individual tools you need and do the job right the first time. It might seem slower on the front end, but it isn’t and at least this way you’ll get the job done for sure and certain the first time. That means you won’t have to come back later.”

  Great, I thought, just what I didn’t need right now. A confrontation with the ship’s Chief Engineer. Moving to put the armory crew at my back, I turned to face the party from engineering.

  The old engineer was chatting with the engineering team until he came around the corner and spotted me. That is to say, spotted the Admiral who had left him out on the hull during a ramming.