Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “How did you know to offer me a sword and entrap me like that, on the ‘Bug ship’,” she demanded. When I didn’t reply right away, she continued in a thoughtful voice, “Unless, like you said when you claimed to still not know who I was, you really didn’t know. So when you Offered Bandersnatch to me, what you were really doing was,” she covered her mouth as she worked through the implications.

  I looked away, searching for anything to distract me. “Oh look, there’s your Uncle,” I said and turned to face him, preferring that conflict to this one.

  She placed a hand on my shoulder. When I resisted by locking the servos, she walked around to look at me in the face. Tragic loss battled with annoyance on her face as she rounded on me.

  “Why are you doing this, if this has all been nothing more than one big mistake after another,” she flared in a quiet voice so the crowd around us wouldn’t hear.

  “I’ve already told you my reasons,” I said, deliberately pulling away. I didn’t like being in a locked suit. It didn’t matter if I did it to myself or the Chief Engineer took me by surprise and started working on my servos. It wasn’t any fun being trapped.

  I couldn’t meet her eyes. A quarter of a million lives and, potentially the end of my own life hung in the balance. I knew which one I’d choose if and when it came to crunch time. If there was absolutely no other alternative, I’d throw myself on the fire to save them, maybe even try to make run for it later on. I wasn’t sure, there were still the Bugs to deal with. If I was going to throw my life away, it had better be because the people I was saving were going to stay saved. Not die the moment I ran away.

  In comparison, having left sealed orders on the Lucky Clover to set the refugees on the planet if anything happened to me, then dropping down in a shuttle to take my chances with the natives… well it was a no-brainer. Especially when the alternative was to not get native approval for the refugees, and then have to go home to face off against a Confederation Judicial Agent ready to prosecute me for Planetary Piracy.

  I’d much rather take my chances down on the planet, and for that I needed her help. As far as I knew, this was the only way to get it.

  “You don’t need to die over a mistake,” she said finally. “I can find another Protector. There are half a dozen men in this room, this room alone, who would jump at the chance to take me as their Sword Bearer,” she said stiffly, that icy mask I so despised back in place. “This is not your fight, and it's not worth dying over a mistake.”

  I reluctantly met her eyes. The pain in them was very real and despite all the tragic mix ups, the unnecessary deaths and her wanting me dead on at least one occasion, I still felt like this whole situation was somehow my fault. Unlike all the other times when I’d looked at her and been unable to tell what was going on behind that icy mask of hers, this time was different. And really I wished it wasn’t.

  “If you want quit of me after I drop your uncle and the Promethean refugees are down safely,” I said, meeting her eyes and trying to put as much honesty as I could in them, “then I’ll step away. I’m willing to stay on as your Protector for as long as you need and to step aside at any time so you can pick someone else.”

  She glared at me, “This is not up to you. I already said I don’t want you to do this. I won’t have it, do you hear me,” she said and grabbed Bandersnatch, “as your Sword Bearer, I say you’re too injured to fight. I am taking back the sword and do not sanction my Protector taking part in this challenge,” she said fiercely.

  I let her take the sword. “I can still take him. All he’s got is a basic metal sword,” I said.

  “That’s just what he carries around on a day to day basis,” she said turning to look at her uncle who was making his way to the open space in the middle of the Hall, “For a challenge like this, he’ll demand mother give him permission to use the sword she bears.”

  “What? There’s another sword,” I asked.

  “He gave her one of the White Swords of Power,” she said unhappily. “She’ll have no choice but to hand it to him and sanction the challenge. Like the Dark Sword Nikomedes used, it will cut through your armor. Which is why I wouldn’t allow this even if you were a proper Protector,” she glared at her uncle.

  I scoffed, “Not likely. There’s no way he can cut through this armor with anything less than a vibro-blade.”

  She raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at my left hand, then brought her gaze back up to my eyes.

  I glanced down. Blood was dribbling down my armor. It looked like Nikomedes had cut through the armor and partway into my wrist with that Minos Sword of his. No wonder I hadn’t been able to hold the other sword with that hand. Maybe this armor wasn’t as impervious to these native ‘power swords’ as I had been assuming? Regardless, I was still committed. This just meant I had to finish the fight quickly, before I lost too much blood.

  The uncle picked this moment to sound off.

  “I’ll admit you’re warrior enough that it is no dishonor to fight this challenge with you, False Protector from the Stars. The real only question is, are you man enough face me? Or are you too cowardly to follow through with your sword when your words have already cut,” he said contemptuously.

  For a moment, I seriously considered taking his advice. Everyone around me was suggesting I make like a coward and run away from this fight. The last time I ignored everyone, I had taken us to this system and we all knew how well that had turned out. Our one shot and I blew it, only succeeding in landing us in an even bigger mess than before.

  Then my face hardened. “Gants,” I hollered, “Get Nikomedes out of here and make sure he lives,” I said pointing imperiously to my former opponent without breaking eye contact with uncle Nykator. Then I strode over and picked up the Minos Sword. If Akantha wanted to keep Bandersnatch away from me, that was fine. I had another sword that should do just fine.

  Behind me I heard Akantha gasp and sputter in outrage.

  “You don’t need to fight, you fool,” she cried.

  Murphy in a box, I knew it was unromantic as all get out, but what could I do? Was I supposed to sacrifice myself on the altar of other people’s best interests? This was the only way to save everyone including myself. I would let her talk me out of this Protector gig in a heartbeat, and was willing to do so as soon as the refugees were safe and sound.

  “Stop,” she cried as I strode over to face her Uncle.

  “Let's do this,” I said and then, mindful that Akantha didn’t want her Protector mixed up in all this any further, “but let's not fight as two Protectors whose Sword Bearers are close to one another and both opposed to the idea, but instead as two warriors with a grudge that can only be settled here.”

  Her Uncle smiled savagely and agreed.

  I replied with my most bestial grin. It was better this way, I decided as we went to different ends of the circle prior to formally facing off.

  I’ll admit, being surrounded by all this superstition was starting to rub off on me. Despite the fact I had never held this sword before, I was half convinced I was better off with it than I was with Bandersnatch. Which was insanity, as I was at least somewhat familiar with my family sword, and the Minos Sword was bigger than anything I’d ever trained with.

  I told myself I didn’t feel the way I did because Bandersnatch was unlucky for my family, and the last two times I’d wielded it I nearly got killed. No, instead I pseudo-logically decided that it was a better sword for me because it wasn’t right for a man’s wife to have a bigger sword than he did. The Minos Sword was easily a foot and a half longer than Bandersnatch, and heavier too, but with the power assist built into my suit the extra weight wasn’t the negative it might have otherwise been.

  Snorting like a bull, Nykator built himself up into a fury, stamping his feet on the ground in an obviously familiar pre-fight routine. “Warrior rules,” he snarled.

  Akantha finally pushed her way through the crowd and leaned in close, “My Uncle has no honor or he would wait until you re
cover,” she said as Nykator picked up a shield from the wall. It was covered in the same thick pebbled stuff from which his armor was fashioned. “If you can put him down without killing, then for the sake of my mother I will be happy. For my sake, I will only say that to see him dead would not displease me,” she said with an ice cold fury.

  “Warrior rules?” I asked as her Uncle continued snorting and stomping around like the bull I thought him to be.

  “Under warrior rules, Hoplites are not limited to swords. They can use anything they normally carry, including shields, or pick things up from the environment, like sand or extra weapons, during the combat,” she said disapprovingly. “By challenging him as a warrior, you forgo the rules that govern the battles of an official Protector. He seeks to turn this foolhardy action of yours against you and to his advantage.”

  “Hmm,” was all I said in reply. It was clear Akantha thought he’d got the better of the exchange and that I was some kind of fool, so maybe I was missing something. But what kind of idiot challenged someone from the stars to a duel that included non-standard weaponry? I mean, I had given my plasma rifle and plasma grenades to Gants before the start of the first challenge, but was I missing something here?

  “He added a Stone-Rhino Shield already, so who knows what else he’s secreted on his person,” she said, yet again making it clear just how foolish she thought I’d been to mess with her uncle. Whether she thought it was foolish under any circumstances, or just in my current state I couldn’t tell, and it was too late to worry about at this point.

  Then it was time for action.

  Because he had seen my last fight with Nikomedes and I was in bad shape with a nearly useless hand, I needed to come up with something original. As my brains slowly unscrambled, I thought I’d come up with just the thing to get this fight started on the right foot.

  Rushing like a bull, Nykator led with his shield and I closed distance to meet him in the middle of the floor.

  When I judged the time was right, I launched myself into the air, leading feet first. I had enough time to register surprise in her uncle’s face before he crouched, planted his feet and angled his shield for the impact.

  We met with a crash. I imagined I could hear his joints popping one by one as I knocked him over, when I landed feet first on his Stone-Rhino (whatever that was) shield. Then I found myself launched past him by a combination of forward motion and the feet he had planted under his shield to help me on my way.

  While not quite the reaction I’d hoped for, I was willing to chalk this one up as a win for the visiting team. Alas, the battle was far from over.

  I rolled to my feet and turned around in time to see Nykator heave himself back to his feet with a mighty grunt.

  He moved his head as if shaking off the impact, then set his shield and raised his sword before advancing yet again.

  Admittedly, he was moving slower than with his initial headlong rush to finish me right at the start, but I had to ask myself where these people came from. Even an Imperial Marine Jack would have had trouble dealing with a flying battle suit.

  This guy, with nothing more than some primitive armor and a high quality shield (as evidenced by the fact it took my power armored weight without breaking) just took the hit, rolled with it, and jumped right back to his feet looking for more, complete with his customary stomping and snorting.

  When he had closed some of the distance, her uncle blurred forward. To me it was almost like his sword came out of nowhere and I scurried to parry. Unlike with Nikomedes, sparks flew from his White Sword where it hit the black metallic substance of the Minos Sword but, other than that, this White Sword was just as sturdy as Bandersnatch.

  If Nikomedes had been fast, Akantha’s Uncle was faster still.

  Every attempt I made to turn the tables and go on the offensive was a failure, and sparks flew off my battle suit as Nykator rained blow after powerful blow on my armor. Even through the armor his blows hurt! For every two I blocked, he snuck another one past my guard. Pride was out the window, I was seriously rusty, and unfamiliar with my new sword. Not to mention that I had just fought another battle, which partially explained why I was doing so poorly. The rest was simply that he was that much better and, though I hate to admit it, faster than me.

  Then, for no reason I could tell, he paused in the middle of our combat and hesitated. Not wanting to risk this gift horse getting away by stopping to look it in the mouth, I launched myself at him. It was my turn to rain power blow after servo assisted power blow down on his sword and shield, and it was his turn to retreat across the ring from me.

  Even a man built like a bull and bearing an incredible shield to take the blows of my sword without destroying it, had to give ground before my mechanically-assisted muscles.

  Grunting and bellowing curses, he slowly backed away. I was just starting to think I could win this thing by attrition when he moved with lightning speed and knocked my sword out of position.

  Stumbling, I was desperately trying to recover when he thrust his shield hand at me, opening his body for a counter.

  I was just starting to move toward this opening when a finely ground powder billowed around my head. At first I thought it was sand, and then my eyes began to burn and I couldn’t breathe. Pepper! It was something like pepper and, like a fool, I’d gone for the obvious gap in his defenses. The one he had deliberately opened for me.

  Reeling back, I tried to put my sword between us. An incredible blow to my hand shot pain all through my forearm. Another landed, and I heard my sword land with a clatter somewhere too far away for me to consider trying to find it blind.

  The crowd made the local equivalent of a booing sound, but no one came to my rescue.

  Lurching back, I felt my lungs spasm. I couldn’t even wipe my eyes for fear that my gauntleted hands were more likely to damage things further, rather than gently remove any of the fiery substance.

  I was forced to use the only thing I still had available to parry his sword. My arm with the damaged hand.

  I felt a series of sickening blows to the arm I’d placed between my head and where I thought his sword might be. The servos didn’t care about my pain or bruised muscles and helped me wave my arm around like an impromptu shield.

  Then I felt a tug and a horrible pain in my left hand, followed by the automatic tightening of the battle suit around my forearm. I knew in an instant what had happened. Battle suits only engage the auto-tightening feature for one of two reasons. Sudden loss of atmosphere, otherwise called a pressure leak, which wasn’t the case here. Or to stop blood loss when a significant part of the suit has been crushed, severed or otherwise removed without prior authorization.

  In other words, I had just lost my hand.

  I spun around and threw myself forward. I could feel displaced air from the blade as it whistled past my head.

  Still unable to breathe, I threw myself on my back and scissored my legs in the air to block any further blows while I fumbled at my waist with my good hand.

  It turned out my good hand wasn’t so good, and I took several blows to the legs and one to the floor right next to my head as I swiveled in a desperate, random pattern.

  At last I had what I was looking for and popped a cap before throwing the small rock sized object in my hand at this native Warlord who thought himself a master of fighting dirty.

  I covered my ears the best I could with my damaged and missing extremities. I could fight dirty too.

  The blast of the sonic grenade going off in an enclosed space caused everyone in the room to start screaming. Most of the shockwave was absorbed by my battle suit, but I was starting to get limited air into my lungs at this point.

  I climbed to my feet, tears streaking down my face and wandered in a circle, listening for the sound of movement.

  “He’s off to your right,” yelled Gants. “Get him, Admiral!” My men started to cheer and several of the natives sounded like they were taking exception to the directions my men were giving me. Ther
e was the sound of swords being drawn followed by a scream that resulted in a sustained burst of blaster fire before things finally settled down.

  Eventually, I stumbled over the Warlord, who was thrashing on the ground. With nothing better than my feet available as weapons, I started stomping.

  It was hard to properly put the boots to a man who’s rolling away from you, especially when you can’t see. But what I lacked in eyesight, I made up for in fury and pure dogged determination. He wanted to fight dirty, so here we were. Fighting dirty. And I, having brought my opponent down, intended to keep him there just like cousin Cordelia would have done.

  I stomped and kept stomping even after the uncle recovered enough that sword blows started raining on my legs.

  When one of the strikes hit a suit joint and caused the leg to freeze up, I overbalanced and landed on the primitive Warlord. I then proceeded to bludgeon him with my badly damaged hand and arms. I shrieked with pain from every blow I landed on him, but kept it up until he stopped moving.