Admiral's Gambit (A Spineward Sectors Novel:)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Now what you’ve got to do is line up the cross hairs projected on the holo-screen with these other moving lines over here that shows where you need to aim to hit the thing,” instructed the Chief Gunner.

  “The lines keep moving,” grunted Heirophant, the former Lancer turned grease monkey and now would-be assistant gunner-in-training, as he adjusted the controls in either hand causing his seat, and not incidentally the entire turbo-laser the seat was attached to, to swivel back and forth.

  “The bad guys don’t generally stand still, you fool,” the Gunner started in a rising voice, but by the end of the statement was wheezing instead. Those blasted lungs hadn’t fully healed up yet after what that Parliamentary murder had done to them, Combat Heal or no.

  The former Lancer growled in response.

  “Oh, blow it out your evacuation port,” Bogart snapped, simultaneously smacking the overgrown oaf on the back of the head.

  The Tracto-an started to rise out of his chair and the Chief Gunner pulled out his auto-wrench and leveled it at him.

  “Get back in there before I stove in your head with this wrench and knock your spirit into next week,” he said grimly.

  Heirophant hesitated before plopping back down in the seat. “They still move too much,” the native said grimly, “I can’t follow them yet.”

  “Of course not,” Bogart said rolling his eyes.

  “Chief!” said the Caprian grease monkey still standing behind him, who was hopping from foot to foot by now.

  “Now what you need to remember here,” instructed Curtis Bogart, leaning back and gesturing at the touch pad in front of the gun-chair, “is that everything, even a planet, moves all the time. Everything in the universe in constant motion and it can take a lifetime of learning, and sometimes even with that isn't enough, before you’ll be able to hit a target on manual. That’s why we have the auto aiming feature built into this puppy. The Caprian Turbo-Laser Mark 1.3 has all the same features as later models but without-”

  “CHIEF!” shouted the little grease-monkey right behind him.

  The Gunnery Chief whirled around, “Do you think I’m deaf, pipsqueak! I don’t have time to hold your hand right now, so just spit out your message and move along, you greasy pipe-swinger!” he roared.

  The young crewman just stood there gobbling, his mouth opening and closing but nothing resembling actual words coming out.

  “Now as I was saying,” continued Bogart turning back to the group of uppity little grease monkey’s sitting at the various Turbolasers in this battery, but still focusing on the native Tracto-an as he spoke, “it's got all the features of newer models, but without the override that lets the bridge Tactical section project a big flashing red update on the side of the targeting screen.”

  “Why is that,” asked one of the other trainees.

  “Because earlier versions were more AI paranoid than some of our later models,” Bogart said in disgust. “Apparently even a completely separate system linked to its own dedicated projector, when all it does is show what Tactical in its ossified wisdom thinks is the primary target, was too ‘linked in’ for the designers of the 1.3,” he said rolling his eyes.

  “So they can’t shoot our weapons for us,” demanded Heirophant.

  “Son, they can’t even put a big flashing update on the side of your main screen,” Bogart said condescendingly, “let alone fire this beast from the comfort of their padded seats and temperature controlled workstations.”

  “Huh,” muttered the former Lancer, still playing with the controls, rotating his seat back and forth as he chased the illusive lines on his screen.

  “So do we just pick any target we like and fire away,” asked one of the dumber students in this lot.

  Bogart sighed, “While each laser has its own completely separate and very much stand alone targeting computer, the bridge issues firing instructions through a combination of your headphones here,” he said tapping the helmet each would-be gunner was wearing, “and the monitor here,” he said pointing to small screen built into the touch panel in front of every gunner.

  “You take the firing coordinates and input them into your targeting computer. Engage the autotracking feature built into said non-networked, non-linked computer and fire as she bears!” he instructed.

  The little pipsqueak behind him finally found his voice. “The Lancer Colonel is beaming up the coordinates right now. He says you can fire anytime you like,” he said.

  “Now the next thing you need to know,” started Bogart.

  “I said, the Lancer Colonel-” started the grease monkey standing behind him.

  “I heard you the first time, I’m not deaf,” said the Chief Gunner continuing ignore the pipsqueak, “now run along and rustle someone else's tree, I’m sure your warrant officer has a new job for you.”

  The grease monkey looked like he was caught between a rock and a hard place, but reluctantly turned away.

  “As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, is that before you can do any of this, you need a key, one just like this,” he said holding up a command crystal, one which by virtue of the fact it belonged to the chief gunner, keyed to every single gun and turret on the ship, “that overrides the auto-lockout feature and lets you fire your gun.”

  Ignoring the pain shooting through his side as he did so, Chief Bogart leaned over the native trainee and punched a series of buttons on the touch screen.

  “Here are the firing coordinates for this little exercise,” he said pointed to the screen, “here is the zoom feature that lets you see things much closer than your mark one eyeballs could ever manage, and this,” he said leaning back and slotting his gun chief crystal into a slot built into the arm of the gunnery chair, “removes the override so you can fire your weapon.”

  “Now all we need to do,” he said after removing his crystal, “is set up each of your weapons for a five minute burn before the auto-lockout feature reengages.”

  He started over to the next turbo-laser when the chair the trainee was sitting in adjusted, and the harsh burning sound of a turbo laser being fired followed.

  “What in the green blazes!” he roared turning around, his eyes widening in shocked disbelief. His eyes widened even further as the brackets on the targeting screen went from yellow to green, indicating the weapon was firing directly on target while under full manual control.

  “Stupid lines,” muttered Heirophant, so focused on his target that he didn’t notice the Chief Gunner come up and slam his override crystal into the slot. Immediately, his Turbo-laser shut down.

  “Hey, why you turn off my gun!” demanded the massive trainee.

  “You ever fire a weapon on my deck without a direct order from me or the Tactical officer and you’ll be spending the rest of your short time on this ship in the Brig,” said the Chief Gunner pulling out a cigar, biting off the end and spitting it into the native’s face.

  Heirophant looked shocked.

  “Pull as stunt like that ever again and they’ll never find your body, since I’ll kill you myself,” Bogart said in a low voice filled with dire promise.

  Heirophant held his gaze, but left it at that.

  “Now as I was about to say,” the Chief Gunner continued, turning back to the rest of the trainees, “it doesn’t matter if you can hit your target without the auto-targeting feature like this overgrown grease monkey over here. You wait for my order to fire and you use the auto-targeting feature. We don’t need to burn down any of those mud-crawling Lancer boys while they’re down on the surface. So we watch our shots and use auto-targeting, even on as easy a shot as a planetary target.”

  Chapter 41: Fireworks

  Most of his Lancers had landed without mishap and after concentrating back together and forming up into units, the reinforced company he’d assembled marched to within eye sight of the Lyconese Citadel.

  Even using vibro-blades and holding back on the handheld firepower, demolishing the natives sent to roust them out of the nice little roadsid
e toll house he and his men had commandeered had been the work of but a few minutes, and the survivors had been sent reeling back to the relative safety of the city walls.

  Which was why after carefully picking his target, he’d sent the coordinates along with a message to fire anytime they felt like it up to the ship’s tactical section.

  It was five minutes later and Gunnery was taking its own sweet time about the whole business.

  About ready to lose his cool, the Lancer Colonel was ready to get back on the horn, when a single shot streaked down through the atmosphere.

  Starting literally right outside the city gates, the green beam of light had moved up the road in a straight line, demolishing said road for several hundred meters before abruptly cutting across country to land on the target he’d actually selected, a small hill easily seen from the city walls of the Lyconese citadel.

  The beam cut out and he could almost hear the shocked pause on the other side. After nearly a minute's pause, just when one would think the attack was over, four more beams of light shot through the atmosphere, this time landing on the small hill.

  They were soon joined by every single beam weapon in the ship’s broadside. Smoke and superheated rock shot up from the hillside until the pile of dirt and rock was obscured from view.

  The orbital pounding continued steadily for several minutes before slowing down to a series of individual strobing lights illuminating the dark smoke from within.

  Eventually the barrage came to a stop and after awhile the dust started to clear.

  In place of the hill that had previously graced the city with its scenic portion of the panorama, there was now a large, smoking crater.

  “Alright boys,” ordered the Lancer Colonel over the local communications push, “time to head on over to the city walls. The Hold Mistress wants us to relay a message.”

  “And what would that be,” snarked one of the native Lancers, to the mirth and merriment of his squad mates, “a request for their unconditional surrender?”

  After the laughter had died down, the Colonel caught the eyes of the men nearest him. “Lady Akantha would like us to extend an offer of employment to any warriors who would care to join the Clover’s Lancer contingent,” he said with a penetrating glare.

  “What in the World of Men are you talking about, Sir,” demanded one of his Lancers, “We’re supposed to let those traitorous Lyconese join the Warband instead of just killing them like they deserve. Why, that’s-” whatever he had been about to say, the Lancer wisely remembered whose idea he was talking about and quickly snapped his mouth shut on the words.

  “That’s what the Lady wants, and so that’s what the lady gets,” Suffic said, making a note of the members of this little peanut gallery. They’d be under his watchful eye from now on.

  Showing up at the city gates and delivering the pitch like he was on some kind of standard recruiting drive was anti-climactic after jumping out of a shuttle and watching a hill get turned into a crater.

  However, the Lyconese response was far from anti-climatic. It came as no surprise to Suffic. He knew, his new Hold Mistress knew, and even the Little Admiral seemed to know that men like these needed to be led from the front.

  Chapter 42: Letter vs. Spirit

  Standing stark naked in the middle of the Argos Great Hall with nothing but a sword and what little body hair I had mustered, I suppressed the urge to shiver. It wasn’t fear that was causing me to twitch, it was the cold. Even in a hall surrounded by Argos’s warrior courtiers I could feel a chill from the door.

  “Get ready to die, star-spawn,” Kapaneus leered malevolently.

  He was just as naked as I was, but seemed much less effected by the cold and weight of the stares we were receiving.

  “Today there will be no enchanted armor to save you,” he grinned, twirling his sword for the audience. “This time, you’ll die like you should have when you first dared to set a dirty foot in these hallowed halls.”

  I stared at him impassively. He was really starting to get under my skin. Bad enough I’d been out maneuvered by an oaf like this, but now he had the audacity to gloat about it.

  “Cat got your tongue,” Kapaneus taunted, “or are you too busy shivering with fear to disguise the tremors in your voice?” He whirled his sword in a complicated figure eight pattern.

  That tore it. I turned to my honor guard, ignoring all people looking at me like I was a piece of flesh at the market and tittering behind their hands, or looking superior and shaking their heads at my physical deficiencies. Next to these six and a half foot white-skinned gods, I was short, small and brown, but I had nothing to be ashamed of.

  “Remind me of the rules governing this farce,” I asked lazily, looking past my guard and glaring at one of the crowd who had a hungry look on her face. Bad enough if it had been a different kind of hunger, but it was clear as day that all she wanted to see was blood and lots of it.

  There was a short, almost embarrassed pause. “Two men, no armor, no clothes, naked as the day they were born, step into the circle and do battle,” said one of the more talkative of my native honor guard.

  I could see doubt in the eyes of my Lancer Guard. These men had fought beside me and seen us victorious on the Imperial Strike Cruiser, but now that they could see Kapaneus and myself side by side clad in nothing but our skin and hair, they began to waver. How could I defeat a man so much larger than myself?

  “Unarmed?” I asked, already knowing from the way Kapaneus was twirling his blade that this wasn’t going to be the case.

  “No,” the Lancer confirmed, as Kapaneus stepped into the circle and roared, calling me a coward if I backed out now.

  “Am I limited to a sword like his?” I asked, ignoring Kapaneus and his posturing, keeping my gaze focused on the Lancer.

  The Lancer looked at me like I was daft and shook his head. “No,” he said slowly, “you are limited to one weapon. So if you wanted to take a dagger, an axe, a spear, a staff,” he shrugged, “even an arrow would be acceptable. So long as you take no more than one weapon.” From his expression and posture, he all but begged the question why a person would take such an alternative when he was carrying one of Tracto's legendary Dark Swords of Power.

  “Excellent,” I said, handing the Minos Sword to the Caprian Sergeant and taking a much smaller, less imposing weapon (much like myself, I realized with a grin) from his belt. “This should be over quickly,” I said, checking it once. Satisfied with my assessment, I nodded to myself.

  The Lancer sergeant looked surprised, but after a quick glance at his men, gave me a wink and a half-smile. The Tracto-an Lancers were taken aback and seemed at a loss for words, not that I hung around long enough to pay them any mind.

  Kapaneus was still standing in the center of the circle, twirling his sword and making intimidating noises.

  Stepping into the challenge circle I raised my arm in his direction. I shook my head and said, “Game over, you big oaf,” even as Kapaneus gave a yell of outrage, realizing his peril, and charged.

  With a gentle squeeze, the pistol fired and struck my overly eager opponent in the chest. The first shot wasn't enough to stop him, so I fired another shot, and another, hitting Kapaneus seven times before he finally keeled over and fell to the floor. I’ll give him this: he must be strong as a horse to keep coming forward after a Caprian man would have already been motionless on the floor after no more than two direct shots.

  Shaking my head and raising the barrel, I mimed blowing non-existent smoke out of the tube. I regretted that it was over so quickly, and that I’d pulled a sonic weapon from the Sergeant's belt instead of a blast pistol, like the one I would have preferred.

  All around us, the leading citizens of Argos drew back in shock and dismay. Apparently they’d never expected the challenge to be over with so quickly, or that I’d win in such a crushing fashion without my ‘enchanted armor' to carry the day for me. Well, they’d obviously forgotten or dismissed the rumors about my mighty magic weapons, a
mistake of the first order.

  From the dark looks and angry muttering starting among some of the warriors, I might need to rethink the idea of a sub-dermal, one shot blaster implanted into my finger. I chastised myself, since concealed holdout weapons were something to be considered far in the future, while irate natives moving to surround me needed to be dealt with right now. I actually would have preferred to avoid a confrontation, standing there naked as a jay-bird with all my parts and fiddly bits hanging out for the world to see.

  I didn’t think they were going to allow me to get back in my power armor before the next angry hot head moved in on me, which I could understand. They were never going to get a better shot at me.

  Someone named Iksar was pushing his way towards me, along with several of his friends, when the large metal-bound doors the ruling Ladies otherwise known as Akantha and her Mother had gone through opened and Kastor Kephus walked back into the room.

  Chapter 43: Irritation From On High vs. Boys Will Be Boys

  The current Protector of Argos was closely followed by Akantha and her mother Sapphira.

  The Hold-Mistress of Argos still had that otherworldly look about her, but irritation was clearly shining through.

  Akantha crossed her arms and glared first at me and then at the people surrounding the challenge circle, then (as was only to be expected) right back at me, taking in the fallen form of Kapaneus. Her mother looked down at the fallen warrior before staring at me. “Is he dead,” she inquired mildly.

  I could tell she was upset. Her daughter had been away for months, and the first chance they had to talk privately had just been interrupted. Who knew how difficult it was to clear her schedule and block out time for a family reunion? Of course if she hadn’t wanted a scene, that begged the question, why leave me among the wolves? Surely this result was not entirely unexpected.

  Not wanting to disappoint her, yet unwilling to stick my neck out too far, I turned my palms up. “Should be fine after a little less than day. Awake and complaining long before then, a few hours maybe,” I said, trying to down play the situation.