Admiral's Throne Page 3

  “It’s the truth. May the gods strike me down if I lie,” Isaak said urgently.

  “Don’t take us for fools! There is a clear paper trail and audio record where you ordered Admiral Montagne to defeat Senator Cornwallis by, and I quote, ‘any means necessary,’” growled the judge.

  “Jason Montagne likes to think he’s an honorable man but his love for the people, the civilian population of the Spine, will cause him to do any blasted thing. Appealing to his patriotism seemed easy until he turned my hand and took entirely illegal actions. Haven’t you looked at any of the evidence I provided? Why are you being so obtuse?” cried Isaak Newton.

  “Speaker Isaak Newton of the Spineward Sectors Rebellion, we don’t believe you but even if we did and everything you say were true, that only makes your crimes even worse,” scowled the tribune. “You failed in your duty to properly control your military and for that alone, you should be executed. Your sentence stands. You are a traitor to humanity and you will be hung by the neck until dead.”

  Isaak’s eyes bulged and he looked frantically from side to side.

  “I demand an appeal,” he shouted before shoving his lawyer to the side and bolting for the door.

  The former Speaker’s mad run for the exit was halted by imperial security halfway to the door.

  “Let me go I can pay you anything you want. I’m worth millions,” struggled Isaak, trying to break free and simultaneously bribe the imperial security guards.

  “Bailiff, restrain the defendant!” shouted the 3rd Tribunal Judge.

  “With pleasure,” said the Bailiff. He turned to his security team, “Men,” he jerked his head and one of the guards pulled out a shock stick.

  Isaak’s struggles only increased.

  “Don’t tase me, bro! Don’t tase me!” he cried.

  The guards only chuckled evilly.

  “I’m innocent,” he shouted.

  The guards just shook their heads and put him in a head lock.

  As he stared at the stun baton headed toward his face, the now broken politician searched for anything that could save him and came up blank. He only had one gambit left.

  “I know the location of a core fragment!” he screamed.

  The 3rd Tribunal Judge who had been watching stony-faced slammed a palm onto his wooden bench hard enough that the resulting sound could have been mistaken for a gunshot.

  “Blasphemy!” shouted the Judge, his face constricting.

  Seconds later, the guards repeatedly shocked Sir Isaak into unconsciousness. They didn’t stop until long after he stopped moving on his own.

  Later that day, Sir Isaak was officially hung in Traitor’s Square. Many were pleased. The media loudly railed against the traitor to all mankind, and some viewers complained of the poor audio-visual quality when the Imperial Censor's Office slapped an excessive realism ban on the moment of the actual hanging.

  Chapter 3

  Davenport Meets with Triumvir Bellucci

  “Remind me again why we’re executing an innocent man today, when the officer who actually killed an elected Praetor of the Empire is flying free as a jay bird on the very Rim of Known Space?” demanded Bellucci, a hard glint in her eye the moment the Imperial Admiral stepped into her office.

  Marcus Davenport paused.

  “Well and a fine day to you to, Triumvir Bellucci,” he said, stepping up to her desk.

  “Oh, wait! You’re the reason Jason Montagne is a free man. So I’m waiting for your answer, Admiral. Because it had better be a better one than I just gave. A praetor was eaten by bugs. Bugs! Praetors of the Empire do not die in the jaws of sub-sentient creatures while the perpetrators just walk away,” she barked.

  He raised a brow and looked at her challengingly.

  “You asked for a Command Carrier, minimal losses, the restoration of the Empire’s honor both at home and in the eyes of the inter-galactic community, as well as a settlement of the Spineward Sectors situation that didn’t further entangle the Empire. A search for justice was never included or even mentioned in your mission brief. If there is fault to be pointed and blame to be laid, I would start there, Triumvir Bellucci,” Admiral Davenport said coolly.

  Mary Bellucci’s face turned thunderous.

  “Remember who you are speaking to, Admiral,” she warned.

  “Oh I do, Triumvir. You asked for a Command Carrier. I brought you Mighty Punisher, in fact, I brought you two of them. I do hope that helped you out of your little conundrum vis-à-vis your fellow Triumvir?” he asked pointedly.

  She paused abruptly at the mention of Triumvir Pontifex, the senior member of the Triumvirate, and then scowled.

  “Let’s also remember you returned two ‘broken’ Command Carriers; please do not attempt to confuse the issue with facts not entirely in your favor,” she said after a moment, before continuing in a much more moderate tone of voice. “So remind me again why I have a stooge hanging over Traitor’s Square instead of the actual perpetrator, Admiral Davenport?” she asked.

  “You can repair Mighty Punisher, she just needs some serious yard time to straighten out her structural damage, but as long as you find the funding, Triumvir Pontifex can be able to see his command carrier once again,” said Magnus.

  “You speak of money as if credits grow from trees! Whether or not he will find that an acceptable result is seriously in doubt, Admiral,” Bellucci shot back, “and if I go down, I assure you others will go with me. I will not go down alone, do you understand me, Admiral?”

  Magnus Davenport visibly shrugged.

  “I didn’t lose the command carrier, nor did I kill the Senator. I wasn’t even in the quadrant. I am just the man who retrieved it for you after the Senate approved Praetor Cornwallis’s last fateful venture,” he said, and when Bellucci stiffened at the not-so-subtle reminder that she was the one who had failed to stop, then Senator Cornwallis, from appropriating Mighty Punisher from the Pontifex Yards in the first place, then retroactively gave him tacit permission.

  “As for going down? So what? My fleet, the fleet you sent to the Spine, returned fully intact and in case you didn’t bother to notice, I happened to have brought back the first new Imperial Province in centuries. It may be small but it’s a potent new addition to the Empire. The Senate can fail to notice many things, but when House Davenport takes to the airways and com-channels trumpeting our new glory, even you and the Triumvirate will find itself incapable of ignoring these accomplishments,” he said dismissively.

  “My star is on the rise. My ship is on the horizon, metaphorically speaking. If, as you say, the man who actually engineered the downfall of Charles Cornwallis is still at large…” He paused to reach over and pick up an apple. He waited until after taking a big loud bite before continuing with a smirk. “All I can say is that his death or capture wasn’t part of my original mission orders. Though I am of course, as always, a willing servant of the Senate, should a new mission to remove from the galaxy the blot he represents offer itself to me.”

  Bellucci looked at Marcus Davenport through slit eyes.

  “Be careful, Mary,” warned Marcus Davenport, “you may be a Triumvir but the entire reason you sent me instead of another admiral was because I am related to the very Triumvir you needed to appease. Take the win and move on. Under our joint action, the empire has avenged its honor and gained a province. Expanding for the first time in decades.”

  “Flaming atoms, you know that’s impossible,” she cursed, looking away before turning back to him complaining, “if I have to pay for that command carrier out of my personal funds, now it’s been put in for repairs and added to the imperial fleet, that two-bit Admiral out in the Spine is going to wish he’d never been born!”

  Marcus Davenport shrugged again.

  “As always, I am eager for another mission,” he said.

  “Good luck trying to round up support for another expeditionary fleet now that the former allies of House Cornwallis are distancing themselv
es as far and as fast as they can from the Fallen Senator and the issue has supposedly been settled with Isaak Newton’s death,” she snapped, “so don’t play the fool, you know the political score as well as I do.”

  “But if you do round up the support and I don’t happen to be on the Gorgon Front, as an Imperial Admiral I am always ready to do my duty,” Admiral Davenport said with relish at the thought.

  Marry Belluci glared at him.

  His piece said, Magnus Davenport stood up, retrieving his apple.

  “If that will be all?” he asked, clicking his heels together and staring over her head.

  “I’m done with you. For now,” said Triumvir Bellucci shortly, “now get out of my office!”

  Snapping off a salute, the Imperial Admiral walked away from the Triumvir at a steady pace.

  Chapter 4

  Time with the Family

  “Daddy, Daddy! Can Larry come too?” my son Larry asked, referring to himself as he held his hands up toward me.

  “Now what have I told you about speaking of yourself in the third person, little Larry,” I said sternly.

  “Can I come and play too, Daddy, pleeease!!” he pleaded.

  “Just remember only kings and queens get to do that,” I warned him.

  “I’m going to be a king!” little Larry exclaimed, waving a fist in the air.

  I suddenly coughed into my hand before looking down at him with a serious face. That was vitally important with selling something to little ones—things such as bed times and eating healthy food—not that it always worked.

  “Would you rather be a king or go out with Daddy after lunch?” I asked.

  Little Larry was clearly torn.

  “Can we shoot dinosaurs?” he bargained.

  I looked down at him and internally shook my head. He was definitely a Montagne; we learned to bargain at such an early age.

  “Your dad needs to stop over and see a friend, but afterward, we can go to the stellar mall and shoot some dinosaurs in the holo-center,” I offered.

  “Yay!” said Larry, jumping up and down.

  “But first, you’re going to need to take your bath,” I cautioned.

  As if I had just fired a shot into the air at the start of a race, little Larry took off down the hall at a dead sprint.

  “Don’t wanna!” he cried.

  “Get back here, you little tyrant,” I called, racing after him.

  Alas, the race was cut short by the arrival of both the Tractoan Yaya tasked with the care of my son and a personal assistant assigned by Akantha to deal with me.

  “I’ve got him for you, Protector,” said the Yaya, one of Akantha’s cousins, sweeping up little Larry before he could get far. I looked longingly as she took off down the hall while he kicked and squirmed. A Yaya was another name for nanny, and House Zosime preferred to use reliable extended family, at least those family members outside the direct line of succession, to help watch over our children.

  I opened my mouth to protest and was about call them back—I mean I could do the bath just as well as anyone—when the sound of a throat clearing from behind brought me up short.

  I looked over my shoulder.

  “Court begins in several minutes, Protector Montagne,” the Assistant said, tapping his feet.

  “Sure thing, Hektor,” I grunted, finally giving up on playtime. I’d just have to catch up with little Larry later in the day to keep true to my promise.

  I shot the other man a penetrating look.

  “Remind me why I’m attending court today? Normally I show up on Wednesdays and Fridays,” I reminded him.

  “The Hold-Mistress requested your presence and it’s been scheduled for three weeks,” he reminded me.

  “Refresh my memory because it’s clearly slipped my mind,” I said with a distrustful sigh.

  “There was a request to hear memorials from local petitioners that you indicated you were interested in hearing,” he reminded me.

  For a moment, I drew a blank and then I scowled.

  “I remember now. The farmers, Freedman Garabaldi,” I said, a light bulb going off inside my head.

  “And Warlord Tinibus,” he added.

  I frowned.

  “Hopefully, he was too busy to attend,” I said, growing weary of the local mercenaries and their constant whining about my recruiting methods.

  “I believe I saw him in the hall but not the Freedman; he must be running late,” observed my Attendant.

  “Wonderful,” I said.

  I showed up to an extra court meeting to help the downtrodden, and they failed to show up but the worst of the local pests managed to shoehorn himself into the Palace in exchange.

  “I suppose it’s too late to back out now?” I asked rhetorically.

  He looked at me with disapproval.

  “I thought not,” I sighed. It was just a thought and I hadn’t expected a positive reaction. Hoped, but not expected. Hektor had been my attendant for too long for that.

  “As you know better than I, both Hold-Mistress and Protector were gone for long periods of time while Messene Polis was established. Combine that with your ambition to assist the poor citizenry and your warrior recruitment policy, with the resulting intrusion of other regional powers,” he shrugged, “and it’s not surprising there is still much work to be done,” Hektor said.

  “We’ve been back for two years,” I grunted.

  “And only now has the Mistress begun to settle things in a proper way,” he said with pride and began ticking off points.

  “Most of the land-holds have been given proper boundaries, but not all. No one, even in the hinterland of the Hold, is starving,” he said brightly, and then his face clouded with distaste, “and then there is the starborn issue. You people are very entitled and take for granted a certain level of wealth and ease. It has caused certain… complications.”

  “I thought you liked our people,” I said with surprise.

  “Oh, I do. Much has changed and for the better, but there are several areas where those changes have been neither wanted nor, frankly speaking, desirable,” he said with a frown, “and your people’s view of land rights is one of them.”

  “Well you have to take the good with the bad. A few accommodations in both directions are only to be expected,” I said with a shrug. I couldn’t say I agreed with him but a few cultural disagreements were only to be expected along the way.

  “Exactly what I told your former countrymen,” he agreed with too much satisfaction, “perhaps you can talk with them when you have the chance?”

  I looked over at him with disdain. Like I was going to rush out and do that. I knew better than to throw myself right into a wedge issue.

  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” I snorted.

  He gave me a quizzical look and then sighed.

  “Would you like me to escort you to Court now?” he asked.

  “I think I know the way,” I said, stopping to change clothes.

  If growing up around royalty and the court back home had taught me one thing, it was that wearing the same clothes you used to go fishing in to an appearance in your wife’s court was a no-go.

  While I really would have preferred to be at the mall shooting electronic images of dinosaurs with my son, this would just have to do instead.

  ***

  I entered the main administrative area of Messene Palace and went up to the dais where Akantha was holding court, taking care not to make a grand entrance. I planned to slide right into my seat with as little notice as possible.

  As I took up position on the dais, I caught what sounded like the tail end of some minor trouble in the polis. I took a slow look around. Between the guards, lawgivers and supplicants, there were more than fifty people in the enormous echoing room.

  For now, I was content to stand to the side of the dais and watch. The less I had to do, the better. It wasn’t so much that I wasn’t willing to participate as well… it w
as just easier to let Akantha handle it.

  I was more than content managing things in orbit and staying out of as many of the niggling little issues that cropped up here on the ground as possible. I could have taken charge, if Akantha had let me, but given her mother’s history with Nykator, it was just better for all involved that I let her deal with it.

  Since this meant more fishing time for me, I wasn’t complaining. Still, I really would rather have been shooting dinosaurs with Larry…

  The loud thumping of a wooden staff on a stone floor brought my fleeting attention back to the present.

  “Next, we have two groups of petitioners here to speak with the Protector of Messene. The first is Freedman Garabaldi Signus.” There was a pause as the Herald nodded to a man clad in rough homespun.

  This was interesting. It looked like the farmers had made it after all.

  “Freedman, present your memorial,” he said, motioning for Garabaldi to step forward.

  The farmer swallowed and stepped up.

  “Protector Montagne, we hope for your consideration,” the Freedman said awkwardly, pulling out a sheaf of smudged and dirty papers.

  With a shake of the head, Akantha’s Court Herald took the papers from his hand.

  I nodded gravely, making a mental note about the Herald. It was one thing to have private feelings and another to show them at court. It made us rulers look bad.

  As I recalled, Garabaldi Signus represented a faction of able-bodied farmers who used to be poorly led and poorly fed before he took over and having turned their lives around, they were now seeking the opportunity for warrior training. As I recalled, they’d partnered up with an enterprising Promethean farmer, exchanging part of their crops for access to advanced machinery and gene-engineered crops.

  Tractoan traditional ways of agriculture just couldn’t compete with the handful of formerly part-time Caprian farmers looking to take their new farms to the next level now they were colonists of Tracto. Garabaldi had been insightful enough to see the writing on the wall, and now he’d turned things around to the point they were starting to see a profit, he was looking to capitalize on the Tractoan dream.