Admiral's War Part Two (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 10) Page 6

  “One more step and you get a blaster bolt through the eye, Oleander,” said the brown-skinned man in the dirty merchant crew outfit. “If you think I’m going to let a man as handy with a knife as you are walk past me on your way out the door so that you can stick a blade in my back you’ve got another think coming.” He then rattled off a high-level contact code, “Bolton-White-Lexic-Dark-Zero-Alpha-Nine-Nine-Tango. Passphrase: Bitter & Cold.”

  “You! No, that’s impossible,” Oleander said, his eyes narrowing. “The eye, for one thing, is entirely natural while the previous one was an implant. You aren’t who you say you are.”

  “I haven’t said who I am, but I’d like to think that this is the least Parliament owes me after all the bag work I’ve done for them over the years,” he said with a grin. He then shifted his face toward Madam Syburna without taking his eyes off of Oleander, “You can run the genetic verifier if you want. But, like I said, I’m not here to stay. I’ve been out of touch for a while and as soon as you get me out of this system I’ll take it from there.”

  “I don’t think—” started Madam Syburna.

  “Now,” he said, holding out the arm with the hand not holding the blaster, “and I’ll know if you try to do anything funny with the scanner. So don’t. I think neither of us would like the time it would take for us all to hear your screams after you did.”

  Syburna swallowed. her gaze shifting over to Oleander. After a moment he nodded.

  Picking up a scanner from a hidden compartment, Syburna came over and took a blood sample. After several minutes it chimed.

  “It’s…it’s verified,” she reported.

  “See? It really is me,” smirked the man.

  “Judas,” spat Oleander.

  “Ah, not the most imaginative name Parliament could have bestowed upon me. But since I wasn’t given any say,” he splayed his hands.

  “You’re dead, unless you’re trying to claim that your son didn’t do a proper job of it. I thought ‘there could only be one’ and all that?” he mocked.

  A flash of rage crossed the other man’s face before disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared. It was followed by a wince as if in pain before he smiled, once again appearing a man in total control of himself and everything around him.

  Oleander didn’t trust anything about him. Which wasn’t much of a change from the way he’d treated the man this guy, Agent Judas supposedly, was claiming to be.

  “Death has proved rather more…illuminating than I had expected—and certainly far less permanent,” he replied, waggling his blaster, “now about those ID’s.”

  “I’ll get started on them now,” said Madam Syburna jumping up and heading over to a console.

  “Slowly,” the probably-fake Agent Judas said, sounding amused and Syburna slowed down in response.

  “What’s your endgame in all this? What could you possibly hope to gain coming here,” demanded Oleander, his hand still surreptitiously on his knife, “even if you are who you claim to be. I just don’t see it.”

  “I too would have preferred to avoid you all. But due to my reduced circumstances, here I am—and here you are. Needs must when the devil drives, as they say,” the still-probably-fake Agent Judas joked. “As far as I’m concerned, the sooner I can get back to raiding the space-ways the sooner I can rebuild and then get what’s most important in this life,” said the likely-imposter Agent Judas.

  “Even if you make it out of this system, you’re just one man,” scoffed Oleander, turning his body and pulling out his knife while the other man was distracted.

  Agent Judas smiled, turning to look at Syburna as she worked on his papers.

  Seeing his chance Oleander took his knife in a throwing grip.

  “There is one thing I would like to clarify,” Judas said lightly, leaning toward Syburna.

  “What’s that?” Oleander asked, playing along. As soon as he’d incapacitated the man, he’d suck him dry of whatever information he had—along with how he’d just manage to compromise this meeting house.

  “Just to be perfectly clear,” said Agent Judas and then when Oleander started to throw, with a twitch of his hand he shot Oleander in the leg, throwing off the Agent’s aim and sending him crashing to the floor. Turning, the Agent walked over in on fast movement and stomped on Oleander’s dominant hand, “I don’t have a son!”

  “Ah!” cried Oleander, going for his backup blade only to have his other hand stomped on as well.

  “I don’t have a son,” repeated Judas, his foot still on Oleander’s hand as he pointed the blaster weapon at his head and looked over at Madam Syburna, “but I do need some papers.”

  “Blast you,” swore Oleander, not daring to move while the blaster was on him.

  “Do you know what the most important thing in this life is?” Judas asked, grinding his foot into Agent Oleander’s hand.

  “Do I care?”

  “Why, of course the most important thing is revenge,” said the other man his eyes taking on a wild and crazy look. “Do you still believe I’m not who I haven’t said I am?” he asked as he gave Oleander’s hand another hard stomp.

  Oleander activated the poison-coated blade in the toe of his boot in one last desperate gamble as he kicked out at the other man—but he missed.

  “Montagne!” he roared with pain and rage right before everything went dark.

  ****************************************************

  “Why am I still alive?” Oleander asked upon waking with pain shooting through his head, hands, leg and ribs.

  “He’s gone,” muttered Madam Syburna, “he took the ID’s and the ready cash and then just left.”

  “Did he say why?” asked Oleander.

  “I don’t know why we’re alive, but if you hurry you can still take a hit of basic heal and then get to your shuttle on time,” she advised. “He looked through your bag but didn’t take anything so far as I can see; you still have everything you need to complete the mission.”

  “Basic heal?” he scoffed. “I’ll take a hit of combat heal and then track down that blighter and get to the bottom of this shakedown.”

  “Your call; you’re the field agent,” she said with a shrug, “but before he left, he mentioned that if we try to cause him trouble he’ll release the entire operational details of Operations Budget Balancer and Rounding Error. I’m not familiar with the full details of those operations, but from the way he made it sound our superiors definitely wouldn’t appreciate it if that information became public.”

  “No they wouldn’t….son of a Montagne!” he swore, sheathing his knives.

  “Then I’m afraid he’s long gone…unless you want to call his bluff and try to sick the local SDF or Border Alliance on him,” she said with a shrug.

  “We’ll pass this up the chain, but we have to let this go,” he said.

  “Frankly, I liked him better when he was dead,” opined Madam Syburna.

  “So did I,” said Oleander.

  “Catch,” she said, tossing a vial of combat heal at him.

  Catching the vial in mid-air, he deftly injected himself in the thigh. “Bloody Judas!” he swore.

  Chapter Eight: Kong Pao’s Sector 23 Reinforcements

  “Yes, my name is Kong Pao and I’m here on behalf of a number of powerful Sector 23 worlds,” he said into the screen’s pick-up. “We’re here in a show of support and to offer a trade deal.”

  “A trade deal?” questioned the Confederation Officer on the other end of the holo-screen.

  “Yes,” Kong Pao flashed a smiled, “assuming the trade delegation can safely enter into negotiations then myself and our escort squadrons—minus a Destroyer or three—will be free to assist you in the great defensive effort which we’ve heard so much about.”

  “And just what would you be interested in trading?” asked the officer.

  “Whatever we have for whatever you system is capable of producing, of course. This is a still-developing star system and, despite the recent troub
les, we’ve any number of worlds with a large manufacturing base. We’re looking for an open-ended trade deal,” he said with a half bow.

  “That tells me nothing,” the other man shook his head.

  “Trillium, along with any other raw materials and any manufactured goods worth transporting,” Kong Pao explained. “I can see just from routine sensor scans that you have a growing mining operation and a small but developing manufacturing base of your own.”

  “Ah…trillium,” said the Officer with a sigh, “of course. It all makes sense now. However, I’m afraid that I don’t have the authority to make a deal of this magnitude—especially since its involving trillium. Enough to refuel your ships in the name of routine trade, I could swing, but nothing on this scale. I’m sorry.”

  “Trillium makes the world go round,” Kong Pao shrugged, “I don’t expect miracles. But if you would be so kind as to direct me to the individual or individuals in this star system capable of making such deals, I would greatly appreciate it.”

  “Well…” mused the officer.

  “Come now,” Kong Pao said expressionlessly, “I refuse to believe that there is literally no one within this entire star system who has the power to negotiate with our delegation. We’re not just offering bilateral trade between this world and the Mutual Defense League—the better part of two Sectors of the Spine. Also note that I said this would apply to your world and not the rest of your Sector…not unless that’s the way you want it. But we’re talking about making available the better part of two squadrons of Destroyers, two of Cruisers and three Battleships in immediate military aid. Not to mention eight fully-loaded merchant ships eager to trade the goods in their holds for trillium, whatever the eventual agreement between our delegation and your leaders looks like.”

  “I don’t have the authority. However,” the Officer said pursing his lips and hesitating, “that said, I’m sure there are any number of people in Tracto System that will be eager for the goods inside those freighters. Even with the new Border Alliance traffic, we don’t get as much trade as we could use honestly.”

  “I’d appreciate anything you could do to help,” Kong Pao said, cupping his hands at the holo-pick up.

  “Since you’re looking for trillium, I’d start with the Belters. Their contract allows them to keep a percentage of everything they mine, including Trillium, for their own uses and they have the right to sell on anything they can’t use. After that you’ll probably want to contact Port Messene down on the planet. They have a regent that can make a provisional deal that will definitely need to be signed by the Hold Mistress, and maybe the Admiral too, before it’ll stick. But I think that’s your best bet. Not,” he added hastily, “that there aren’t others in the star system including Factors, local Representatives and Ambassadors from other worlds on the Border that won’t be interested in your cargoes.”

  “I’m glad we could be so frank with one another,” said Kong Pao, “if you could give me those contact codes, I’ll transfer them to the head of the trade portion of our delegation.”

  “Not a problem,” the Officer agreed with a smile.

  ****************************************************

  A few days later and entire trade delegation was on its way down to the surface of the planet for a formal dinner and greeting so that they could get together to discuss details with the local representatives. Kong Pao and the rest of the escort group—minus delegates, a large luxury liner, and a trio of Destroyers to keep an eye on things—were taking on supplies and readying their ships for the next leg of the journey.

  It was time to find out just how real this supposed threat to the Spineward Sectors really was.

  They were going to Easy Haven. Along with them were coming several late-arriving reinforcements for the main fleet from the worlds of the Border Alliance, including two Corvettes, a Destroyer and a mine sweeper.

  Chapter Nine: Playtime

  “Who’s a good little Tyrant? Yes! Who is it? Who?!” I chortled, nuzzling my face into his armpit before placing my mouth on his belly, making a seal with my mouth and making loud farting noises against his soft abdomen.

  The giggles and wild arm-waving only encouraged me to even greater displays of false flatulence. These sounds were closely followed by even louder squeals of baby laughter.

  “There we go!” I laughed, placing him face-down on my arm and making like he was a spaceship as we buzzed up and down—and partially under—the little table in the room before buzzing back out from under it. “There’s the next generation of little Montagnes, with his father’s sense of justice and his mother’s desire for battle combined with a uniquely Tracto-an sense of self-entitlement. The galaxy won’t know what to do with you,” I chortled, holding one of the future little Rulers of Cold Space up in both hands so I could see him as I contemplated putting him up on my shoulders for a ride—and then wondering if he was old enough for it.

  “Hey!” Akantha protested from the sidelines where she was holding one of the baby girls and watching me play.

  “Destined to terrorize the space lanes, this one,” I said with mock seriousness as I scooped him up and carefully placed him on my shoulders. “A Montagne who doesn’t believe, deep down inside him somewhere, that he’s somehow guilty or owes the universe but instead that the galaxy owes him?” I demanded with mock disbelief. “When they cross you, my little son—as you just know they will—they’ll find out that they bit off way more than—”

  Akantha handed over the one she was holding and jumped over to snatch him off my shoulders.

  “Hey,” I protested half angrily, “I hadn’t even got to the part where I swore to come in and beat them up for him yet!”

  “He is too small, Jason,” she scolded me ruthlessly, “his back isn’t developed enough to sit up there unsupported like that. You weren’t even using your hand to support him.”

  “So I’ll use a hand,” I said, eyeing her and then reaching over to take him back, “just give him back.”

  “No,” Akantha warned, holding up and out of reach, “you clearly don’t know what you’re doing. I won’t have him with a back injury before he’s even old enough to walk. You can play shoulder rides when he is older and not before.”

  “Don’t I get a say in this?” I tapped my foot on the floor, “I’m his father, after all. And besides, he wasn’t hurt. But even if he was, I’ve got some of the best doctors and medical facilities in the Sector onboard this starship. I’m sure we could fix anything that went wrong.”

  “And that’s why I won’t let you,” Akantha snapped, “talking about fixing him after you break him doesn’t inspire me to hand him back over. Besides, it’s time for you to play with the next one.”

  I glared at her, but as she was taller and her arms were longer than mine—not to mention that playing tug of war with a little baby was just about the worst idea I’d ever heard of—I had to give in.

  “Fine, you can keep him. For now,” I cautioned her, already eyeing the next baby girl and thinking about how I was going to use my hand to support her back. There would be more shoulder rides in the—

  “And don’t even think about it, Jason. There’ll be no more shoulder rides until they are older—much older,” Akantha said putting her foot down.

  “Really,” I drawled. I’d like to see her try and stop me.

  “If you keep it up, I will tell your mom,” she warned.

  Blast. Outwardly I didn’t flinch, but on the inside? Calling in the mom card was like using a turbo-laser for a light laser job: an entire order of magnitude bigger than the job called for.

  “Be careful; two can play the mom card,” I warned inwardly resigned to no more shoulder rides for the foreseeable future. At least not where anyone could see it, that is, I thought slyly.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

  “Oh yeah?” I quirked an eyebrow and then shamelessly lied to throw her off the future scent. “Since that’s the case, what’s your opinion on the upco
ming battle. We’re not exactly holding an undefeated track record against Janeski and his closet Imperials.”

  “That’s not what you were thinking about. You hardly ever worry about work when you’re here, and when you do you get a particular look on your face,” she said, and I quickly hid my surprise as she scrunched up her face in a mock imitation of me which I didn’t find realistic at all. “But while you’ve both won and lost against this enemy, each time you personally have survived to tell the tale. This time I doubt you will be taken by surprise. This will be more of a siege operation than a battle on open field, and Easy Haven is your fortress. This time they have to come to you.”

  “He’s a professional while most of what I know is either from textbooks or learned on the job. I’m probably overmatched,” I observed clinically.

  “If you keep thinking that way, you certainly will be,” Akantha said frostily.

  “Hey, I’m just stating facts and telling it like it is,” I protested, trying to get the baby in my lap to use her legs to stand—with both my hands under her arm pits for support, of course.

  “If you concede from the beginning that the enemy is smarter and has more men, then unless you are leading a team of heroes who don’t require leadership to win the field, you have already lost,” Akantha said coldly. “Get your head back in the battle and stop living your past defeats. A warrior carries on through victory and defeat but learns from both; only a coward can’t let the past go and eventually he or she will be consumed. Too much strong drink, lack of confidence, and self-defeat are soon to follow.”

  “Hey, the strongest thing I’m drinking is fizz water over at the Wolf-9 station bar. I think it’s a little soon to tell me I’ve fallen into the depths of despair, turned my back on the gods, and am about to fall on my own sword out of fear!” I retorted. “I’m here. I’m ready to fight. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to win!”