Admiral's Throne Page 7

  Whether or not I decided to help the Stalwart, if I even could help them, I still wanted their data. Proof of Imperial genocidal attacks meant entirely to cover up the truth that we weren’t alone in the galaxy… It was a game-changer.

  I shot the old reprobate in the corner of the room a searching look.

  “Thoughts?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from the highly emotional Sundered.

  Spalding ruminated for a moment.

  “I can’t speak to grand strategy as I’m just a humble space engineer,” he started slowly.

  I snickered.

  Spalding scowled and then turned serious.

  “However, it might help you with a little problem on the home front, as contentious as it looks to be both personally and for the Fleet… so I say we don’t dismiss it out of hand. Besides, it might be fun,” he said after a minute.

  “I think we can deal with any local problems here with a better solution than getting ourselves involved in a foreign war almost a year’s travel from the Spine, Spalding,” I said condescendingly.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure but that’s a story for another time,” Spalding warned darkly, “this might be just what we need, considering it won’t take us six months to cut right through imperial territory to reach the Gorgon Front when we have the Spindles.”

  My curiosity piqued and my brows jumped. What was going on at home that was so hazardous, a foreign war against the Empire might be preferable?

  “What are you after wanting to do?” asked Glue.

  Right at that moment, my console beeped. I glanced down to see a message saying that a new delegation had just entered the star system and sought an emergency meeting with Prince Jason Montagne.

  It was also a delegation from Capria.

  The day just got more interesting.

  “It doesn’t rain but it pours,” I said, wondering just what play my cousin old King James was up to.

  “Admiral?” asked Glue.

  “Nothing of any importance, Primarch,” I assured him. “However, I think it best if we table the discussion of any military involvement in the affairs of the Alliance Against Alien Genocide until after we’ve verified the evidence and then dealt with the little bug problem we have in this Sector,” I said.

  “Okay,” said Puko.

  “You’re the admiral, Sir,” Spalding said happily, now that he’d put his oar in and stirred the waters.

  “I’ll want to speak with you later,” I said as Spalding tried to sneak out.

  “Of course, Sir. However, the lady is waiting for me…” He waited a beat, “unless you’d like to wait for her to come find me here?”

  I glowered at him.

  “Get out of here,” I snorted.

  “Of course, Sir. You know best,” smirked the old reprobate as he left the room.

  It was a good thing he left before I found something to throw at him.

  When I was alone, I had to wonder what exactly the AAAG thought it was up to and what exactly had been going on in the Gorgon Front.

  Chapter 7

  The Caprian Dissidents… or in other words,

  the entire Provincial Government

  “So, what can I do for you gentlemen?” I asked, hiding my suspicions—some might call them raging suspicions—behind a pleasant demeanor as a pair of men in formal Caprian attire entered the room, accompanied by a third person. She was supposed to be taken for an aide, judging by the cut of her clothes and the tablet she was carrying, but might not be.

  The men paused, looking at each other before the second gestured toward the first.

  “The Marquis de-Farqua has arrived as a personal representative of the High Chancellor,” he said finally, looking disgruntled at whatever state of internal affairs back home on Capria had him introducing the Marquis—and not the other way around.

  I waggled my eyebrows.

  “The High Chancellor is sending out his own minions now. What does the King think about all this subterfuge?” I asked with a provocative smile; James was an untrustworthy snake and I needed to get down to the bottom of this business as fast as possible.

  “I assume he knows nothing about this little tête-à-tête we’re having here,” I finished with a knowing grin. I knew nothing of the sort but was never above a little old-fashioned fishing, whether for information or the regular old kind, I thought with a smirk, recalling the last sea monster I’d hooked.

  Then I recalled how it had got away thanks to the Judge, and my mood plummeted.

  “What the King thinks doesn’t matter to a whole lot of people right now,” said the Marquis, a dedicated member of the royalist faction if ever there was one, causing me to sit up and take notice.

  “That’s quite the statement. Just out of curiosity, what would happen to you if a transcript of this conversation were to make its way back home?” I asked, picking up a stylus and toying with it.

  De-Farqua’s eyes flitted to the stylus in my hands for a considering look, before settling back on my face.

  “Capria is in a state of near revolt after a bug attack. An attack perceived back home as the King deliberately allowing a breach in our space and ground-based defenses,” said the Marquis.

  I put down the stylus abruptly.

  “Just what the blazes are bugs doing on Caprian soil?” I asked, outrage burning through my system at the thought of bugs on Capria. Our world had more enough fixed defenses to stop a not-so-small fleet the last time I checked, and nothing should have got through those defenses; not a stray meteor, not a bug scout, nothing—and that completely ignored the System Defense Fleet!

  “It’s all over the news back home; you can check yourself if you don’t believe me,” he shrugged, “they breached the capital city and several regions with large pro-parliament populations. Whatever the original intent—and there are a lot of suspicions—the outcome is the same. The situation has spiraled out of control,” de-Farqua said with a grimace.

  “I’ll say! It’s one thing for King and Parliament to kill each other, but to attack the population, even by proxy…” I was floored.

  James was a dead man walking unless he could quickly clear his name before the people got their hands on him. This blunder of his opened sudden and unexpected opportunities.

  “As you must be aware, parliamentarian sentiment has been growing for some time due to the King’s anti-parliament, some would say anti-election sentiment,” the Marquis said, mouth making a moue of distaste. I hadn’t been aware, but that wasn’t really relevant so I stayed silent.

  “Normally, I would call this a life but now, who can say?”

  “That’s immaterial to our discussion here. After the first two years, food was running low in the Bunker and the normal procedures were followed,” he said.

  “Meaning?” I asked.

  “The Royalist Faction tacitly allowed food in and parliamentary members out to visit their families incognito,” the Marquis explained.

  “How civilized, especially considering Parliamentary aggressive actions against members of the Court and their families during the Reconstruction period,” I said with approval.

  If true, the royals really had shown better behavior than the elected politicians. Either that or the King and his advisors had silently acknowledged they had much shakier levels of public support than was openly bruited about by the Palace.

  “Quite. Unfortunately for the elected politicians, after three years of turmoil and recovery, the King sensed an opportunity and he took it,” the Marquis took a contemplative sip of water

  “After the last war in the Spine and the rise of the New Regional Authority, our economy was in shambles. Trade had almost ground to a halt and the new Confederation’s crushing new tax burden threatened to send our world into a tailspin. Everything was up in the air,” he continued.

  “Blast him,” scowled the Marquis’ up till now quiet companion.

  The Marquis shrugged.


  “When the King secured a number of lucrative shipyard contracts, public opinion solidified in favor of the Royal Family and soon after that, food shipments to the Bunker were abruptly stopped,” said the Marquis de-Farqua.

  “Several parliamentary members were also openly arrested. Don’t forget that,” said the other Caprian representative.

  My eyes narrowed. I was aware of most of this but the slant they were putting on events was new.

  “It broke the gentlemen’s agreement the Royalist and Parliamentary factions had been observing up to that point,” agreed the Marquis, “but with the wars over, contact restored with the rest of civilization and several large warship construction contracts flooding money into our system, the economy went from shaky to red hot within a matter of months and the public was so relieved, no one was ready to upset the applecart over a few arrests.”

  “Always a mistake to let those sorts of things slide but that sounds like our countrymen,” I said and then zeroed in on the part important to me.

  “You mentioned naval contracts?” I asked.

  The Marquis closed his eyes.

  “Battleships, yes, but I’ll get to that later,” he said as he cleared his throat, “fast forward two years and the Bunker’s little stunt with an all-juice diet and intravenous nutrition threatened to turn the political grandstanding of previous years into a very real threat, with several members noted to have visibly lost weight, at the same time as the first bug attack hit home.”

  “Not that most Parliamentary Members couldn’t stand to lose a few pounds, but I can see how, when combined with bug attacks, I’d expect a bunch of angry PM’s will be holding elections inside of six months and with every expectation of reclaiming control of the government,” I said coldly.

  The nobleman grimaced.

  “Normally, that would be true; however, most of the parliamentary politicians you are familiar with won’t be a problem anymore, considering the aforementioned bugs swarmed the Bunker and ate most of the politicians,” said de-Farqua, looking like he had very mixed emotions as he relayed this series of facts.

  “Impossible,” I said.

  “This is very real. The Bunker is gone,” said the Marquis.

  “Maybe as an alternate seat of government but the government will rise again,” his counterpart said neutrally.

  “Even if our SDF fleet and orbital defenses were compromised, I can’t imagine the Marines would standby idly to say nothing of the land forces,” I observed, mind racing with calculations.

  Big events were happening back home. The question was, how did it impact me and my people? Of less concern was what scheme were the Marquis and his sidekicks plotting and how did they hope to rope me into whatever it was?

  “I could go into further detail later but suffice it to say that due to a blind faith in the orbital and city-level defenses, and more than a few suspicious troop maneuvers and conflicting orders in the chain of command, reinforcements above the police and community watch level were stymied or diverted,” he said.

  “Heads are going to roll,” I said.

  “It’s a travesty. Worse, a lot of blame is being heaped on the King who is no longer around to defend himself, but you’re right. The end result was the bugs entered the bunker. The PM’s attempted to use the escape hatches and tunnels built into and under the bunker, but the areas around the majority of exits were swarming with bugs,” the Marquis said while I was still processing this information. “Unfortunately for those of us left holding the political bag, more than half of the PM’s were lost before the survivors could escape via hastily-commandeered civilian transport and hover-cars.”

  “Wait-wait-wait! Back up,” I said, holding up a hand, “Let’s back up. Parliament was eaten and the King ran away, correct?”

  The Marquis nodded and his companion looked mad enough to chew nails; meanwhile, their attendant continued to type on her data-slate.

  “The media was in uproar. The surviving parliamentary members were screaming bloody murder and two days later, the Marine Commandant marched on the Palace with a pair of hover-brigades to demand an explanation. But unfortunately, by that point, the King was already gone,” said the other representative.

  I slapped my thigh.

  “The King fled, didn’t he? The PM’s didn’t deserve what they got but James is on the run?” I chortled. I couldn’t help it; this was just too rich.

  “This is no time for mirth!” shouted the Marquis’ partner.

  “My apologies,” I forced the smile off my face. “Of course, I sympathize with the families of those lost and traumatized souls forced to flee the bunker. The survivors of this horrific attack,” I said piously.

  “Smiles, laughter and cheap words aren’t what our people need,” he said coldly.

  “Is there anything I can do—maybe a fund to support the widows and orphans? We also have a number of very skilled grief and crisis counselors you could borrow,” I returned seriously.

  “Now you want to throw money at the problem? Just who do you think you are, you entitled ass? We didn’t come here for meaningless platitudes,” demanded the other man.

  “Now hold your thunder for just one blasted minute. Just who do you think you’re talking to? You came to me,” I said, temper flaring.

  At the man’s angered look, I thrust a thumb at my chest.

  “Exile here, remember? Caprian citizenship revoked. Ordered never to return home on pain of death! Any of this ring a bell? Just what exactly did you expect me to do from all the way over here? Drop to my knees and pray sutras for the fallen, or show joy that the same man that exiled me and apparently got a lot of people killed before running away for his life finally got his comeuppance, Mr… I don’t believe I ever caught your name?” I said coldly.

  “Maldrin La-Pierre the elected representative of the 554th District, at your service. And it’s not prayers we’re looking for. We’d like something much more substantial,” he said, looking at me frankly.

  “Well what a funny way of asking for help you have. Fortunately for the both of us, I don’t see how that’s possible considering the current state of affairs,” I observed, irritated.

  “Prince Jason,” the Marquis said, summoning back my attention, “what my fellow representative from Capria meant to say was that during this time of crisis, both Royalists and Parliamentarians are in a state of disarray. The King is so discredited, he fled the planet ahead of a lynch mob, along with most of the treasury.”

  I whistled loudly.

  “He’s also sending back holo-vids publicly vowing to return with foreign aid to right all the damage the bugs did to our homeworld,” Maldrin La-Pierre said, pounding the table.

  I eyed him with distaste.

  “Normally, this would be the point where the surviving PM’s would step in to fill the void,” I point out.

  “Most of the leadership was eaten,” the Marquis replied.

  “Something doesn’t add up,” I said after a minute. “It sounds like there’s a lot more to this story than you’re telling me.”

  “What, for instance?” asked PM La-Pierre.

  “Well, Maldrin,” my voice dripped with scorn, “why are you here if half the PM’s escaped?” I said crossing my arms and going on the attack; I wasn’t liking where this conversation was going.

  “You’d think the leadership would have been in the most secure exit. In which case he,” I jerked a thumb at the Marquis, “shouldn’t even be here,” I said.

  The Marquis de-Farqua grimaced.

  “Not to air our dirty laundry, but several of the top survivors were implicated trying to kill each other in a grab for power. In the end, two members died and others were implicated,” said the Marquis.

  I shrugged.

  “I don’t see how a parliamentary falling out is a Marquis’ dirty laundry. At the same time, I still fail to see how any of this is my problem. The King’s gone and you’re short of some leadership in Parliame
nt. I’m sure there are any number of other figures eager to step in and fill the void. So why come to me? What are you here for?” I asked.

  The two men shared a long look and then the PM gave the Marquis an irritable look and motioned for him to carry the conversation.

  “I’ll stop beating around the bush. The people cry they need leadership untainted by this latest fiasco,” he replied immediately.

  “I don’t see how I can help you. I’ve retired from the Caprian political scene and even when I was active, I was little more than a bit player. Right now, I can’t be considered anything more than a social pariah back home,” I shrugged, leaning back.

  “I think you underestimate yourself as well as the position you hold in a lot of Caprian hearts. Not many love you, but respect, on the other hand…” de-Farqua trailed off with a calculating expression.

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a genuine war hero,” agreed Maldrin stonily.

  “The people want a strong man to lead them. More importantly, between your propaganda vid-dumps and the thousands of former Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet officers and crew who returned home, both the people and the SDF have begun to take a generally favorable view of you. It doesn’t hurt that both the Bunker and the Palace dislike you equally,” said Maldrin La-Pierre.

  I was taken aback but they couldn’t possibly be saying what I thought they were implying.

  “My reputation is terrible. My name is mud and I’m considered worse than the dirt off your boots on any number of worlds. I mean, has no one here never heard of the Tyrant of Cold Space?” I asked rhetorically. “Besides that I’m a Montagne and you know how we’re viewed in the eyes of the public. Back home, that is.”

  “Frankly?” the Marquis asked.

  “By all means,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “The people of Capria are used to sifting through propaganda for the truth, so your reputation isn’t as damaged as you might think. Although in truth it’s still fairly bad, polling data has shown you alone are viewed as strong enough to settle our bug problem. At this point, both the King and Parliament are hopelessly compromised and the recent warships sales to other worlds and the Empire have weakened the SDF to the point of impotence, and the people are quite rightly fearful of another attack. Your arrival, even with the Montagne reputation in train, would quell many fears of a second bug Swarm,” said the Marquis.