ONE WEEK KING - Bracewell Port IV
16 Apr 2018Commander-Wingnut
"STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!"
It was the first time anyone had ever heard Sir Marlin Grieves, Knight of the Brotherhood of Gits and de faco overseer of the Coriolis station Bracewell Port, raise his voice.
Ever.
Everyone froze and looked at Grieves, including the station's local Steve population.
The HERESY DETECTED warnings remained lit, and the lights were still dim and red - but at least the alarm obediently stopped.
"You all know who I am," he growled as if chewing a large mouthful of taffy.
His arms were crossed quite crossly, and with feet planted, the Knight continued.
::--::
"You all know you are here by the graces of the Brotherhood - my people, my slaves and my guests alike.
We are all here at Bracewell - MY Bracewell - to Bask in Her Glory.
Brothers, no heresy has been spoken, you are all being tested. My faith unto the Brotherhood has been affirmed today.
But right now, your behaviour is unbecoming, and you are all being QUITE SILLY."
::--::
All eyes were on Grieves.
Archer saw what the Knight was trying to do.
The moment would pass quickly, though.
Archer saw the kitchen service counter, and leapt.
Not even a running step to start, he simply dove head-first over the counter, legs and arms locked together...
::--::
"I remind you all, that presently aboard this station is...." Grieves paused a moment, counted briefly on his fingers.
"serf, knight, master, lord, baron..."
Under his breath, he muttered; Good Lord Archer, that man may have a point.
"viscount, count..."
"... is none other than the His Lordship Sir Earl of Archer, Master of the Brotherhood of Gits, and Serf and Squire of my own house. And he is here as your guest!
The Brotherhood - SHALL CONDUCT itself with the utmost of dignity.
I WILL NOT. Be known to the Viscount -
*blehleb*
- Count -
*bleb*
- to the EARL - as The Knight Of Silly Gits!"
There was a 'snrrrk' somewhere in the back of the crowd, then a grunt as an elbow found a gut and made its point.
::--::
It was a graceful maneuver.
He'd slipped through without touching a single corner.
The Earl of Archer was planning on a neat tuck-and-roll, then maybe slip out the back door?
Very well executed, bravo.
We now realize that I'm narrating the words of General Dexter Gilbert.
For the sake of complicating things, let's now resume his dwarfish voice from somewhere about knee height.
"Very well executed, bravo."
The Earl of Archer, excuse me - Bob Archer - had torpedoed himself head first into the enormous beer gut of General Guadalupe Hofer.
He'd landed with such rigid force and such a pronounced TWANG that made Gilbert's mustache vibrate sympathetically.
Hofer's boisterous belly laugh popped the Earl of Archer out onto the floor, stunned and bewildered.
"And of course," Gilbert chuckled merrily. "bravo again on the dismount, my Earl."
"I believe," grumbled Hofer, staring down on Archer (or up at that interesting light rack over there, it's not quite clear).
"That we have things to discuss."
::--::
"SERGEANT! Detain that man."
--:-:--
Interstellar Factors Office
Somewhere far away from Imperial ears...
--:-:--
"How did it get this bad?" asked the neutral voice.
Commander Wingnut rubbed his altered face - the putty that filled his trademark scar was beginning to itch.
"The two systems we started with, are only populated with one station each - "Bliss Base" and "Firsoff Orbital."
These stations are staffed almost completely by Imperial slave-clones in an experiment the rest of the Empire forgot about.
When Archer became a Duke, the King of Three extended His Lordship's territory to include HIP 5700 and the station there, Bracewell Port.
As the Master of the Brotherhood of Gits and now the Duke of Three, Archer now answers only to the family of the King himself."
--:-:--
"This has been a very strange week," sighed the blank, robotic voice.
Even the words AUDIO ONLY seemed to deflate in surrender.
"The Generals, clearly they weren't there to arrest Archer when the Steves - I mean, the slaves - began to riot?"
Wingnut shook his head soberly.
"Quite the opposite. They were there to swear their fealty to the Duke to satisfy the need for protocol.
Gilbert and Hofer actually started calling him "Archer the Arrow-Dynamic" after the Earl wound up neck deep in Hofer's burp button.
Once or twice, they even managed to slip that into his formal title.
Since it takes several gong chimes, a twenty-gun salute, a full reading of His Lordship's post, and a Raising of The Swords to properly announce Archer's arrival at one of his stations, nobody tends to notice.
Imperial hangars are designed specifically to amplify the acoustics of a brass band, so it can be very hard to hear."
--:-:--
"Did you not report that the clerical error was being looked into?"
"Yes, I did as a matter of fact.
The Steve - excuse me, that would be Magistrate Carter MacDonald of the HIP 5700 Judiciary Alliance - who was responsible for overseeing that committee, ruled that although unorthodox, Archer's rise in power was completely legal by the terms the Old Emperor had signed off on almost four hundred years ago.
Their original constitution, the "Accord of the Three Kingdoms", is almost four centuries old - yet it still hangs on the wall in the main atrium of Bracewell Port.
I'm sending you the images now."
--:-:--
"..... that's remarkably iron-clad. The Old Empire wasn't known for being ambiguous in matters of law."
"Right? Those rules have never been changed even once the Steves took over Firsoff and Bliss, and they worked so well that nobody ever gave the Accord a second thought.
At least, not until a Pilot-Commander came in and started fucking everything up.
Now everybody is terrified about what will happen if word gets back to the Pilots Federation and more of them start showing up to make some fast cash."
--:-:--
"The Generals, not directly bound by the Kingdom's rule, were okay with being in the service of someone who - only five days previous - was an Outsider?"
"I asked. At the mere suggestion, the lights dimmed and the Steves started getting rowdy again.
The Brotherhood was a little quicker in quelling the uprising this time.
General Hofer was every bit as clear on the matter as the Accord was; the Emperor does not make mistakes.
To even question THAT is the basest and most grievous of heresy."
--:-:--
"Is there anything you need to complete your mission, Commander?"
Wingnut was hunkered over the desk, his forehead cradled in both hands.
"Other than a whole lot more help than you could possibly provide, given the scope of this whole thing...
... yeah, I can think of a couple of things."
--:-:--
"First, I need you to get ready to relay a message to a friend of mine.
Bounce it off whatever you've got to, to make it look like it comes from me."
He did not dare identify himself as Archer nor Wingnut, but the implication was clear.
"The sooner you can do it, the better."
"I want one of my ships sterilized via Interstellar Factors and sent to a station in Empire space.
I don't care which one - I know Winters won't let me keep the Chieftain out here, but at least send me the Diamondback or Asp Explorer.
SOMETHING Lakon."
""I.... CAN'T.... STAND...." he practically wept into the mike. "GUTAMAYA."
"Eagle this, Courier that, Clipper there, and now Archer now rates an Imperial Cutter.
A PURPLE, LIGHT-UP, GLOW-IN-THE-DARK Imperial Cutter, with matching weapons and engine detailing."
::--::
::--::
"It's TOO swanky!
There is too much swank!
The sheer amount of swank is either oozing into, or out of, every possible orifice, and threatening to fill everything with even more swank!
Each and every one of these ships is a veritable exploding zit just BURSTING with liquid swank!
If I have to vacuum the shag carpet on the bridge, polish the marble handrails, or adjust the chandelier ONE more time, I swear to the Cheeba of Chacobog that I will utterly LOSE MY SHIT."
"Other than a whole lot more help than you could possibly provide, given the scope of this whole thing...
... yeah, I can think of a couple of things."
"Tell me what you need. I'll see what I can do." droned The Voice.
--:-:--
"First, I need you to get ready to relay a message to a friend of mine.
Bounce it off whatever you've got to, to make it look like it comes from me."
He did not dare identify himself as Archer nor Wingnut, but the implication was clear.
"The sooner you can do it, the better."
"What else?"
"I want one of my ships sterilized via Interstellar Factors and sent to a station in Empire space.
I don't care which one - I know Winters won't let me keep the Chieftain out here, but at least send me the Diamondback or Asp Explorer.
SOMETHING Lakon."
"Any particular reason?"
""I.... CAN'T.... STAND...." he practically wept into the mike. "GUTAMAYA."
"Gutamaya? The Imperial shipbuilder?"
"Eagle this, Courier that, Clipper there, and now Archer now rates an Imperial Cutter.
A PURPLE, LIGHT-UP, GLOW-IN-THE-DARK Imperial Cutter, with matching weapons and engine detailing."
::--::
The Princess herself, Aisling Duval, had heard of the Duke of Archer and his unlikely career - as a Duke was only one career leap in the Empire from becoming a full-fledged Prince, she had the majestic Cutter sent to him as a royal gift.
A solicitation to a potential suitor, if you would.
In the Empire, this sort of medium-distance royal courtship was all a matter of routine.
There were a lot of Dukes, and the Princess mailed a Cutter out at least twice a day.
Nevertheless, this regular act of charity and display of noblesse oblige made for great social media.
iCutter unboxings were the latest rage on Spacebook right now.
Wingnut could never watch such a video without bleeding from the tear ducts.
It was being told that an overwhelmed Archer had broken into tears, but sources who had been standing closer testify that his first look at the "Distant Terra" had in fact prompted him to start leaking again.
The Duke of Archer's sobs were not those of joy, but nevertheless, that was what his subjects chose to believe.
::--::
There was a sound, long and low. The voice scrambler, paranoid about giving away a characteristic, had just scrubbed an impressed whistle.
"That sounds like an impressively swanky ship. My hat's off to the good Duke."
"It's TOO swanky!
There is too much swank!
The sheer amount of swank is either oozing into, or out of, every possible orifice, and threatening to fill everything with even more swank!
Each and every one of these ships is a veritable exploding zit just BURSTING with liquid swank!
If I have to vacuum the shag carpet on the bridge, polish the marble handrails, or adjust the chandelier ONE more time, I swear to the Cheeba of Chacobog that I will utterly LOSE MY SHIT."