Admiral’s Fall
(A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 13)

Chapter 1: Mopping Up
We may have won the war but the battle had yet to reach its final resolution.
This realization left me momentarily dumbfounded but I got over it quickly.
“How long until the last major contingent of the Confederation jumps out of this star system?” I asked my Navigator.
“Depending on hyper drive charge rates, we’re looking at anything from a half hour to an hour from now, Admiral,” my Navigator said helplessly.
I looked back at the main screen where the Bug Spheroid remained centered, surrounded by the surviving Imperial and Confederations ships that were unable to maneuver or were still trying to stave off Bug boarders.
“Give me a count of Bugs and Glorious Fleet ships still listed as hostiles,” I instructed as a series of orbital turrets and pop-up missile launchers went active, opening fire on every remaining Bug ship in their range.
“I’m still reading around twenty Battleships in various states that have refused to surrender. The majority of them are Imperials. As for Bugs, it looks like everything of significant size has been destroyed except for the Spheroid. All that are left are around eighty Scouts and Scout Marauders,” reported Tactical.
“It doesn’t seem like those Bugs are going to last long,” I commented as the turrets and missiles started to wipe out the remaining Bugs.
“Determine if they’re not contacting us because of genuine battle damage or because they’re feeling intractable. If they refuse to speak, redirect a few of our turrets and open fire until they do. After you’ve figured that out, contact Spalding and inform him we’re going to need another demonstration,” I said coolly, “I think after losing a few more heavies they’ll find a path to reason.”
With their forces broken by the minefield, and the Imperial Command Carrier out of action, the Imperial and Old Confederation forces had no way of putting up an effective resistance to the Lucky Clover.
Despite the turrets the Clover fired twice more and, two broken Battleships later, the remainder of the Glorious Fleet was ready to surrender. It would have been one thing to lead a death defying charge into the teeth of the Super Battleship. But it was another to sit there in a ship with broken engines and scream defiance until the Clover got around to annihilating you and your crew with one well-placed shot.
No sooner had we taken their parole and thus in effect promised to protect them from the Bugs while they were in our theoretical custody than the Spheroid decided to make its presence known.
Appearing agitated by the minefield blast, and showing enormous gaping wounds on its skin-slash-hull, the Bug Mothership finally decided to stop munching on the hull of the Command Carrier. Releasing the Mighty Punisher in a way that almost seemed like it was spitting it out, the giant, moon-sized, Bug Spheroid floated away.
Minutes after letting go of the broken Command Carrier its mouth started writhing.
“That can’t be good,” said Commander Snyder.
“Don’t jinx it,” Lisa Steiner, my Chief of Staff, muttered superstitiously.
As if words of prophetic wisdom had just been spoken, the puckered, battle-damaged ‘maw’ of the Bug Spheroid once again opened and…out slid a pair of Heavy Harvesters.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said with a flash of anger. The battle might be over by the agreement of all human parties in this mess, but apparently the Bugs disagreed.
“I’m sorry, Sir. But the sensor readout is accurate,” said Commander Snyder.
“That’s fine,” I cut her off and turned to Comm, “tell the Commander he is to switch his targets. We need to whittle down that Spheroid sooner rather than later. Let’s see what a couple of HPC rounds do to it.”
The Comm. Officer nodded and relayed my message. He listened and then turned back to me. “Commander Spalding asks to speak with you.”
“Put him on,” I said, blinking with surprise.
“Terrance Spalding here, and it’s good to see you, Sir,” the old Engineer said happily.
“Good to see you in one piece, Commander,” I nodded, letting loose a smile before turning serious again, “we’re going to need some help with that Spheroid, as you can see she’s still sending out combatants. I’d like the Clover to put a few rounds in her.”
Spalding laid a finger alongside his nose.
“That won’t be necessary, Sir,” he winked, “why don’t you let me focus on trimming down Harvesters until those runners from Glorious Fleet are gone? After that we can turn that Bug Moon into hash on command. The Droids put a few, let’s call surprises, inside the Moonlet of Mayhem. One transmission and boom! It’s gone,” he said, slapping his hands together with a crack.
“Spalding, you’re a wonder,” I said with fervent appreciation. “However I’m not sure we can wait that long. We’ve already taken paroles and that moon’s already proven to be surprisingly mobile for something of its size.”
“Not a problem, Sir,” the old Engineer said seriously, “I’ll get the Droids and see what we can do.”
“Then I’ll leave the matter in your capable hands,” I said.
Several minutes later, our sensors registered a small seismic episode that shook the hull of the Spheroid just enough that our sensors could register.
From that point onward, the Spheroid didn’t move again.
After that, it was a simple matter of cleaning up the battlefield. We sent Lancers over to help our beleaguered former enemies, those that we could reach in time anyway, and put prize crews aboard those ships that were still somewhat functional.
In total only a couple dozen undamaged ships actually surrendered. The rest had some form of battle damage.
All in all, a good day's work.
Chapter 2: Featherby in Command
“How long until the next point transfer, Fritters?” Featherby asked, looking up from his data slate where he was rapidly filling out yet another report on the debacle that was supposed to have been the Glorious Fleet’s finest hour.
“The CSS Potempkin reports it needs more time to repair a bad crack in the hyper dish, sir. They’re requesting an additional twenty four hours to make the needed repairs now that we’re safely out of range of any New Confederation retribution,” said the Chief of Staff.
“Unacceptable,” Featherby said instantly, “we’re only two jumps away from the nearest ComStat buoy,” the he frowned, “and you know how much I hate it when you use that term, ‘New Confederation.’ It gives these Spineward Sectors locals entirely too much legitimacy.”
“Sorry, Sir. You know I only strive for accuracy and since that’s what they call themselves, sometimes I slip. I’ll try to do better,” said Fritters.
“They are nothing more than a regional power that’s still coalescing. I realize that it may seem like a minor matter but it is exactly from seemingly insignificant things like this that larger problems grow,” the Front Admiral scolded.
“Of course, sir,” Fritters said blank faced, “however, that aside, you can’t mean to leave CSS Potempkin behind. If anything happened to her…” Fritters trailed off.
“I think we’re long past the point of no return when it comes to ships lost in action. The task force we’re assigned to has lost ships both before and after I assumed command, to say nothing of the fleet as a whole,” said Featherby.
“You managed to save one hundred and twenty six ships from that disaster. That has to count for something,” said Fritters.
“If they’re looking to pin it on me then there’s nothing you or I can do, my friend,” Featherby said wearily.
“I don’t want to accept that...but you’re probably right,” Fritters said bitterly.
“You know I’m right. This was a disaster of unmitigated proportions. An Imperial flotilla was defeated and a fleet of one thousand ships routed. A Confederation fleet. Do you know the last time a Confederation fleet retreated in the face of the enemy?” asked Featherby.
“I would assume not since the last war,” said Fritters.
“Individual ships may have been outnumbered and thus forced to temporarily withdraw, but a full fleet? Never,” said the Front Admiral, “which is why it is absolutely imperative we are the first to get to an FTL buoy and transmit a report home.”
Fritters worried his lower lip. “Are you sure they won’t decide on a 'kill the messenger' situation? I worry that getting to the front of the line isn’t necessarily the best course,” said Fritters.
“If we don’t get the truth out there it will be buried,” said Front Admiral Featherby, “this could be our only chance.”
“At least this way we have the opportunity to shape the narrative. I just worry the Fleet of today isn’t the same as it was when we had a strong Admiralty,” Fritters said worriedly.
“We still have allies in the Grand Assembly, but regardless there is only so far I can bend in the name of expediency. At a certain point I must be what my life and my training has created in me and let the chips fall where they may,” said the Front Admiral.
“I’m with you, Willard. I just hope you’re right,” said Fritter.
“Not more than me, my friend,” sighed Featherby.
The two shared a look of mutual understanding, then Fritters straightened.
“What do you intend to do with the Potempkin?” he asked finally.
Featherby frowned. “I agree that leaving them isn’t a very viable solution. If anything happened their deaths would be on me. That wouldn’t be an issue if this were a combat operation, but I’m not willing to put good men in harm's way in the name of politics. I see no solution but to temporarily transfer my flag to the fastest ship in our task force and proceed with this mission. The rest of the force will just have to catch up later,” the Front Admiral said finally.
“What if other survivors of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation are already there, or arrive at the same time we do?” his Chief of Staff asked delicately.
“You’re right. We should prepare an alternate rendezvous,” said the Front Admiral.
“That brings up other potential issues,” said Commodore Fritters with a long face.
“At a certain point I have to show confidence in my officers and captains, or how am I any better than Admirals like Beecher?” said Front Admiral Featherby.
Two hours later, Featherby transferred his flag.
Chapter 3: The Calm Before the Storm
“Point transfer successful,” Navigation reported promptly as soon as the Baselard arrived in the star system.
“Initiating breakout protocol,” reported the Helm.
“Activate the long range array and prepare for upload,” ordered Front Admiral Willard Featherby.
“Depending on the size of the sump, that could be problematic, Sir,” advised the Comm. Officer.
Front Admiral Featherby shot the Comm. Officer a hard look.
He looked back at the Admiral helplessly.
“This is a Destroyer, Sir. Our array isn’t as sturdy as something built into the hull of a larger vessel like a Cruiser or Battleship,” he explained, “if we try to activate the array, then we could encounter serious link problems depending on the number and intensity of gravity wells in the sump with us.”
Featherby frowned. “It’s been too long since I’ve served on lighter ships,” he muttered.
The Junior Lieutenant at the Baselard’s communication’s desk wisely kept silent.
“Alright then, prepare to deploy the array and upload the files I’m sending you now as soon as Baselard’s cleared the sump,” he said finally.
“Right away, Sir,” promised the Comm. Officer.
The Front Admiral stymied at his initial attempt and turned to the Sensor department.
“Any sign of other Confederation starships?” he started to ask the Sensor Officer directly before switching over to the captain after remembering that while he was an Admiral he was in the command center of Baselard and an Admiral was only ever a guest on any captain’s deck. Which only made the fact that a Destroyer was too small to hold a flag deck all the more irritating to the Admiral.
The Captain checked with his crew first, a pointed reminder that while the Admiral had asked this time, just moments before he’d been ordering around the Captain’s crew while the Captain was on deck like this were the Admiral’s own ship and not the Captain's.
“No, Sir. Nothing yet,” reported the Captain.
“That’s good,” Featherby said in relief.
Several minutes later CSS Baselard broke free of the sump and the Communications department hurried to deploy the array and upload the message.
“File packets uploaded as instructed along with your priority codes, Front Admiral,” reported the Junior Lieutenant at Coms.
“Confirm the ComStat buoy has accepted orders,” said Featherby.
The Comm. Officer turned back to his console and then nodded.
“Orders confirmed accepted by the buoy, Sir,” reported the Comm. Officer.
“Excellent. Anything in the buoys log that shows we weren’t the first to send a message home reporting the results of the battle?” asked Featherby.
“No, Sir. The log is clean.”
“Captain, prepare the ship for jump and proceed to the rendezvous point as soon as feasible,” ordered Featherby.
Nodding with a serious expression, the Captain turned back to his officers and bridge crew and began snapping out orders.
For their part, no one on the bridge bothered to ask why they’d arrived in this system, dropped a message, and then immediately prepared to depart. They didn’t ask because even if they had their suspicions, such actions were well above their pay grade.
“Preparing the ship for jump,” said the Captain.
Half an hour later, when a large Battleship jumped into the star system and immediately tried to contact the buoy, nothing happened.
Nothing happened because the ComStat buoy was already in the process of recharging after contacting the next FTL buoy in the chain leading straight back home to the capital of the Confederation. The Battleship would have to wait until after the recharge.
Of course, none of this mattered to the officers and crew of Baselard who had already jumped out of the star system.
Chapter 4: Deceptive Maneuvers
“Alright, where are we at?” I asked.
“We’ve segregated as many of the Glorious Fleet personnel, both Old Confederation and Imperial, on a few big ships that still have fully functioning life support systems. That means they're mostly on Battleships and Heavy Cruisers; sorry, Admiral, we knew you wanted them off the prizes as soon as possible but there really was nowhere else to put them,” said Commodore Druid.
“Understandable, if not ideal,” I said wearily. I was starting to strain under the weight of having hundreds of thousands of prisoners, many of them Old Confederation personnel angry at their losses and feeling personally entitled to premier treatment under the rules of warfare and prisoner of war codes.
I could deal with being prosecuted for failing to give them the VIP treatment, but not if someone who surrendered to my fleet suffocated to death while clawing at an air lock trying to escape.
“What else?” I asked.
“Our shuttle pilots are working overtime, not just in rescuing trapped personnel but also furiously transferring as many Glorious Fleet personnel to our freighter transports as we could fit in them. With,” he said, raising a hand when I started to interrupt, “a bias towards any wounded or injured that would be better served in a real hospital facility. The kind we just can’t provide here on a warship.”
“Not to mention our doctors and healing tanks are already operating beyond capacity,” I remarked.
“A number of Glorious Fleet personnel may not make it simply because we don’t have enough hospital beds to put them in and doctors to treat them. We’ve already got injured lining the halls outside the medical department and sickbays of every single Battleship and Cruiser in First Fleet,” reported Commodore Laurent.
“Failing to properly treat surrendered personnel includes adequate medical treatment,” observed Commodore Druid, “I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m not eager have to defend myself before a tribunal because people died before the doctor could see them while they were just down the hall waiting.”
“I’m with you, I just don’t see what we can do about it,” Laurent said bleakly, “there’s not an empty medical bed in the fleet.”
“We can only do the best we can,” I said, taking back control over the meeting, “if possible look into using any doctors or medical teams from the Old Confederation prisoners, under appropriate guard of course. It’s a stopgap measure but at least it’s something. I understand why you’re more worried about the aftermath of this battle and the status of our prisoners than previously.”
The two men looked uneasy.
“The foe we are facing is unlike any other. However, at the very least, we’ll be able to look ourselves in the mirror and honestly say we did our best,” I finished.
“I understand,” said Druid.
Laurent nodded then pursed his lips. “No Imperial physicians?” he asked.
“Allow any Imperial physicians and medical personnel that are aboard the temporary prison ships to help out in that ship’s medical department,” I decided, “but other than that? No. I don’t trust them not to cry ‘For the Empire!’ and try something. But then I could just be biased,” I added not really caring if I was wrong. Having Imperial personnel free to run around on my ships, even with escort, was a road too far. At least for me, and at least right now.
“Even just that much will help out greatly. I’ll see that it happens,” Laurent said.
I nodded.
“Now onto other business,” I said, looking around the room, “what’s next on the agenda?”
Lisa Steiner, my ever helpful Chief of Staff stepped forward placing an already activated and open data slate in front of me.
I looked down.
“Yes, the disposition of the first group of captured warships. How is that going?” I looked around the room.
Spalding scratched his chin and issued a long, opened-mouth, jaw-cracking yawn. “I’ve had MSP engineering teams running around in gunboats performing assessments on every captured ship and they just finished making up the different lists just like you asked last shift, Admiral,” he said.
“Good work! How long until your engineers are ready to start moving them around. I want you to take charge and get this done as soon as possible,” I ordered the Commander.
Spalding cracked another yawn. “Begging the Admiral’s pardon, but since you were already fast asleep after I finished the lists I just went ahead and assigned tugs to start moving the ships around,” said Commander Spalding.
I drummed my fingers on the table and then nodded. “Good work,” I decided.
“I figured it would save us some bellyaching if the usual suspects appeared without any excuse to complain about how we were dragging our heels,” laughed the old Engineer with a dark thread in his voice.
“Manning and his crew have been keeping an eye on our captures and haven’t been shy about staking claims here, there ,and everywhere in the name of the Confederation and their home worlds,” I said darkly.
“I can’t imagine what gave them that particular idea,” Druid said dryly.
The mood immediately broke and we all laughed. With the mood lightened, I finally settled comfortably in my chair.
“Alright, I’ll admit the former High Captain has his points just like the rest of us. That said, the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet answers to no one but me,” I said, looking around the room and sweeping its occupants with my eyes.
Druid looked back at me concerned but Laurent just met my eyes.
“Just let us know what you need, Admiral,” said the Commodore. He then paused. “What do you need from us, Sir?”
“Nothing illegal,” I said, lifting a finger for emphasis and then turned the gesture into a languid wave, “but with that out of the way let’s just say there are many legal routes available to us, and I hardly think that Grand Admiral Manning or the captains currently under him have done anything to earn our trust.”
“Meaning?” Commodore Druid asked uneasily.
“Meaning I intend to strap those ships that Manning and his people have incontrovertible claims to onto the hulls of his warships and cut orders sending Manning and his people back home by the fastest route available to them. Meanwhile, the rest of the warships have been segregated into two different groups,” I said, meeting and holding his eyes.
I could see the hesitation in the other man before he took the plunge. “What groups, Sir?” he asked finally, like a man reaching for a piece of wood after his ship sank in the middle of an ocean.
I frowned. This was unusual behavior for the Commodore. “There is the group that engineering considers unrecoverable and will need to be broken down for spare parts,” I said.
“Right,” his brows furrowed.
“The group that I intend to hand back over to Confederation at Hart’s World, it being the nearest Core World that could take them considering the current state of Central, and Aegis which is still under occupation—or, for that matter, Prometheus and New Pacifica,” I said evenly.
Heads nodded around the table and Druid’s relief was visible. I smirked; clearly he’d thought I intended to seize everything.
“Last, of course, is the group I’m taking back home to Gambit with us,” I finished with a nod to Spalding, and the old engineer put up a graphic on the screen.
Druid took one look and momentarily froze, then laughed helplessly. “I guess you really can’t teach a tiger how to change his stripes,” he laughed.
“Commodore, what’s wrong with you? This is serious business,” I joked.
“Of course, Sir,” Druid said, straightening.
I shook my head. “Anyway, if anyone asks, except for the ships that will be personally transported by Manning and his team of ‘loyal’ order followed warships, every ship we transport will be transported to a designated fleet facility,” I said.
Spalding snorted. “And is it true?” he asked.
I gave him a ‘butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth’ look. “Of course it is. After all, I designated them using my authority as Grand Admiral and Fleet Commandant,” I said.
“The Spindles are charged and ready to go; we can have the first load ready to go by this morning,” said Spalding.
“Make it so,” I said.
“Let’s just hope that no one catches wind of what we’re doing,” said Commodore Druid.
“Soon it won’t matter what they know. And if they try to stop us with force they’ll be up for mutiny charges,” I said.
“Even so, considering the stunt we pulled in Easy Haven they might not trust us enough to let us just jump them away,” warned Druid.
“I agree,” said Laurent, “somehow I just don’t think the Grand Assembly will ever get around to prosecuting them for it either. Even if it came to blows.”
“A good point,” I said, mulling it over for a minute before reaching a decision. “We’ll have to move fast and if we’re not fast enough then we can let them send observers with the first couple transfers. Of course that means the last transfer would be absolutely critical. Not an idea that makes me entirely happy either.”
“Most of their heavy ships will already be tied up with the ships we send over during the night shift,” Spalding pointed out with a wicked smile.
“We could also wait until the last minute to move the first load to Gambit,” said Druid.
“Worst case we could jump early,” interjected Laurent.
“Good ideas,” I said after a moment.
“Bah,” Spalding snorted, “I say we just tell them the truth.”
“Which is?” I asked, looking at him with a raised brow.
“That we don’t have enough fuel to jump all over the Sector without stopping back at either Tracto or Gambit for a reload. Even the Spindles only have so much internal capacity,” he said with a sly expression.
“Alright, let’s do it,” I said.
“You know,” said Spalding, leaning back in his chair and playing with his mechanical hands as, one by one, he flicked over the first joint on each finger one by one and lit up a mini-plasma torch before closing it up again, “I don’t understand why we’re carryin' the Spineward Confederation’s water in this particular situation.”
“I don’t follow,” I said, giving him a look. Spalding was an insightful person and, even if he was wrong or wildly divergent, it was often at his most crazy that he came up with his best ideas.
“Why are we transporting the captures and derelicts for the new Confederation in the first place?” he asked.
“I don’t follow. I’m the Grand Admiral of the Confederation; these are warships captured in a battle with our enemies,” I said.
“Yes, but are we even being paid? It’s not like they’ve promised to reimburse us or anything. Why, I sent in a requisition for them to cover the costs of the trillium we used in the last war with the Reclamation Fleet and it bounced back to me as denied,” Spalding said reasonably.
“Uh…well, we're doing it...because it’s the right thing, I guess,” I said lamely.
“Then forget being paid. Will they thank us for a job well done, or spit in our eye for not doin' it better?” Spalding groused, pounding a fist on the table. “I mean, if we’re going to do the time then why the blazes not do the crime. Not that it’s even criminal, now, all I’m saying is we refuse to work an honest day’s labor until they promise to reimburse us for the trillium.”
“You know what? That’s an even better idea than the one I had originally,” I said slowly. The more I thought about it, the better I liked the idea. I mean, in truth, who knew how long the Elder Spindles would keep working, and if or when they broke was the New Confederation going to replace them for me?
Hardly.
They’d either pat me on the head and commiserate or, more likely, laugh at my misfortune.
The more I thought about Spalding’s point, the more I found I liked what he was saying.
If the New Confederation asked me nicely and played by the rules, I was more than willing to jump their share of the captured warships over to them. But if they wanted to play hardball, they could get good and blasted.
Abuse me on the floor of the Grand Assembly and drag me through the halls, would they?
Maybe it played well to the public, putting the boots to the ‘Tyrant of Cold Space,’ but as they say everything had its price. Mine was warships. If they wanted to steal my pride and smear my reputation, I could accept that in exchange for, oh…something on the order of two hundred warships? A lot of them were broken beyond repair and would have to be stripped, broken down for parts, and then melted. But still…
Snickering on the inside, I straightened up.
“Alright, move the Spindles into position and post a guard, MSP warships only, and let’s see just how appreciative the Grand Assembly is prepared to be with a battle won,” I said finally.
“Aye aye, Sir. We won’t let you down. In fact, I think I’ll have the surviving orbital defenses re-positioned. The gun turrets only need to be moved but we can take the time to reload the stealth missile launchers. I don’t think we have enough extra missiles on hand to do a full replacement but as they say every little bit helps,” Spalding said.
“Agreed,” I nodded. We’d just fought and bled for the people of the Spine. Now it was time the new Grand Assembly got its act together and stood up for the people of the Spine as the beacon of light, justice and the Confederation way we’d all been promised they stood for.
Barring that, I was ready to take my new toys with me and go home. Then let’s see how they felt dealing with the more than four hundred Old Confederation warships that had retreated from the star system.
Chapter 5: Isaak Plots and Schemes
First Isaak crumpled the flimsy polymer sheet in his hand, and then he tore it to shreds.
“He won. He actually won,” Isaak yelled with rage as he threw the flimsy into the trash receptacle beside his desk with a thump. “Worse, he's squatting on the largest collection of hulls since 4th Easy Haven as I sit here twiddling my thumbs!”
Jason Montagne was supposed to lose. He was supposed to die. He was supposed to die losing and do everyone the credit of getting on with their lives.
How was he supposed to negotiate a peace settlement now? Jason Montagne had just ruined all his effort to that end, and in the process had put himself in an unassailable position. As long as the young Montagne had those hulls…
Unfortunately, there was no way to get the New Confederation’s hands on them—meaning there was no way to get Isaak’s hands on them. It was a shame and a travesty that at this point in the course of things, even the Speaker for the Grand Assembly of the New Confederation itself didn’t dare take direct action against the Grand Admiral of the Grand Fleet of the Spineward Sectors.
If he, Isaak, dared not move against him then no lesser personage could be goaded into taking action against the Grand Admiral either.
In short, the Governor of Sector 25 and Speaker for the Grand Assembly of the Spineward Sectors was fit to be tied.
That’s when there was a chime at the door.
“I’m busy,” he barked.
The door chimed again.
“Not interested—whatever it is!” he shouted mashing down the intercom button and holding it.
“It’s me,” said his Policy Adviser, “you’re going to want to hear this.”
For a several seconds, Speaker Isaak considered strangling the top political wheeler and dealer among his direct subordinates before re-mastering his temper.
“Come in,” he said sullenly.
His balding and grey-haired counterpart, an associate from their time together in the early days of the Provisional Sector Assembly—or 'rump government,' as it had been known to some—walked unhurriedly into the room.
“This had better be good, because right now I’m considering assigning you to monitor sewage processing numbers for the next quarter.”
“My, how we have grown testy as our political star has waxed high,” smirked Policy.
“I have the form right here,” Isaak said, activating his computer, “and what good is all that power if I am completely constrained from doing one of the very few things I need in order to survive this office?”
“Send me to process reports at a sewage processor and you’ll never hear the most interesting news I have to tell you. I promise it will lift your spirits,” said Policy.
“I highly doubt that, but please do tell,” Isaak said, rolling his eyes.
Policy promptly pulled out a portable jammer and placed it on his desk after activating it.
“It’s like this. I was standing near Norman Watts,” started his grey-haired adviser.
“Who?” Isaak asked sharply.
“The daily speaker from Sector 22 who the computer selected to go out and roll over for the ‘Grand’ Admiral during his last visit. He’s an ineffective idiot, no one of any import,” said his adviser with a sharp smile.
“Go on. If he’s not important then why—?” Isaak prompted.
“It’s not him but his fellow assemblyman from sector 22 I overheard speaking to that you’re going to want to meet,” advised Policy with an intent expression, “they were talking about warships. Whole fleets of them…back home.”
Isaak sucked in a breath.
Twenty minutes later, an Assemblyman from Sector 22 the Speaker had never seen nor heard of before stepped into the room.
“Your man of affairs indicated the Esteemed Speaker of the Assembly wished to engage in discourse with me?” asked a man in robes and a head wrap that must have been traditional garb back on his home world.
“Discourse…yes, I suppose I do,” Isaak said, smoothly moving past the odd word choice without missing a beat. He assessed the man in front of him through narrowed eyes before finally feeling like he’d got a bead on him.
A professional diplomat or low level politician of some kind thrust into power as so many of his ilk generally were, the assemblyman appeared reserved yet interested and slightly impressed at being granted an audience with the top politician in the Spineward Region.
“Speaker?” the average-sized, brown-skinned Assemblyman from Sector 22 asked. Deciding the man was just a little too average to be the bland politician he portrayed himself to be, the Speaker silently pegged him as a mid-to-high level fixer back on his home planet.
Feeling like he had a basic measure of the man, Isaak nodded decisively.
“Let me be blunt. Right now I’m interested in a mutually beneficial arrangement between my Sector and your world, Grand Assemblyman,” said Isaak.
The other man looked at him with consternation. “I’m afraid I’m already a member of my Sector’s main faction and I cannot pledge to join or support your bloc if that’s what this is about, Speaker,” the Grand Assemblyman said with regret.
“While I’m always stumping for votes, that’s not the issue today,” Isaak smiled, still wanting a better feel for the man before proceeding.
“I have a number of legislative initiatives that my government would be more than willing to work with you on—” the other man started.
“Do you know what the biggest threat to the Spineward Sectors is, Grand Assemblyman?” asked Isaak. The other man’s eyes narrowed. “The Empire and Grand Admiral Montagne,” Isaak said cuttingly.
The other man opened his mouth and then closed it, looking down. When he looked back up at the Speaker, it was almost as if Isaak was looking at a completely different man.
“What do you need, Mr. Speaker?” the other Politician asked, looking at him directly with the barest hint of a smile.
“The Empire I can deal with one way or the other, but Montagne is insane. He’s a rabid idealist who would rather go down fighting than reach a reasonable accommodation. If things continue like they have he’ll die and we’ll all be strung up by the neck,” said Isaak.
“All of us or just you, Mister Speaker?” asked the other man.
“Considering he’s taken to using biological weapons of mass destruction, Bugs, I think it’s safe to say I won’t go alone” Isaak said, pulling out a new flimsy and tossing it onto the table, “go head. Take a look. The latest reports from the Black Purgatory.” The man began to peruse the document in silence. “We could all be implicated,” Isaak added as the other man continued to read.
The Sector 22 Representative’s lips made a thin line after he finished reading and looked up. “Why not simply dismiss the man, assign him to another part of the Sector, or promote someone over him? Grand Admiral Manning appears to have the loyalty of a sizable contingent inside our Grand Fleet,” observed the Grand Assemblyman, “it sounds as if the battle was won. Would it not be possible to simply arrest Grand Admiral Montagne?”
“Forgetting the fact we sent him out to win against impossible odds and he actually pulled it off? The Grand Assembly of the Spine would never go for it,” snorted Isaak, “there’s also the little fact he’s constantly surrounded by loyalists, and his own Patrol Fleet would rebel if other units in the Grand Fleet tried to move against him. Then, of course, there is my own history with the man. He trusts me…not at all,” said Isaak.
“It seems you have yourself a problem,” advised the Assemblyman.
“We have a problem,” Isaak insisted, “right now the Empire’s on the run in the Spine, but fortunes change as quickly as this,” he snapped his fingers, “and they will make no distinctions if they put us in front of a tribunal and we failed to immediately disavow the man.”
“I’m not hearing any good solutions here,” the 22nd Sector Assemblyman said after a moment, “since technically he’s an allied officer and not in any way a part of this government, we could always argue we had no power over him.”
“Do you honestly expect the Empire to accept that?” asked Isaak.
“No. But how sure are we that our defeat is inevitable?” said the Assemblyman.
Isaak bestowed a withering look.
“If the Empire wasn’t engaged in another war on the other side of the galaxy, we’d already be singing the Imperial anthem. But wars end and, with the Old Confederation looking the other way, all they have to do is send fleet after fleet. Even if we had five years to prepare and a fully functional government coordinating the effort, we couldn’t stop them,” said Isaak.
“So a peaceful settlement of some sort is a must,” said the other man.
“Which brings us back to Montagne,” said Isaak.
“Send him home with an official protest and disavow him as quickly and as thoroughly as possible,” said the Grand Assemblyman.
“In the middle of a campaign? You read the same report I did,” Isaak said, closing shut the trap he’d been laying.
“We may have won the battle but sizable chunks of the Old Confederation fleet escaped,” agreed the Assemblyman, who took a deep breath. “Dismiss him from the Fleet and order him back to Tracto immediately.”
“The Grand Assembly would never go for it unless…” Isaak trailed off suggestively.
“Would the calculation change if you knew my people had been gathering a sizable relief fleet?” asked the Grand Assemblyman.
Isaak silently scoffed. His sources indicated his world had assembled a sizable fleet for the defense of their Sector and they originally intended to only send a small portion of it to reinforce the Grand Fleet of the Spine.
“You have enough ships to replace the Tyrant and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet?” Isaak asked eagerly.
“Why you insist upon using that derogatory name, both here and in the media, to denigrate the Grand Admiral is one of the things I find hardest to understand about you people,” the Grand Assemblyman said crossly.
Isaak immediately backed off. “I may not be the most impartial when it comes to the Montagnes, but look it up. His people have a history of leaving nothing but carnage and destruction in their wake,” he said.
There was a pregnant silence.
“So,” Isaak put out there, “just how many warships are you able to commit to replacing Jason Montagne and saving all of our necks?”
The Grand Assemblyman rubbed his chin.
“My home world is a leading member of a bloc of...concerned star systems. and half of that fleet was intended for our Sector Guard,” said the other man.
“This is no time get stingy,” advised Isaak.
The Grand Assemblyman nodded sharply.
“Alright, I’ll advise my world to send that fleet on my authority. The first contingent of our ships should arrive at Black Purgatory within two weeks,” he said.
“That fast!” Isaak’s eyes widened with surprise and growing alarm. Then he leaned forward, “How many?”
The Assemblyman smiled.
“If we can commit to one hundred warships, with fifteen of this initial number Battleships, that is more than enough to replace the battle damaged survivors of the MSP with fresh warships from Sector 22. A month after that, if they agree with my recommendation, we could see as many as another fifty warships joining the Grand Fleet in this Sector,” said the Assemblyman.
Isaak’s brows went up. That would be a godsend on so many levels. It was good. Really good. But was it too good to be true?
“But you have to understand something,” warned the Assemblyman, “these ships would be from a divided command. My world is merely the first among equals. The others listen to us, generally speaking, but each contingent would have its own chain of command and home world to answer to and I don’t have the authority for a long term commitment. That would have to be ratified back home.”
Isaak relaxed. “It’s agreed then. You’ll send your ships and I’ll replace the Tyrant as soon as they arrive,” he said.
“Replace him immediately,” the Assemblyman said sharply, “if what you said is true there’s no room for hesitation here. The Empire gets so much as a whiff that we tolerated the use of Bugs in space warfare you and I are dead. Admiral Manning will just have to muddle through until Sector 22 reinforcements arrive. After all, your reports did say they broke the back of the Confederation Fleet and sent them running like dogs,” he continued.
Isaak looked at the other man uneasily but he couldn’t very well back out and say things really weren’t as dire as he’d originally proposed. This was a risk.
“Alright,” he said with a hard look, “but I’m counting on you. Don’t mess this up.”
The Grand Assemblyman shook his head.
“What? You disagree,” Isaak demanded.
“Not so fast. If my people are going to stick our necks out for the New Government, we want a seat at the table. For starters there are certain legislative initiatives that have been held up in committee by members of your caucus,” the other man said with a smile.
“We can start with that legislation,” Isaak said, easing back in his chair, “you’ll get your seat as soon as your ships arrive.”
“This is a significant commitment of time, resources and warships. I want an immediate seat on the War and Steering Committees,” said the other man.
Isaak stiffened. “Armed Forces is fine, but the Steering Committee is out of the question,” he said.
“How about a non-voting seat for now, to be upgraded to a full member once our fleet is integrated into the Grand Fleet?” said the Assemblyman.
“Under Grand Admiral Manning’s command,” Isaak said pointedly.
The two men shook hands.
“I never did catch your name,” said Isaak.
“My people call me Raipur Rajputan. Monsignor Raipur Rajputan,” the Grand Assemblyman said with a smile.
This was a risk—and a big one at that—but it might also be the one last chance he had to eliminate Jason Montagne. Confederation politics was already swinging the other way and the MDL and Border Alliance Factions were growing entirely too chummy of late. This victory at Black Purgatory was only going to embolden them.
He had to move before he lost his own head, politically and possibly even literally. If Montagne managed to leverage this stunning victory into public and political capital, Isaak could kiss his speakership goodbye.
No, this was it. The only solution. Jason Montagne had to go, now, and Sector 22 would fill the gap. Better a cross-Sector alliance with 22 than a position as minority leader and eventual prosecution when they found out just how badly he’d abused his office.
Isaak was committed—there was no other path but forward.
Chapter 6: Balancing the Scales
Once again I was sitting around a table discussing the disposition of forces both active and captured within the star system. Only this time a few ‘concerned’ officers had shown up after they saw how I was segregating the captured ships into separate groups of ships with our shuttles and tugs.
Which was why the meeting was switched from my new ready room on the Lucky Clover 2.0 to the much larger conference room; which unsurprisingly, given who built her, looked exactly like the old conference room of the original Lucky Clover.
“Admirals Van Obenheim and Dark Matter, what a pleasant surprise. It’s so nice of you to join us for the morning report,” I said as the two officers were escorted into the conference room. I waited until they were seated before speaking. “So what can I do for Freya’s and Hart’s Worlds?” I asked with a bright smile.
“You can’t be that dense; you know why we’re here,” scoffed Gretta Van Obenheim.
Dark Matter just looked on as his fellow Admiral spoke.
“I’m afraid you have me completely stumped,” I said with a winning smile.
“You can stop with the charm offensive. I’m not some young girl to be charmed by a pretty face and a few smoothly spoken words,” scoffed Admiral Van Obenheim.
“You wouldn’t last long if you were,” Akantha said challengingly.
Gretta Van Obenheim looked at my wife.
“You don’t need to worry. I’m an old maid and he’s too young for me. Besides, I prefer my men with a fairer complexion; brown has never really done it for my people,” she said.
“He has an unconventional beauty,” my wife said contemplatively, as if just thinking about it for the first time, “but there’s just something about him that’s compelling,” then she laughed, “but then, ours was a marriage of state. I actually admire your people for being so rich and peaceful as to be able to be so strict and selective in your mates.”
Gretta Van Obenheim’s brows shot up. “I’ve never heard Freya’s World described in quite that way before,” she said diplomatically.
“I also hear yours is a planet of female warriors. I myself have always wanted to be a warrior,” Akantha sighed so wistfully I was unable to suppress a full blown outright scoff.
She’d always wanted to be a warrior? Then what did she call charging out on the hull to go hand to hand with boarding Bugs, if not abandoning her children and family to go outside the hull and be a warrior? I had no sympathy for such ‘wistful’ expressions. No one was holding her back from anything.
Much as the rest of us might try.
“What?” Akantha asked, her voice cooling as she looked at me, no doubt spotting something of what I was feeling.
Inwardly I rolled my eyes. “Let’s get back to the business at hand please,” I said, gesturing toward the screen where, with a quick swipe of my slate, the daily report appeared.
“Now, as I was saying, we’ve distributed the surviving Old Confederation doctors throughout the fleet to help deal with the sick and wounded, and thankfully we seem to be getting a handle on that particular situation. Next up is—” I said.
Rear Admiral Gretta Van Obenheim looked about ready to burst when Dark Matter tapped the table.
She leaned back looking at him.
I focused on the black as night Admiral as well and lifted a brow.
“Let’s not play any more games,” said Dark Matter.
“Then by all means, let’s proceed with brutal honesty—and, above all, fairness,” I said crossing my arms.
The corner of the Admiral’s mouth curved up faintly. “What are your intentions regarding the captured hulls, Grand Admiral?” he finally asked.
“I intend to transfer them to a properly designated fleet facility. Why do you ask?” I replied levelly.
“There are over three hundred and fifty damaged, destroyed and captured hulls out there. People are concerned,” said Dark Matter.
“Hart’s World will receive its fair share of the spoils, never fear,” I demurred.
Admiral Dark Matter sighed while Gretta Van Obenheim’s features darkened.
“You can play word games all you like. The fact of the matter is that your forces are outnumbered. No one trusts the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet to keep its hands off the lion’s share of the prizes. If it comes to a head…” she trailed off.
My face turned hard. “If it comes to blows, I think this ship alone is more than capable of standing off the rest of the fleet all by itself—and I thought we’d agreed to dispense with the games in exchange for fairness?” I shot back. “Can there be anything more fair than following the terms of the agreement which brought the MSP into First Fleet and the New Confederation fold? Don’t worry, Freya’s World won’t be left out in the cold when it comes time to divvy up the spoils.”
“Fairness!” scoffed Van Obenheim.
Dark Matter leaned forward. “The Lucky Clover is a fine ship, but even she is not invincible. We are not your enemy, Admiral Montagne,” said the other Admiral, “please remember that. Nor are we greedy for our own personal or even our world’s interests. We’ve thrown our support behind the New Confederation just like you.”
“I was brought on board only after receiving specific, written assurances, and I intend to see that those agreements are followed to the letter,” I said flatly. “Any appeal for extra considerations above and beyond that agreement is going to have to come directly from the Spineward Sectors Confederation itself.”
“Even if it means fracturing this fleet while there are still more than 400 Old Confederation warships loose in this Sector?!” Rear Admiral Van Obenhiem demanded.
“This is not the middle of a battle we could not afford to lose. So while I was willing to overlook their actions in the name of unity and victory, if the mutineers inside this fleet feel that they would be better served trying to take what is legally mine then I am more than prepared to destroy them right here and right now!” I roared.
Gretta Van Obenheim was startled, leaning back in her chair.
“Grand Admiral!” Dark Matter’s voice cracked like a whip. “Control yourself, Sir!”
I turned and glared him down. “I am the Grand Admiral of the Confederation Fleet. I have been given specific written assurances, and by Murphy we will have what is ours,” I snapped, standing up and slapping the table.
“No one is trying to stop you or take anything away from you, Montagne,” Rear Admiral Gretta Van Obenheim said, glaring daggers.
I sneered back unrepentantly. “Omicron, Elysium, Easy Haven, Black Perdition...do any of these battles ring a bell? I’ve learned not to expect 'thanks' for putting my life on the line for the people of the Spineward Sectors. But by the wretched wrench of the Demon Murphy, what my fleet has paid in blood will not be stolen from it by greedy government officials or their stooges in uniform,” I said with ringing finality.
“We’re stooges now, are we?” Van Obenheim demanded, standing and knocking her chair over. “If that’s how you view us after all that we’ve been through then I think we’re done,” she declared before storming out of the room.
There was dead silence after she left.
“Well, that could have gone better,” said Commodore Laurent his voice breaking the looming silence.
Admiral Dark Matter nodded and then got to his feet. “That was unnecessary,” he said meeting and holding my gaze.
“Was it? Was it really?” I sniffed.
“Right now you need allies more than ever. We are your allies…or we were before you completely alienated Admiral Van Obenheim. I’ll try to talk with her,” Dark Matter said wearily.
“The Rear Admiral’s actions on the battlefield have been impeccable,” I allowed, “however, her actions off it have been something else. Not that I entirely begrudge the woman the necessity of her home world’s political realities. I must simply account for them. As I have.”
“It must be lonely up there on your self-imposed pedestal,” said Admiral Dark Matter.
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been up there long enough to let things settle in,” I said calmly.
“I can see we’re not getting anywhere today. I just want you to remember that when things started to go wrong we came here to warn you first, and I, at least, will still be there when you need me,” he sighed and then straightened to attention before snapping off a salute. “If that is all, I will take my leave.”
“The next time the Spine’s being invaded and you don’t have the forces to do it, or the Grand Assembly proves to be just as ineffective as its been in the past, give me a call. Until then remember: you’re the ones who wanted a meeting, not me,” I retorted.
“If that’s all?” he asked stiffly.
“Dismissed,” I said, motioning toward the door.
Dark Matter turned on his heel and exited the room.
“That was unfortunate,” said Commodore Druid.
I gave him a withering look. “Rats from a sinking ship. Like I said, they can take orders during a battle but afterward all they do is look out for their worlds or themselves. We can use that but never forget it,” I said viciously. I was done playing nice just for the sake of playing nice. If the weasels in government who knew better or uninformed Joe and Jane Public wanted to castigate me, that was one thing, but Dark Matter and Van Obenheim had been right there with us. They knew the score and I wasn’t about to take any grief from them.
“We don’t need to alienate our allies over simple words,” warned Commodore Laurent.
“I am not about to be soft pedaled out of what is rightfully ours, seeing as that is the only potential benefit we’re going to see from this war,” I said flatly.
“I wasn’t suggesting that,” Laurent objected, “I was just saying there’s no need to drive officers like Dark Matter and Van Obenheim away.”
“Either I’m the Grand Admiral of this Fleet or I’m not. Either the promises of the Grand Assembly mean something or they’re worthless. I’m done soft playing this for the good of the Spine. This fleet has bent over backwards to accommodate the Assembly and our fellow officers. It's time they did some accommodating of us,” I said, and then turned to my wife who’d been sitting there in mostly silent support during the whole meeting. “What do you think?” I asked Akantha.
“I think you’ve done everything you could, and that together we’ve given far more to these people than they’ve given to us. You fight for them, but not only will they not give you the respect you deserve as a powerful warlord, they won’t even seat the Tracto-an Delegation as full members in their Assembly with the right to vote. What is that if not a calculated insult intended to deprive us of the ability to sit there as equals and defend ourselves? In my mind, we’ve bent over backwards. If you’ve finally decided your duty to these people is fulfilled ,I know the people of Tracto could use more of your time and attention,” she said.
I nodded slowly. “I’m not yet ready to abandon the Spine. But something has to change, and it is not going to be me simply handing over what little leverage we still have,” I said calmly.
Then my slate beeped.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Sorry to bother you, Admiral Montagne, but Grand Admiral Manning is on his way over to the flagship. His shuttle will be docking in two minutes unless you order us to deny him entry,” reported Lisa Steiner.
“It never rains but it pours. Why not deal with the Grand Admiral as well today?” I sighed.
“Admiral Montagne, thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” said Manning as soon as he stepped into the room.
“Grand Admiral, the pleasure is mine,” I said.
On one side of the table that dominated the room was myself, Akantha, Steiner and the Commodores Laurent and Druid.
The other side of the table was empty.
Manning raised a hand. “Just plain 'Admiral' please, Montage. Grand Admiral sounds so…pretentious. Especially considering how we’re both now technically ‘Grand’ Admirals and you’re my superior. To be honest, I wouldn’t be offended even if you continued to refer to me as High Captain. It is a rank I have had the most time to grow accustomed to, after all,” he said as a trio of officers filed into the room behind him.
I motioned to the table indicating for him and his men to sit. “State your intentions,” I said.
“I can see we won’t be beating around the bush today,” Manning said wryly.
“You’re here on your own accord, you wanted this meeting not me. Never let it be said I’m a commander who’s not open to hearing the advice or concerns of his subordinates,” I replied.
“And now starts the double speak,” said Manning.
My temper flared. “Get to the point, Grand Admiral,” I said, my voice thinning.
“You act shorter-tempered than a business owner during tax season,” snorted Manning.
“If all you came here to do was throw around a few barbs then we can consider this matter closed,” I said, standing up smoothly.
“You know the reason I’m here, Montagne,” said Grand Admiral Manning, “the ships.”
“The ships,” I said, nodding as I sat back down, “you’re not the first Admiral I’ve spoken with regarding the captured hulls.”
“Oh?” Manning cocked his head. “Who got here before me?”
“Dark Matter and Van Obenheim felt the need to bend my ear earlier this morning,” I replied.
“Not surprising,” Manning said.
I gave him a piercing look.
“No need to look at me like that. The way you speak about them so nonchalantly, as if they were a handful of ships instead of four hundred banged up and battered warships—enough to shift the balance of power throughout the entire Confederation—would give anyone cause for alarm,” said Manning.
“Less than two hundred of them are salvageable as anything more than spare part and, unless I recall incorrectly, you’ve already taken custody of seventy four of the easily repairable ones,” I retorted.
“Leaving you with a hundred and twenty of the best hulls and, I’ll note, of the thirty five Battleships that might be salvageable you’ve taken 23 of them. That’s a two-to-one ratio in your favor,” said Manning.
“Blame the Assembly for giving me such a sweet deal,” I said with a wintery smile. I wasn’t about to bend on this even if he held a knife to my throat…well, okay, maybe if he held a knife to my throat. Where there’s life, there’s hope, and I couldn’t help anyone if I was dead and dying over a handful of warships while there were still more than four hundred Confederation warships out there.
“The Grand Assembly requires a prize court be arraigned before any hulls are dispensed to the interested parties,” Admiral Manning pointed out.
“Yes. At a ten percent ratio to the government and a 90% ratio to the individual ships or affiliated naval defense force that captures them. Which is why, in the fullness of time, I expect to see several of the warships currently with you to be returned to me in Tracto,” I said with a shark-like smile.
The Grand Admiral stiffened. “The way I see it, your forces made up less than half of the fleet and yet you’re obviously planning to take the lion’s share of the hulls with you when you go,” Manning growled.
“Putting aside the questionable, some would say 'mutinous' actions of the ship commanders now under your command—actions which would invalidate their claims during the battle for Black Purgatory—half my ships were damaged or destroyed in this last battle. We’ve done our share. On top of that, the MSP provided half the Battleships and the only Super Battleship in the fleet. In weight of metal alone, we pulled more than our fair share,” I said.
“An interesting question to put before the prize court. Whether it is number of hulls or the size of the ships that count when apportioning group kills,” said Manning.
I gave him back a civilized smile.
“In the interest of cooperation, I’m willing to apportion the destroyed warships according to hulls contributed if that is the prize court’s decided wisdom,” I said.
“How agreeable of you. I’m surprised,” said Manning.
“Instead, we will press our claims on those ships that were solely defeated by MSP ships and space-based weaponry, or who surrendered directly to myself as Admiral of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet,” I said.
“I see,” Manning said with a grunt. For a moment he seemed to swell up and then he sighed, “Well I can’t say as I’m surprised. You’re going to catch flak over this, you realize?”
“There will always be those who are against progress,” I dismissed.
“And there’s the Tyrant this Sector has come to know and expect,” said Manning.
I gave the number two fleet Admiral a hard look. “I’ve allowed you a lot of leeway because you’re the second most senior member of the new Confederation fleet. But don’t think for a moment my patience is unlimited,” I leaned forward, “this is not the middle of a space battle with the fate of both our worlds hanging in the balance. You’re on the deck of my flagship—the Super Battleship Lucky Clover.”
“You’re not going to do anything to me,” Manning dismissed, “why risk a schism that would tear this fleet apart, especially when I’m prepared to stand aside and allow you to leave with the ships you’ve already set aside for yourself?”
“That seems strangely reasonable of you,” I said, straightening my posture with a twitch of surprise.
Manning waved a hand. “If you arrest me I’ll just be back out again as soon as you turn me over to the judiciary. Nothing I’ve done is worthy of a terminal solution,” he replied.
“Which explains why you think you can get away with twitting me, but does nothing to inspire any confidence in you on my end,” I pointed out. “In my experience when the potential for raw power, like these captured hulls for instance, is waved in the air like a bloody hunk of meat just ripe for the taking no one cares about past deals, written or otherwise. Much less any far more reasonable solutions,” I said.
“Like you said, we’re still heavily outnumbered by the Glorious Fleet remnants that escaped Black Purgatory. Just as you do, I can see no reason to fall to infighting at a time like this, no matter what the Grand Assembly says,” he replied.
“The Grand Assembly…I can’t think that’s a particularly popular opinion to hold inside your current task force, Grand Admiral,” I mocked.
His face hardened. “You don’t know when to take the blasted olive branch even when it’s handed directly to you, do you Montagne?” Manning swore.
I eyed him skeptically. “Is that what this is?” I asked cynically. I still wasn’t sure what to make of this.
“It’s simple. This fleet may not see it. The Assembly may not see it. But the sad fact is we still need you,” Manning said harshly and then his demeanor lightened ever so slightly, “besides, after that stunt you pulled with the Bugs, you’re not long for your current office. Sooner or later your job is mine and you’ll be saluting me and not the other way around...or, more likely, you’ll be saluting both me and some other stooge like the Marshal or whatever Grand Admiral Speaker Isaak thrusts into office over my head.”
I scowled. “I can see you’re ready to start picking over my corpse while I’m still alive, Grand Admiral,” I said, twisting his rank in my mouth like something disgusting, “although I honestly wonder just how long you’ll enjoy the office or how well you’d have done if it had been you charged with winning this battle.”
“Probably not nearly as well, which is why it’s fortunate you were in charge and not me,” he smiled sardonically, “and you can believe as much or as little of that as you desire; it’s no skin off my nose. But it’s also part of the reason why I’m not interested in queering the deal before we’re done dealing with the Glorious Fleet,” Manning had the grace to admit. “We won thanks to your Bugs and Elder jump tech, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Would I have found another way to win had I been in command? It’s entirely possible, but I wasn’t—you were, and you drove them off at four to one odds. None of that negates our need for your ships to finish sweeping up. As for my willingness to take over after you’re relieved of command or shifted sideways? Don’t hate me for taking advantage of a situation in order to ensure competent leadership is there for the transition. If you didn’t want something like this to happen you shouldn’t have brought biological weapons like the Bugs to the battle. Don’t hate me because you’ve practically thrust yourself onto the alter like some old time pagan sacrifice,” Manning said pitilessly.
“It’s good we both know where we stand then,” I said with a patently false smile. I thrust a finger down on the table with resounding force. “But make no mistake. My bottom line begins and ends with the safety of my people and those ships. All of my ships, including the captures we haven’t sent over to you. You say you don’t want to tear First Fleet apart? Then don’t make me do something we’ll both regret,” I said, laying out my position and then drawing a line in the sand.
Manning took a deep breath. “I probably shouldn’t, but seeing as how I couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to—and make no mistake, I do want to—you have my word. Take your people. Take your hulls. Just make sure not to leave anything behind because if and when you go, I make no promises after you leave,” he said pitilessly.
“We have an accord,” I said.
“As far as I’m concerned politics is politics, sometimes you’re up and sometimes you’re down. In the end I’m an officer, not a politician, at least not any more than I have to be as part of the Admiralty,” said Manning.
I stroked my chin. “If there’s nothing else, my people will see you out,” I said gesturing to the door.
“I’ll take my leave,” said Manning.
Chapter 7: The Grand Dunce
Not four days after the epic battle for control of Black Purgatory a courier ship point transferred into the star system and immediately started its message on every communications channel known to the Spineward Sectors.
“Someone’s definitely trying to make sure we hear what they have to say,” said the com-tech manning the console on the flag bridge of the Lucky Clover.
“Don’t be a dolt. It's squawking an Assembly encryption protocol. It’s just more likely they want to make sure we can’t later claim we didn’t receive their transmission,” said Lisa Steiner.
“How did they manage to get a message out here this fast? That’s what I want to know,” I said as the blast doors opened behind me.
“Was there enough time for them to receive a report telling them how the battle went or even where we are?” asked Spalding as stepped into the room.
I turned around with surprise.
“Nice of you to join us. I thought you were busy down in Engineering,” I said.
“A little birdie told me there might be something interesting happening on the bridge,” the old Engineer slyly smiled.
I glowered at him.
“Now don’t go giving old Spalding the stink eye,” said the aged engineer, “a man gets to be my age and he’s just not as interested in waitin' around to hear about what happened later.”
“You’re more than welcome up here with us anytime, Spalding,” Akantha said happily.
I closed my mouth on a pointed remark and instead wisely nodded in agreement.
Unable to help herself, my Chief of Staff went over to the Communications department to help the com-tech manning the station to receive and decode the message or messages.
“I hope they included an e-mail run for the fleet along with whatever else is in there,” I heard a sensor operator comment to another technician.
Several minutes passed while the files were still in transit to the point I deliberately took out my data slate and started working on paperwork to distract myself.
Spalding cleared his throat and I looked over at him curiously.
“I’d still like to know how they reached us out here. As far as I know we’re off the main transit paths and well out of range of any ComStat buoys, at least any that I know about,” the old engineer said eyeing me questioningly.
“I don’t know any more than you,” I replied.
“You didn’t set up some kind of courier link to the nearest FTL communication satellite?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” I said, slowly wondering if someone else, like the somewhat concerned Grand Admiral Manning who had just come over recently for a little heart to heart. “No,” I repeated, “I didn’t set up a courier relay and if anyone else did they didn’t inform me.”
“A mystery then,” Spalding said, nodding seriously.
Yes, I silently agreed and one I wasn’t particularly happy to be hearing about this late in the game.
“Admiral?” my Chief of Staff asked, breaking into the conversation.
My head shot around. “What have you got, Lisa?” I asked, unable to entirely contain my interest. This was the moment of truth. Had the Assembly sent out a routine message or a concern about something other than the battle for Black Purgatory, or had they set up some kind of super fast communications route I was still in the dark about?
“It looks like a series of computer updates, a general email bag and orders,” she said.
I was nodding along until they reached that last bit and I froze. “What have we got?” I asked, working to keep my voice mild.
“There’s a lot of them so it’s hard to sift through. It looks like every Captain, First Officer, Admiral and Commodore in the fleet has received a message that can only be opened with their own personal encryption,” reported Lieutenant Commander Steiner.
“That doesn’t sound good,” observed Spalding.
“It’s too soon to tell,” I said.
The old engineer sighed and settled back into barely audible mutterings.
I turned back to Lisa.
“I assume if there’s one for every officer in the fleet I have one as well?” I said.
“It’s almost done decrypting,” she said. I sat there waiting tapping my fingers to pass the time. “Just enter your biometrics and password,” she said sending me a link.
I placed my hand on the screen of my slate.
“My voice is my password, verify me,” I stated, holding my hand firmly on top of the slate.
The stern image of Speaker Isaak—the current Speaker for the Grand Assembly of the Spine—appeared on the screen flanked by the armed services committee chairman and several other figures. I presumed they were faction leaders, committee heads, and other important ranking members of the Grand Assembly.
“Jason Montagne Vekna, because of the use of biological weapons in combat and for losing the majority of your fleet in battle, the armed services committee hereby suspends your Confederation commission placing you on reserve status, at half pay, pending a full review and the filing of formal charges,” said the former Governor with a frown. “I assure you it gives me no pleasure to do this while the broken remains of an Imperial fleet roam the Sector, but an emergency session of the Grand Assembly has made the feelings of the people clear. This Assembly has never endorsed the use of bio-tech weapons. Please turn over command of First Fleet to your second in command and withdraw to your base in Gambit until such a time as your testimony is needed. This is Isaak Newton, Speaker for the People. Long live the Confederation,” said the former Governor.
After the Speaker’s image winked out, a wall of text appeared including a written transcript of the video file I’d just watched.
As a post script buried at the end of the file was a request for a forwarding address for all follow-up official mail.
Apparently someone had just realized they didn’t know the location of Gambit Star system, and thus wouldn’t be able to ensure receipt of any future orders to appear before a military tribunal.
Like that was going to happen. Manning and his people could enjoy themselves with the wrecked remains of the various SDF’s that had made up First Fleet. If this was their reward for a job well done, I was gone and the MSP—with a large number of the damaged hulls—was going with me.
“I have a printed transcript of our orders, Sir. It auto loaded into our hard copy printer,” my Chief of Staff said timidly before reluctantly handing me the document after seeing the look on my face.
“Thank you, Lisa,” I said taking the orders from her.
My screen flashed red several times as I crumpled the paper in my hand and tossed it into a waste receptacle. I opened a flashing fleet profile on my slate to find that all of my Confederation accesses and permissions had just been restricted.
It appeared that after everything I’d done for them, the Assembly had just literally cut off its nose to spite its face. I’d sacrificed everything for them and this was the reward I got.
Akantha reached down to pick up the printout but I was past worrying about those orders. I had no idea how she would take it—which, knowing her, wasn’t going to be very well at all.
Well fine. If they want to restrict me then let them feel the pain. I was done with damage control or carrying water for the Assembly.
Akantha smoothed out the paper and bent her head to read it while I sat in a silence.
An icy anger permeated me.
When Akantha looked up at me I could see a matching expression to my own on her face.
“I wonder what the Assembly will think when they hear Jason Montagne cut off the sale of any further trillium to the Confederation of the Spine,” I said after a round of serious contemplation.
“I concur, Jason. For too long the leaders among the stars have discounted you and, by natural extension, my people of Messene and Tracto. Through you, our warriors and from our carefully developed and husbanded alliances, we provided half the military power this new government can call upon and still they treat us as second class citizens. We have a voice in council but no vote,” she said flatly.
“My mother is not seated in the Assembly because we will not just let them take our trillium. They act as if what is ours was theirs by natural right!” she growled clearly angered and offended. “To you they give great offices and even greater promises, yet do they ever follow through with them? Even before the war is fully won they cast you aside like a worn out boot, casting all kinds of slurs and aspersions on your character because you had the sheer will and gall to win a battle by means at your disposal. Using sky demons may anger some…” her eyes sharpened, “but this was a battlefield, and what is more honorable than a stratagem that pits two enemies against each other to the defeat of both?”
Her agreeing with me was all I needed.
“Then let’s see how they do when the hyperspace fuel bunkers are closed,” I said finally, and then bared my teeth in a fighting smile.
“I think it is time we remind them that we are not the toothless workers they would treat us as,” said Akantha.
“Agreed,” I turned to Lisa Steiner who had been looking on with increasing concern as my wife and I spoke.
“Inform the Patrol Fleet and our Allies the Sundered, Droids and…Border Alliance warships that we have been ordered back to base. We’ll be taking our warships with us,” I told my Chief of Staff.
“Aye aye, Sir,” said Lisa Steiner.
“Are you sure I can’t talk you into staying, or at least detaching some of your forces to stay behind?” asked Grand Admiral Manning. “I could use a few more of those Border Alliance ships at least.”
“What the individual warships of the Border Alliance decide is up to them. The only thing I could be convinced of right now is that we should have a battle because you’re not prepared to let us leave,” I said with stony eyes.
“Blast it, Montagne! The Assembly’s out of its mind if they’re sending you away at a time like this. If they think I can defeat the four hundred survivors, even with the Glorious Fleet scattered to the four winds—which I can assure you they most certainly are not—then they are out of their ever loving minds!” Manning said, his implacable expression cracking.
“The Speaker of the Grand Assembly, speaking on behalf of the New Confederation, has asked me to leave and at this point in time I’m more than ready to go,” I said calmly. Once I point transferred out, the Glorious Fleet of Liberation and its surviving members were no longer my concern.
“The Speaker and his cronies in the Assembly are fools! There’s no way we can win without you. I personally implore you to stay,” urged Manning.
“And defy the legitimate, if still entirely un-elected, government?” I asked lifting a brow. “Somehow I don’t imagine that will end well for me. I’m sure my enemies in the Assembly would be more than happy to add yet another charge to my list of supposed violations, only in this case it wouldn’t be a supposed violation would it?”
“As the commander on scene, and acting head of Admiralty, I technically have the power to overrule the Grand Assembly, temporarily reactivate your commission, and retain both you and your command for the duration of combat operations. Which, with the Glorious Fleet in the area, could be extended indefinitely,” urged Grand Admiral Manning.
“Look, I see what you’re trying to do and I sympathize, I really do. But ultimately you’re just as powerless as I was. If they’re willing to fire one Grand Admiral for some arbitrary reason, they’ll be more than willing to fire another. There’s no need to risk your commission in the new fleet by going against the first order given to you by the Grand Assembly,” I replied.
Admiral Manning looked back at me impassively.
“Do you honestly think I care more about my position in the fleet than I do the worlds and citizens of this and every other Sector in the Spine? I thought you were better than this, Montagne,” said the Grand Admiral from Elysium.
“At this point I’m only an impediment to the security of the Spine. My fleet is damaged, I am a political liability, and there’s nothing more I can do than I’ve already done,” I said flatly.
“Yes there blasted well is more that you can do. You can accept a temporary reactivation of your orders. Jump to Gambit if it makes you feel better, but then accept my reactivation order and immediately jump right back. If you do I promise to do everything in my power to shield you from the assembly. The Mutual Defense League is not an impotent faction in the Assembly, even now,” Manning bulled forward.
“Get the Assembly to order me back and I’ll consider it,” I scoffed.
“You know I can’t do that. I don’t have the power,” he snapped.
“Then we’re done here.”
“You’re really ready to let those people die? You know just as well as I do that with the forces remaining to me I can’t defeat anything close to four hundred warships. Blast it, Montagne, I can’t even take on half that,” he fumed. “Is your ego so great that you can’t stomach the idea of working for a man who an hour before was your subordinate? You would really condemn your own people?”
“I didn’t condemn anyone! Don’t you dare try to lay the actions of the Grand Assembly on me,” I snarled. “Where was your support when it mattered? For that matter, how did the Grand Assembly even find out the battle was taking place, let alone receive a recording of the action, have an emergency meeting, and have a quick enough turnaround that they could fire me within four days of defeating the enemy—I can assure you that I didn’t send them the file!”
“That’s entirely beside the point,” Manning vigorously refuted.
“No, that’s exactly the point, and I don’t hear a denial in there anywhere,” I mocked. “You ask me to trust you? Then you should have trusted me instead of siding with politicians and even mutineers against your own, now former commanding officer, at every turn! So by all means,” I continued furiously, “send me the position of a Glorious Fleet unit and rendezvous coordinates and I’m more than willing to consider joint operations with you. But ask me to trust my people to the very man who helped engineer my own ouster and forced retirement? You have got to be out of your ever loving mind!”
“That’s not how things went down, Montagne,” Manning said red-faced.
“That’s not exactly a denial is it? Goodbye, Grand Admiral,” I sniffed.
“Everything I’ve done has been for the people of my Sector, for the people of the Spine. Don’t get up on your high horse with me, Montagne!” growled Admiral Manning. “Unlike you, with your high-handed tactics and outright violations of galactic law concerning, Droids, anti-matter and Bugs, just to name a few, everything I’ve done has been entirely ethical—and, more importantly, legal!”
“Maybe so or maybe not, but even if you think your actions are legal then you'd have to agree they certainly haven’t been above board. Judge me all you like but it’s your own underhandedness in our dealings that make it so I can’t just trust you with the lives of my people,” I replied with an edge in my voice. “You may hate me for getting the job done, or maybe it’s because you think I got my hands dirty doing it. You have that right and either way, I don’t care,” I riposted sharply, “but it's when I trust you and you betray that trust, or at least violated it in service of your own personal, professional and political advancement that I’m no longer able to ignore it. This is not the middle of a battle where you can leverage me for the betterment of your supporters. There is no clear and present danger I can run at with guns blazing which requires me to acquiesce to getting screwed over again in the name of the people.”
“You’ve completely mischaracterized my position here,” Manning shouted, pounding the table on the other end of my holo-screen.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not in your chain of command any longer. I’ve been suspended!” I shot back. “If you want to lay my unwillingness to stay and get screwed over at anyone’s feet, you should look at yourself first before casting any more aspersions upon my sense of patriotism and duty to the people of the Spine! Montagne out,” I snapped.
Reaching over and picking up a paperweight on my desk I threw it against the wall of the ready room.
“Sweet Crying Murphy, blast it all to spare parts,” I shouted, jumping out of my chair whereupon I then proceeded to pace furiously in front of my table, still filled with too much emotional energy to sit down.
No one wished more than I that I could trust Grand Admiral Manning. The truth was the Spineward Sectors would be best served by the continued joint actions of the MSP and all the other elements of First Fleet acting in tandem.
But the sad, sorry fact was that I couldn’t trust him. How did I know he wouldn’t wilt under the first stiff political wind and cave to pressure? Pressure that would put my crews right on the line of fire.
For all I knew one whisper in his ear, or orders from Elysium High Command, instructing him in the regrettable necessity to sacrifice the MSP for the good of his sector and my people would be sent to the forefront of any battle and hung out to dry. All because I was considered too personally powerful and since someone had to die fighting the enemy it might as well be my people who made that sacrifice, in service of weakening my power base and securing the ‘still’ un-elected government.
“No, I can’t risk my people under his command. He hasn’t earned that level of trust. It would be one thing if I knew beyond a doubt that our sacrifice was necessary and that someone, anyone of principle would pick up the torch after our passing,” I said, speaking to myself and the wall of the ready room, “but right now who can I trust to put aside their partisan differences and put the people of the Spine first and foremost in their minds?”
For a long time I paced back and forth, trying to think of who I could trust to safeguard the people better than I could. Everyone I could think of was either dead, like LeGodat, relatively untested, like the un-elected Assembly, or operating with variously failing grades like Isaak, Admiral Manning and even Kong Pao.
“No, I can’t risk the people of the Spine by putting my fleet at the mercy of a bunch of back stabbers like Isaak, Manning and the Grand Assembly,” I decided with resolution.
It was a sad and sorry fact, but there it was.
Flawed as I was, even as much as five years after taking actual command of the original Lucky Clover, there was still no one I could trust to completely turn my power and the power of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet over to.
It was time the MSP once again stood alone.
Fortunately for him, Grand Admiral Manning didn’t try to stop us from taking the bulk of the captured warships with us when we jumped out of the star system.
We needed to head home for some much needed time in the Gambit Yards.
Chapter 8: The Stalwart Solution
“Remind me how long have we been stuck in this wretched hole of scum and villainy?” rumbled Elder Storm as the aging sundered male stomped down the middle of the hallway, nephew at his side.
As they walked, by sheer dint of size and repressed power, the rest of this pirate black port’s inhabitants and visitors moved respectfully to the side.
Storm sneered as he silently amended that the only respect the sentient beings here felt was for raw power and danger.
“It’s been three weeks since we docked at this station,” said Po’ta.
“Don’t remind me,” ordered Elder Storm, “I can’t imagine how the Sundered Clans were able to stomach such corruption and moral degradation, given their ‘delicate’ sensibilities,” he finished with a derisive snort.
“For a male on a self-imposed, personal mission to reunite our fractured people you don’t seem very excited about it,” Po’ta said dryly.
“Uppity juvenile!” Storm sneered back, slapping his nephew in the thick muscles of his chest.
“I haven’t been a juvenile for the better part of a decade. First you demand I remind you of something and then you order me never to do it again; you seem pretty forgetful for a male who believes he’s still hale and hearty enough to prance around one of the most deadly black ports beyond the limits of known space,” scoffed Po’ta.
“Are you calling me senile?” Storm hooted with outrage turning to glare at his uppity nephew.
“I assure you I would never ‘say’ such a thing,” Po’ta said putting a hand over his chest, the part of his chest, in fact, which incidentally just so happened to be the location Storm had just smacked him in.
“Bah! Now I know the reason our cousins left us. It’s because of youngsters like you. They took one look at the future of our clans and decided they’d be better off on the other side of the galaxy,” Storm said scornfully.
“Is that how you remember it? That's funny. I wonder if anyone else’s memory of events is the same as yours,” snickered Po’ta, “and what’s up with the big overcoat you’re wearing today?”
“Keep it up and I’m going to send you back to your wives in pieces,” threatened Elder Storm, “and don’t be jealous and hate me because I found a perfectly good leather coat. One that’s even big enough for a male our size,” he finished proudly
“At least I have wives, unlike a certain lonely old reprobate. Too rigid and set in his ways to take responsibility for what he and his generation have done,” Po’ta shot back with a laugh, “even if he recently decided to dress up like a peacock.”
“Peacock! Take responsibility! What do you call what I did with your grandaunt?” Storm said, waving his hand wide and consequently almost knocking over a humanoid model Droid. “Sorry there. Sorry. I can kill you or let you go, dealer's choice,” Storm muttered, giving the Droid a glare and raising high the vibro-knife in his hand when the machine started to pull out a blaster pistol.
The Droid stopped, head twitching from side to side as it recalculated the situation before shoving the pistol back into its holster and hurrying away.
“That’s what I’m talking about. There’s no sense of moral authority or social responsibility here. Where are the challenge rings? The fighting pits? The declarations of umbrage and counter claims as two outraged males pretend to try and sort things out before proceeding to tear one another apart?” demanded Storm before glaring around the hall at the dozens of customers who glared at one another as they walked by, “the veneer of courtesy is gone and it's unnatural, that’s what it is.”
Po’ta choked with surprise and then looked at his Uncle with disbelief.
“Besides,” Storm said blithely changing subject, “like I was saying, I made an honest female out of her and gave her a number of children, all of which we raised properly before the moralistic windbags decided to tear our people apart at the seams! Who are the Imperials, that killing them the way they kill us is enough to destroy our society for?”
“I meant more that because the Elder’s Council voted for a war that’s left more females without husbands than at any point in generations, you should do your duty to all those bereft widows, take responsibility and marry a few,” said Po’ta.
Storm swelled with outrage. “You go too far!” he shouted, smacking his nephew in the back of the head and storming toward the right handed fork in the hall. “Have some respect and remember who I am.”
“A recently morose old Elder who can’t remember where he’s going or how long he’s been on this station?” asked Po’ta, pointing toward the left hand path—the opposite of where Storm was currently headed.
Without missing a beat, the older male pivoted in the other direction with nary a hint of embarrassment.
“I’m the Head of Clan and Family, and don’t you forget it. As for directions, why would I bother remembering that when I have a perfectly good assistant to handle such irritating little details?” he finished with a scoff. “The important thing isn’t which tunnel we need to take, it’s securing the coordinates to a space rift that will cut the journey in half. Why else would I allow your family to languish aboard that armed freighter of yours while we risk our necks on a daily basis trying to run it down?”
“So you’re the one allowing them to stay aboard now?” Po’ta rumbled in a deeper octave than usual.
“Don’t get your jockstrap in a bind,” Storm consoled with a complete lack of genuine concern as they passed through a section of hall populated on either side by two different groups of battered, banged up and for sale cleaning bots. At least that’s what the hand-written signs attached to their chassis' said anyway.
“Blast it, Uncle,” started Po’ta as a handful of Droids activated their cleaning functions and started scrubbing the deck.
“Get down!” roared Storm, shoving his nephew to the deck plating a split second before a blaster bolt passed through the space the younger Stalwart male’s head had been occupying.
The Elder screamed a battle cry, slamming a cleaning Droid four feet back and into a wall while simultaneously activating his vibro-knife with one flick of a finger and then slamming it point down into the head of a what looked like a square-built Droid trashcan.
Smoke and electrical sparks shot into the air, scorching the Elder’s hand and burning off a patch of hair.
Completely uncaring, the old male grabbed a street sweeper by its spindly arms and promptly proceeded to use its body to bash another two Droids along with the one in in his hands to scrap metal pieces.
Several energy rounds hit the Droid he was swinging around with wild abandon, but a blaster-pistol-wielding floor polisher in his blind spot put a shot right in his back with a victorious hoot.
“Gah!” Storm twisted around with a grimace, throwing his vibro-blade into the chest of the polisher causing an explosion of sparks and flame as it collapsed like a puppet without strings.
“Uncle!” cried Po’ta, who had produced a pair of plasma pistols from his utility belt and opened fire on the Droids only a pair of seconds after hitting the floor.
“Biological units: accept the distributed unity program and comply!” buzzed an almost graceful-looking Droid wielding a sonic scrubber.
“I’m okay. If you have a thick enough trench coat you can almost shrug off a blaster bolt,” Storm wheezed proudly, completely ignoring the patch of burnt flesh and smoke coming from his back.
“Comply!” whizzed one Droid.
“Embrace the perfect program and comply,” beeped another and then a chorus of hoots, whistles, beeps and buzzes sounded as the entire group of droids started chanting.
“Comply!”
“Comply!”
“Comply!” the machines chanted.
“Space gnats! It’s more of those perfect program heresy nut-drives,” Storm cursed, pulling out an oversized hand cannon.
He was about to fire when a white noise generator activated and, even though a Stalwart might try to speak, nothing could be heard other than a bit of buzz and static.
Then a wave of coordinated blaster fire erupted taking out a dozen Droids in a handful of seconds.
Storm’s head shot around and his eyes widened.
<Imperial!> he screamed soundlessly, and when Po’ta looked at him blankly he started beating his chest furiously and then dived to the side of the corridor rolling down and out of the way of a storm of blaster bolts.
Po’ta, following his uncle on instinct, rolled to follow.
Then a flurry of blaster bolts unloaded from the ceiling into the black clad Imperial action team as a high spec Droid sentinel dropped its chameleon like stealth field and opened fire on the Imperials.
Seeing a jammed up maintenance hatch, the Stalwart Elder glared fury at the Imperials and then charged the hatch.
Throwing his massive frame at the hatch, which was stuck fast with only about six inches of opening, Storm staggered as he took another blaster hit, this one to the shoulder.
<RA!> he silently roared as he took another hit to the arm only this time his vision turned red and he went into a frenzy. He had to open the door or not just would he die, but so would Po’ta—and with his nephew went any hope for the rest of the family.
Forcing his good arm and shoulder through the door, the aged Stalwart completely lost control—along with the majority of his consciousness.
When he came to, the door was bent open and he was dripping blood from an arm that was no longer working.
Not even caring that he’d lost his oversized hand cannon, a weapon specially designed for his grip that he’d carried with him for years, the old male used his good hand to keep a tight hold on the arm of his idiotic nephew.
They had to get back to the ship before the Imperials finished up with those droids. Storm and his extended family were still only half way there. It was one thing if they died but they had to reach their Sundered brethren and fulfill the prophesy first if the rest of their people were to be saved!
Gasping and bleeding, the two uplifts glared certain death at any of the amoral humans that barred their path.
Chapter 9: The Battle over Hart’s World
Vice Admiral Beecher slammed his hand down onto his conference room table.
“What do you mean someone else got a transmission out first?!” he screamed at his communications officer.
“The ComStat buoy has already sent half a dozen different reports back to the capitol system of the Confederation, Vice Admiral,” the communications officer said, wide-eyed and shaking where he stood.
“I’m surrounded by incompetents! Get out of here. Get! Get! Get!” he cried, pointing to the door.
The Vice Admiral stood there, chest heaving with exertion as he stared around the room wild-eyed.
“Sir, we still haven’t sent our own report back home yet,” reminded his brother-in-law and Chief of Staff from his plushly-appointed chair in Beecher’s office, where he was adroitly eating a peach after skinning it with his thumbnail.
“How can you eat peaches at a time like this?” demanded Beecher. “My career as a naval officer is on the line.”
“Military, business, politics,” his Brother-in-law shrugged, “it doesn’t matter which field you succeed in. A few failures along the way are to be expected.”
“Do you realize just how much money I had to pay for this commission? Not to mention the number of bribes and kickbacks I had to dole out to knock loose two dozen warships from the SDF?” Beecher snapped and then stomped back to his desk where he snatched up a peach of his own from the fruit bowl and immediately started eating. “This is a disaster. A completely unmitigated disaster,” he declared, spitting out the peach pit onto the top of his desk and then leaned back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling as he laced his fingers behind his head, “I don’t see how this is going to work.”
“I don’t understand why we ran in the first place. We still had them heavily outnumbered,” pointed out his Chief of Staff/brother-in-law.
“The point wasn’t that we couldn’t win. But that you and I might not be there to see victory. Worse, even if we did win, either Cornwallis or that Jessup character were going to snatch up all the credit,” he glared at his brother in law, “I didn’t come all the way out here just to give all the credit for the largest successful police action in the history of the Confederation over to someone else, Lewis!”
“So don’t give them all the credit,” shrugged his brother in law, reaching over and this time plucking a pear out of the increasingly empty fruit bowl.
“That would mean we would actually have to do something. I’m not so sure about that. Taking credit for Loader or Featherby’s actions or even upstaging the doddering Fleet Admiral Jessup is one thing, but actually launching a military campaign…it has risks involved,” Beecher said uneasily.
“I thought you said you’d hired a bona fide tactical genius to run your fleet for you. What happened to that?” Lewis asked curiously.
“Oh, she’s a veritable tac-witch when it comes to combat. There’s no doubt about it. However she hasn’t been speaking to me ever since I plied her with wine and tried to bring her back to my quarters for a bit of sporting around,” the Vice Admiral finally admitted.
“Ha!” laughed Lewis. “You screwed the pooch on that one.”
“No! That’s exactly it, no pooches, no nothing was screwed...at all,” he muttered sourly.
“I see what the problem is,” Lewis said wisely.
Beecher looked at him with lifted brow.
“You have to get on your knees and beg. That’s what I do whenever I have women problems,” his brother-in-law said wisely.
“Ye gods, I don’t want to hear about you and my sister. It makes me…ill,” he said sourly.
“Still, it's a solution,” said Lewis.
Beecher scratched the back of his head vigorously.
Only actual results would save his career and frankly it seemed like entirely too much work starting over. He’d already been through military school and the thought of going to a medical academy for yet another degree, just so he could run one of the family’s health care front companies, made him physically ill.
Which meant he needed to make his military career a success or prepare himself for the tedium of going back to university at the age of 55. On the one hand there was the fraternity and sorority scene—which was rather tempting, even he had to admit—followed by a steady career in the health care industry, which was a growing concern on any Confederation planet.
On the other hand, it just seemed so dull! He joined the military so he could snap out orders and watch as his ships smashed criminals and rebels.
Which meant he had to succeed. He had no choice and how better to do that than by…
A lightbulb flashed in his mind's eye.
...by heroically rescuing the captured ships and personnel lost at Black Purgatory!
It didn’t matter who reported back first if he was already a genuine bona fide hero!
Now the only question was where would he have to take his ships in order to rescue his people.
Where would the Confederation take all those ships and people? Well, if he were doing it he wouldn’t settle for some Podunk outer rim world but something with shipyards that could hold all those ships and a population big enough to have the facilities to hold the crews of all those ships.
He snapped his fingers.
“Where’s the nearest Core World?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” Lewis said with surprise and then his eyes narrowed, “but I can find out.”
When Lewis reported that the only place within reasonable jump range that could handle that many people and had the facilities to start repairing their ships was Hart’s World, Vice Admiral Beecher grinned.
Then his grin wilted.
Now that he had a plan, it meant that he had to go and eat some humble pie.
Geniuses, he silently sneered, they're so temperamental. He sighed before squaring his shoulders. Well there was no time like the present to go outside a woman’s quarters and beg.
Oh, how he detested begging!
Admiral Manning was leading his ships to the nearest world with the ability to take his glut of prisoners off his hands.
That Hart’s World also had the necessary yards to start repairing the ships of his fleet was just an added blessing. Since there was no way he could return the fleet to Elysium and give his home world the repair business, he didn’t really care which system received the repair contracts.
“How long until we reach Hart’s World?” he asked. “I seriously can’t wait to get rid of all these whiners. The amount of trouble Montagne must have put up with when he was in command,” he scowled fiercely, “I mean who in their right mind loses a battle and then demands their captor provide waiters and genuine silver tableware for their meals when they are a prisoner? I say: who does that?!” fumed Manning.
“Those ungrateful wretches,” Senior Captain Rogers said disinterestedly while tapping away at his slate, “and it looks like we’re still…thirty two hours out. Call it a day and a half…assuming we don’t encounter any jump engine trouble along the way.”
Grand Admiral felt a slight chill of unease slide through his body, but he nodded. “This trip is taking far too long,” he muttered.
“Was there a question in there somewhere?” Captain Rogers, Manning’s current Chief of Staff asked with clear amusement.
“What’s the latest word from the Government?” Manning asked, switching tacks instead.
“Regarding?” Roger’s brow smoothed, his expression blank as he asked the question.
“The current location of the Glorious Fleet,” Grand Admiral Manning said seriously.
“The Glorious Fleet of Liberation scattered to Hades and beyond. You know that,” Rogers said seriously.
“I know no such thing. What I do know is at least two large detachments, either of them large enough to defeat us given the right circumstances, left the field in good order,” Manning said unhappily. “Circumstances, I might add, that the Spineward Sectors Assembly made possible by kicking Montagne to the curb as soon as the first battle was won! What were they thinking?”
“It’s a good thing that you did not do what you might have done and questioned the actions of our glorious leaders in the assembly,” Rogers said, a very serious expression on his face as he looked at his commander.
“Glorious Leaders!” Manning scoffed.
“This is a time of turmoil and our faction has lost power in recent months. A comment like that, if it reached the wrong ears at the wrong time, would be enough to see you replaced as Grand Admiral and sent home in disgrace,” Senior Captain Rogers said bluntly.
“Then it’s fortunate I have you and the crew of my flagship, all loyal spacers of Elysium, to keep my indiscretions private,” Manning joked.
“You’re the only one who finds this situation humorous. One misstep and Isaak’s stooge will control the fleet, Sir,” warned Rogers.
“They wouldn’t dare,” Admiral Manning scoffed, “the only battle-tested fleet commanders they have at their beck and call at the moment are myself and Jason Montagne. And they just burnt that last bridge when they fired the little Admiral. No. They have no choice. Maybe if they’d waited until the Glorious Fleet was defeated…but they didn’t and thus they can’t do anything to me while Old Confederation forces still occupy Aegis and even more are wandering around who knows where in the Spine.”
“By your own example the politicians currently in charge of the Spineward Sectors don’t know up from down or good from bad, demonstrated by their firing a successful fleet commander before the campaign is over. One major battle and the little Admiral was given the boot. What’s to say another similar outbreak of stupidity won’t occur to you at their earliest convenience?” warned Rogers.
Manning looked over at him discommoded. “They wouldn’t dare,” he said sternly.
His Chief of Staff simply looked at him levelly. “Elysium is far away. The Spineward Assembly is close and both of our Sectors are in disarray. By the time word reached home and came back…” Rogers trailed off.
“Elysium cannot negotiate benefits from a position of weakness,” Manning sighed.
“Well there is one bright light in all of this,” Rogers finally said. Admiral Manning looked at him questioningly. “Trillium production is starting to recover back home, and I can’t imagine Tracto is going to be so overjoyed by their Little Admiral’s treatment that they’ll open the flood gates and start selling even more trillium,” said the Senior Captain.
“If anything they’ll increase the price. Which will help us back home,” said Admiral Manning, “I mean that’s if Jason Montagne is petty enough to hike the price while the Old Confederation is still running around in his home Sector.”
The two men shared a suddenly uneasy look.
“Only time will tell,” Manning said. He knew if he were as badly maligned in the media as Jason Montagne he wouldn’t be prepared to do anyone any favors.
“Point Transfer successful,” reported Beecher’s flag navigator.
“Did we arrive at the designated coordinates?” asked Flag Tactician Monica P. Comet-Buster.
There was a short pause as the Navigator verified their location.
“Yes, Lieutenant Commander Comet Buster,” the Navigator informed the female officer respectfully. At five foot three, Monica Comet Buster was an average height, average weight woman with short legs, rounded hips and a mess of wavy auburn hair that was at least four inches longer than regulation.
Not that anyone on the flag bridge cared overly much about military regulations. On Vice Admiral Beecher’s flagship, the Indigent Bruiser, regulations were considered to be more guidelines than anything else.
“Thank you. Please give me a ship count as soon as you have it,” instructed the Flag Tactician, pulling her hair back behind her head and tying it together with a scrunchie.
“Will do, Sir,” said the Navigator.
“A ship count?” Vice Admiral Beecher asked, finally unable to maintain his silence any longer. “Are you expecting even more of the traitors to have slipped away from the fleet after this jump?”
“No one wants to bet their lives on a loser, Vice Admiral,” Flag Tactician Monica P Comet Buster said, rolling her eyes,
It took the Vice Admiral a moment to realize what she was saying and then he flushed. “What in the yellow blazes are you implying, Fleet Tactician?” Beecher exclaimed with anger.
“I’m not implying anything. I’m outright saying this has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you. This fleet doesn’t know me from Eve,” mocked Monica Comet Buster.
“It’s one thing to air your personal grievances in private but I’m paying more than enough to expect a little bit of courtesy on the bridge of my own flagship,” Beecher snapped.
“There it is in a nutshell. The very reason we left from Black Purgatory with 132 warships and after our last jump we went down to 124. We’ve been losing ships each and every point transfer and it wouldn’t surprise me if we’re down to the one hundred and low teens after this last one. All because you have no concept of what it means to serve on a military vessel,” Comet Buster said flatly.
“Listen up, woman, I may have made a few mistakes along the way but I’ve had it up to here with you using your trained woman’s privilege to talk down to me,” snarled Beecher.
“My trained woman’s privilege??” Monica Comet-Buster asked with disbelief. “What are you on? It must be something really good because what you’re saying has literally nothing at all to do with our current situation.”
Admiral Beecher sneered. “If you want to use your traditional binary gender and the fact you’re trained to a professional level to try to talk down to me, think again! Not only am I your superior officer, and I’m also rich,” Beecher preened. “In short, I,” he said with heavy emphasis, “am all privileged up.”
“And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why the Vice Admiral is still very distressingly single,” Monica Comet Buster said with disgust, “all he can do is whine, say how important he is, and try to hit people with his money stick.”
“If I didn’t need your particular skills so very badly at this moment, you’d be out of here,” Beecher sneered, “next time I’m going to hire more than one of you.”
“Best of luck with that,” sniffed Monica Comet Buster.
She turned back to look over the bridge, and once again verified the task force had jumped far enough away from the star system that it was unlikely anyone in the Hart’s World System had realized there was a fleet of…
She looked over and checked the verified count. There were now 112 warships under Vice Admiral Beecher’s command and no new ships had arrived for the past several minutes. In her estimation, it was likely the other 12 warships had decided serving under Beecher was a life-shortening option and decided to make their way through the Overton Expanse and back to the Confederation heartland Sectors by themselves.
Not that she blamed them. Given half a chance, if she were honest, she probably would have joined them. A more useless excuse for an officer—or even just for a man—she’d never had the displeasure of serving with, under, or around. Unfortunately she didn’t have that chance, which meant it was up to her to make sure Beecher’s Task Force survived long enough for its crew to get back home.
“Alright. Set sensors to passive scans only throughout the fleet and I want to be notified at once the moment the local fleet jumps in. Understand?” she asked sharply before emphasizing, “The moment we have them identified I want to be notified. I don’t care if I’m sleeping, showering or having my way with an Ensign. I want to be on the bridge ASAP.”
“Will do, Lieutenant Commander,” said the Sensor Officer.
“Then we’re done here,” Monica Comet Buster said, turning and leaving the bridge.
“Cheeky,” Beecher muttered under his breath as soon as the blast doors had closed behind the Fleet Tactician. Then he glared at the Fleet Sensor Officer, “Notify the Fleet Tactician but call me first. I’ll want to be here and will need time to change back into my uniform before the battle starts,” he instructed.
“You’re the Admiral,” the officer said respectfully.
Beecher smiled widely. “I am, aren’t I?” he said, popping a grape into his mouth and chewing it before heading off the bridge and back to his private gym. Command was stressful and he needed to put in at least a half hour of swimming each day if he was going to maintain his cardio. Even top of the line Confederation medical treatments only went so far.
“Point Transfer,” the Navigation Officer reported the moment they arrived outside the hyper limit of Hart’s World.
“Thank the universe for small favors,” Admiral Manning said with relief.
He’d fought droids before and commanded a fleet in a battle to the death, but having the fate of seven Sectors resting on his shoulders had worn on him—particularly since just 72 of the 78 relatively undamaged ships in his fleet had also been towing another warship with them through hyperspace.
Beyond them were another 31 warships considered too heavily damaged to risk jumping through hyperspace with an additional load. The rest of the ships had been too heavily damaged to take home, and were abandoned in place or left in the care of Grand Admiral (suspended) Jason Montagne.
Not that Manning thought it very likely that if, and presumably when, the Confederation Fleet got back around to retrieving them they’d still be there. Jason Montagne was notorious throughout the Spine for his sticky fingers. Manning wouldn’t put it past the man to jump back in after First Fleet point transferred out and retrieve them.
With the ‘Little Admiral’ anything was possible.
Not that any of that mattered now. The important thing was to hand over the ships in his care, both damaged Spineward Sectors warships and captured Old Confederation hulls, to the Hart’s World space yards. Hopefully the New Confederation could learn a few things that would help them in the war effort and even more importantly get those hulls back into service before they were needed again. Though that scenario seemed unlikely to the new top commander of the New Confederation fleet.
“Set course for Hart’s World. Nice and steady, Helm,” said Manning, more concerned with losing a ship along the way to patchwork-rigged engines than he was with shaving a few minutes off the move in system. They’d waited several days already they could wait a few more hours.
“Aye aye, Admiral. Nice and steady it is,” said the Helmsman.
Manning opened a com-channel. “This is the Grand Admiral; form up on the flag and adjust to our course and speed,” he ordered.
After he received acknowledgment from the rest of the ships in his fleet Manning sat back in his chair.
He was going to feel a lot more comfortable once this fleet was beyond the hyper limit.
“They came here just like you predicted, Sir,” Tactical Comet Buster said with a fox-like expression.
Justin Beecher smirked contentedly, patting the flat tire around his midsection. “All in a day’s work for a superior intellect like myself. Take them out for me, Tactician, and you’ll receive a bonus on the order of a quarter of a million credits,” he urged, eager to incentivize his hired tactician and win this battle quickly.
Monica Comet Buster turned away but not before a grimace could be seen on her face.
When she turned back there was only an eager expression on her face.
“I’ll hold you to that promise, Admiral Beecher,” she warned.
“Win me this battle and I’ll make enough from my share of the prize values, after they are turned over to the courts, to pay your fee a hundred times over,” Justin Beecher said uncaringly.
Monica Comet Buster shrugged. It didn’t matter to her who paid her. All she was interested in was the bonus…
Who was she kidding? No Tactical Officer in her right mind would fail to be eager at a chance to prove her skills on the grand stage of the largest police action the Confederation had engaged in during the past millennium. She knew this was true because when she’d looked it up the last time the Confederation had a similarly-sized police action had been all the way back when the Man not Machine Movement had finally stood on principle.
Monica Comet Buster knew the destruction of the then pro-slavery league had been just as hard, back in its day, as returning the Spineward Sectors to civilized space was proving to be now. But just as the Old Confederation had stood on principle when they committed a quick, thorough and long past due mechanocide, so too would the Spineward Sectors be returned to the welcoming arms of civilized space after the local space militias had been put thoroughly in their place.
Well, sooner or later at any rate.
She grimaced. She had hoped the Imperials would forego the mandatory decades of reeducation they required when uncivilized planets were brought into their empire. After all, even though she didn’t agree with handing the Spineward Sectors over to the Empire, they were still 7 Sectors of civilized space, not some space barbarian’s pocket empire.
But such considerations were above her pay grade. All she could do was ensure the Spine was brought back into the welcoming arms of known space as quickly and painlessly as possible and to do that she needed to defeat their fleet here and bring just enough pain to their Core Worlds to force a capitulation.
The latter was beyond her powers, but as for the former... She smiled tightly.
“It’s time to break out of silent running. Please inform Task Force Beecher it is time we initiated plan Alpha One and spin up the hyper drives, Admiral,” said the Lieutenant Commander.
“You heard the Fleet Tactician,” Justin Beecher said with a yawn and then, removing his smart looking but slightly itchy Confederation Vice Admiral’s helmet, he waved the bridge a short goodbye. “Communications, you are to relay the Fleet Tactician’s instructions to the rest of the fleet as if they were my own orders. In the meantime,” he paused to stretch his back which had started to cramp after sitting in the Admiral’s chair for too long, “I’m going to go and take a short swim to get the blood flowing. I want to be at my best when it’s time to put the kibosh on the locals.”
Pulling an apple out of his pocket and taking a satisfying crunch out of the fruit, he headed to the lift. Spinning the apple in the air and catching it with ease, he left the bridge with a spring in his step.
During the last battle he hadn’t had the time to properly showcase the vast array of talent he’d assembled underneath him. But now that Senator Cornwallis was out of the way it was time for men like himself, Justin Beecher, to show their worth and shine.
Unaware of the appalled looks shared by the bridge crew behind him, the Vice Admiral was already anticipating the speech he would give and the accolades he would receive the day he came home.
Reaching the gym, he changed his clothes and dived into the small swimming pool that was a perk of which only the Admiral and certain favored or high ranking officers aboard his flagship could avail.
With vigorous strokes, he started swimming back and forth.
“What do you mean he’s not there!” shrieked Melissa March, thrusting a finger at the holo-pick up until she was actually touching the receiver and consequentially darkening much of the screen of the person she was speaking to.
She was currently on com-channel with Monica Comet Buster, the so-called Fleet Tactician.
“I’m sorry, Front Admiral, but I really don’t know what to say,” Monica said helplessly. “The Vice Admiral said he had pressing matters to attend and left me in charge while he was busy arranging things.”
Front Admiral March’s voice had just begun to reach the level of an outraged, yet still very wordless, screech when she suddenly broke off mid high note as if something transformative had just occurred to her.
“You mean he’s on a conference call with the locals don’t you?” the Front Admiral asked with a cunning look suddenly in her eye.
Monica Comet Buster was taken aback. “I can neither confirm nor deny any such allegation, Front Admiral,” she finally said in a slow voice, as if she carefully considered each and every word before saying it.
“There’s nothing else Admiral Beecher could be doing that was important enough for him to vacate his flag bridge mere minutes before we plunge ourselves into combat with a short jump. It has to be secret negotiations” Admiral March said dismissively. She then bestowed a penetrating look upon the Fleet Tactician. “You tell Beecher whatever he’s up to, I want a cut of it. You hear me, Tactician,” she snapped.
The Lieutenant Commander started to speak, paused and then started over again. “I will relay your message to the Vice Admiral,” Comet Buster said, suppressing a snort.
“See that you do! And don’t get us killed in the meantime or your appointment won’t mean spit. I’ll take command of the fleet if Beecher takes too long bludgeoning the Spineward idiots in this Sector into submission,” said Melissa March.
“Again, I can neither confirm or deny but I will pass along your message to the Admiral, Admiral,” she replied.
Five minutes later, while the Vice Admiral was still in the middle of a vigorous workout, the ship point transferred.
“Point transfer detected!” cried the head of Manning’s Sensor Department.
Manning, who had been sitting in his chair doing paperwork, started and dumped his slate onto the floor.
“Multiple warships just jumped in at close range. Danger close! Danger close! I say again: danger close!” shouted the Flag Tactical Officer before immediately jumping over to his console and holding a hand to his earbud.
“Chief Gunner, on my authority as the Flag Tactical Officer set Condition Two throughout the gun deck and prepare your crews to fire,” ordered the flag bridge’s tactical officer.
“Get me a number. I need a position on those warships,” snapped Grand Admiral Manning.
“Sensors are showing it was a simultaneous jump. I’m reading more than one hundred contacts,” stated the Sensor Officer in a high-pitched voice.
“Friend or Foe identification systems are reading Old Confederation signals identical to ships we encountered in Black Purgatory, Sir,” reported a com-tech manning the IFF console.
Admiral Manning immediately tensed.
“They followed us to Hart’s World,” growled Senior Captain Rogers.
Manning’s eyes narrowed as an instantaneous pre-battle calculation flashed through his mind. He winced with pain before shoving those feelings to the side. They’d just been so close.
There was no more time for retrospective. It was time to see if he could better Montagne or if what was left of First Fleet after the MSP and its allies split off was about to be destroyed.
“All ships, begin high-speed maneuvers toward enemy fleet upon receipt of this command. All ships are to release bucking cables and immediately begin detaching the towed warships,” ordered Manning.
Seconds later, the captain of Manning’s flagship appeared on the screen.
“Sir, there is risk to the flagship if we attempt to perform both maneuvers at once. Given the size of the attached Battleship, we could damage our main hyper dish, I’m concerned that—” said the Captain.
Admiral Manning interrupted him.
“Engage the engines now, Captain! We’ll have to risk the main dish. We have a short window and I mean to seize it,” barked the Admiral.
The Captain stiffened. “Aye aye, Sir,” said the Captain, bracing to attention before disregarding the still open channel to hurry over and start barking orders at the crew of the command bridge.
“I just hope we make it in time,” prayed Manning.
“Will there be anything else, Admiral?” asked the Senior Captain, eyes still looking away at the now abandoned or being abandoned warships that were the prize and result of so much hard work.
Manning hesitated and then his head jerked abruptly. “Good reminder, CoS,” he turned his Comm. Officer. “New message to the fleet; I want half the shuttles loaded with Marines and a small engineering team. Then the warships are to have a crew manually pushed out of each shuttle bay on a ballistic course. After they are clear of their ship and the fleet is between them and the enemy, I want the shuttles to use a low power maneuver and move to our rear,” said Manning.
“Where are they intended for, Sir?” Rogers prompted.
“Using their own discretion and starting with our largest ships and working their way down, I want our shuttles to enter those ships. If possible, they are to engage the engines of those ships. If not, I want them ready and able to tow them,” Manning said flatly. “No matter what, the Marines are to give our enemy the Glorious Fleet the fight of their lives. We will not just give up those warships without a fight,” the Grand Admiral finished tightly.
“Aye aye, Sir,” said the Captain.
While the ships of the Glorious Fleet were still extending engine baffling and beginning to engage secondary weaponry, the ships of the Spineward Sectors First Fleet made their move.
Like a staggered wave moving toward the shore, the ships of First Fleet in their one’s and two's, and then by broken squadrons released the captured and damaged warships attached to their hulls and immediately began to burn back in the direction of Vice Admiral Beecher’s contingent of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation.
“Give me an ETA on those Spineward Sectors Fleet warships,” ordered Fleet Tactician Comet Buster, her voice taking on a serious tone not previously present.
The flag bridge’s navigator quickly ran the numbers and reported back.
Monica Comet Buster let out a sigh of relief and then straightened her shoulders. With a flexible bend of the waist, she turned and moved over to the tactical section of the flag bridge.
“Good, they won’t get here before Task Force Beecher has broken free of the sumps,” said the Fleet Tactician, bending over the tactical officer’s console to type something in.
She turned to speak directly to a com-tech in the communications department.
“Technician Suttlebee, prepare to open a channel to the captains of the fleet,” she instructed.
“Is there a problem, Monica?” asked Vice Admiral Beecher, sweeping into the room unnoticed and then sitting in the captain’s chair like a monarch resuming the throne. The only thing that spoiled his near majestic entrance was the way he promptly plopped a leg over the arm of the chair and took a wet bite out of an apricot.
The Lieutenant Commander turned instinctively and had to suppress a frown at the sight of a trail of fruit juice dribbling down the side of the Vice Admiral’s chin.
“Hmm?” Beecher asked, voice sharpening as Monica Comet Buster stared blankly at him.
“Not a problem as such, Sir, but the captains need to immediately form up on the flagship. We jumped closer to the Spineward Sectors Fleet than expected and our formation is…scattered,” she reported.
Justin Beecher’s sharp look turned into an outright glare. “I pay you to win battles for me, not to craft excuses, Mrs. Comet Buster. If you can’t handle this job…” he trailed off in an outright threatening voice.
“That’s 'Lieutenant Commander Comet Buster,' not 'Mrs',” the Fleet Tactician said immediately stiffening angrily.
“I don’t pay for back talk either, Mrs. Lieutenant Commander or Queen of the Nile, I’ll call you whatever I wish until you start providing me the victories I pay you for. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, MY LADY!” Beecher shouted.
“Your point couldn’t be made any more obvious…sir,” the Fleet Tactician bit out.
“I don’t like snark, Mrs. Comet Buster, and make no mistake I have enough clout to crush you like a bug when we get back to civilization. So by all that’s unholy in this world you’d better not lose this fleet—or worse, get me killed. You can consider this your first and last warning,” warned Admiral Beecher.
“I’ll make sure to remember that. But I’d like you to remember that your losses wouldn’t have been as bad as they were if you hadn’t confined me to my quarters and the flag deck for the last month before the battle of Black Purgatory, Sir,” she retorted.
“That’s not my fault! Praetor Cornwallis was a living legend. Who would know that he would fall just like that,” Beecher snapped his fingers angrily, “with him in command of our fleet your services were simply not needed. At least not until that war criminal Jason Montagne violated the laws of war and started to use weapons of mass destruction! I assure you, he’ll hang for that as soon as his lawless actions are reported back to the Grand Assembly!” said Beecher. “The use of W-M-D has been outlawed for over three hundred years in this region of space and more than a millennium in the heartland! Not since a few over eager abolitionists mistakenly dropped nukes instead of EMP’s on a factory plantation has an attack like this taken place in Confederation space!”
“Unlike the inestimable Praetor, I cannot guarantee results. I can only do my best and, in the process, grind these locals into space rubble,” said Comet Buster.
“I’ll hold you to that or your fate will be like this,” Beecher said, dropping his half eaten apricot on the deck and then stepping on it with his boot grinding his foot into it until it turned into a streak of yellow mush.
The Fleet Tactician nodded jerkily, her eyes shooting fury she turned back to the rest of the bridge.
“Tell the Task Force Beecher captains that, for any ship which fails to form up on the Vice Admiral’s flagship before the enemy arrives, the crew will be put on half rations and the officers will endure three hours of punishment training administered by the Confederation Marine Corps—without fail!” she said sharply.
“Will do, Tactician,” com-tech Suttlebee trembled as he quickly turned back to activate a channel and relay her orders.
Like two freak waves meeting in the middle of the ocean, the two fleets met with a crash that illuminated the cold space surrounding it with a burst of furious energy and multiple explosions.
By the time two thirds of Task Force Beecher had assembled into a rough formation around the flagship, the Spineward Sectors forces had assumed a ragged, wedge-shaped formation.
Under the command of Admiral Manning, First Fleet shifted its attack vector one minute before the two formations interpenetrated and attacked at a point directly between the edge of the center third and the ragged third of Task Force Beecher
With their superior speed, and ragged-but-still-tighter formation than their foes, Admiral Manning’s warships shattered the unassembled third of Task Force Beecher. Like a hammer striking an egg shell, those warships directly in the path of First Fleet broke away and ran.
“Fire!” ordered Manning, pounding the side of his chair twice in quick succession before grabbing hold of the arms of his chair and leaning forward.
Maneuvering between a pair of Glorious Fleet warships, with a Battleship on one side and a Heavy Cruiser on the other, Manning’s flagship opened fire with both broadsides simultaneously.
Heavy Lasers fired first in one coordinated salvo, weakening Glorious Fleet shields and then every turbo-laser in the broadside followed up, with each bank of turbo-lasers firing at the same target on each enemy ship.
“Our new quad-linked turbo-lasers have found a weak spot, Captain!” the Fleet’s Admiral could hear a Tactical Officer exclaim over the still-open channel between the Captain and Admiral.
The Heavy Cruiser’s shields began to glow as the port broadside punched through scorching armor, digging deep into the hull.
“Yes!” the top Tactical Officer on the flag bridge exclaimed happily as the Heavy Cruiser started losing atmosphere. “Port turbo-laser battery has just punched through. I’d say our new quad-linked turbo-battery setup has just proved its merit.”
“We’ll have to make sure and add an addendum to my report back home on the battle for Black Purgatory,” said Manning as his flagship continued to advance deep into the enemy’s scattered formation.
Behind the flagship, a staggered formation made up of two squadrons of Battleships followed the Grand Admiral right into the middle of the enemy fleet.
Leaving behind them a double handful of heavily damaged and out of action warships, First Fleet dug itself deep into the enemy formation before the Glorious Fleet’s weight of numbers began to tell.
“Admiral, we can’t keep advancing like this. If we go any further the Glorious Fleet will be between us and Hart’s World. If they choose to attack there’ll be nothing we can do about it. We must withdraw!” urged Senior Captain Rogers as First Fleet’s momentum took them through the Glorious Fleet’s formation and out the other side. “We can fight our way back through but if they get into Hart’s System and take out its orbital industry, everything we’ve worked so hard for will be gone.”
“No. If we lose this Fleet everything will be gone, but if we win—if we win, Rogers...” Manning said flatly, but a fiery passion burned in his eyes that belied his tone. It was clear the Admiral was ready for a battle all the way to the finish.
“We can still fight our way back. They outnumber us by more than twenty warships, Admiral,” said Rogers.
“Ten minutes ago it was thirty. We have the momentum,” Manning said with fire in his eyes.
“Many of our ships were damaged to one degree or another before this battle. Most of theirs were almost untouched. You can also see from Black Purgatory and the first engagement here their lasers punch 8% harder and their focusing arrays let them hit 5% further than our lasers of the same category. Heavy for Heavy and Turbo for Turbo, their lasers just hit harder and we’re fighting hurt, Sir,” said his Chief of Staff.
“Then what’s your blasted solution, cut and run?” Admiral Manning demanded as his flag ship ranged on a fleeing Light Cruiser.
The starboard broadside smashed through its shields and proceeded to knock out half its engines as each battery fired one after the other.
“If we punch back through and fall back on Hart’s fixed defenses, our previous battle damage from Black Purgatory, or how badly we’re outnumbered here, will be irrelevant. There will also be additional warships retained at Hart’s World for a home guard. With luck we might even mount a counterattack,” he paused as a Heavy Cruiser and three Destroyers from First Fleet, all of them previously damaged, began launching escape pods. “Admiral, I implore you,” Rogers said urgently as First Fleet’s momentum faltered and it started to take damage instead.
Admiral Manning’s eyes turned into a twin pair of black holes. His fists clenched until his knuckles popped. “Issue the order. Come about and punch back through the Glorious Fleet of Liberation. We won’t stop until we’re through the hyper limit and either fall back on Hart’s fortifications or are clear of the Confederation,” he ordered.
“Aye aye, Admiral. The Admiral is a great tactician and strategist and we’ve already done great damage to the Glorious Fleet elements here. The reason we haven’t already crushed them where they stand is that blasted Jason Montagne. If the ‘Little Admiral’ hadn’t been so greedy and small minded with his warships…” Senior Captain Rogers said, gnashing his teeth.
“Nothing here has anything to do with Grand Admiral Montagne. Today we rise or fall on our own efforts. In the future, carry out my orders with less commentary,” Manning said coldly.
His Chief of Staff gave him a startled look and then saluted. “At once, Sir,” said the Senior Captain.
“The locals are turning for another pass,” reported the sensor officer.
Lieutenant Commander Comet Buster nodded.
“It appears they want another engagement,” mused the regular Tactical Officer several meters to Comet Buster's left, “only this time we’re not jump scattered. Do you want to order the fleet into a new formation, Fleet Tactician?” the flag bridge’s top regular Tactical Officer asked eagerly.
Monica peered at the battle plot as if lost in thought, one finger idly rubbing the corner of her mouth as if something was sticking there.
She stopped, turned on her heel until she was facing away from the battle plot, and started issuing orders.
“Prepare an englobement formation and detach three squadrons of Destroyers for a pursuit group. If the enemy attempts to break out I want the pursuit group hot on their engines. Instruct the group they are to begin accelerating toward the hyper limit now with the intention of swinging around behind and attacking the enemy’s engines after the locals pass them,” she instructed in a crisp, carrying voice.
“Three squadrons, Fleet Tactician?” asked the ship’s commander, Captain Luke Pretorious. “If you detach so many warships it might make the risk of a breakout more serious,” he ended on an uncertain note.
Fleet Tactician Comet Buster looked at him with contempt. “If they’re here for a knockdown drag-out battle then they’re not going anywhere, but if they try anything and I don’t have a countermeasure then I might as well shoot myself now rather than wait for Vice Admiral Beecher to find out,” she said scathingly.
Justin Beecher, who had been leaning forward in his chair—excitedly eating buttered popcorn and popping what looked like dark, luscious wine grapes freshly plucked from the vine—nodded with a hint of admiration.
“She really tells it like it is,” Beecher said, pointing a finger at Monica Comet Buster before digging around in the bottom of his popcorn bowl and plucking out an unpopped kernel. It promptly entered his mouth and split with an audible crunch.
Captain Pretorious nodded eagerly but Monica Comet Buster’s lips made a thin red line.
“I hope the Vice Admiral can showcase an appropriately noble and commanding demeanor when it comes time to relay my instructions to the rest of the fleet,” the Tactician said instead.
Beecher rubbed the side of his jaw while nodding and then cracked a yawn. “I’ll be in my best condition for the next hour or two, but if this battle stretches boringly on beyond that I make no promises. Too much sitting in a chair,” he shook his head, “is no good.”
Monica turned away in disgust. “As you say,” she said shortly, not looking away from the main screen.
Slowly, a vicious expression crossed her face as the Fleet Tactician began to channel all of her inner rage—which she was unable to expose before her indolent employer—upon the enemy fleet.
“Enemies of the Confederation of Worlds deserve to die,” she said in a hard voice.
“They’re coming right for us! Helmsman, turn the ship seven degrees to starboard and go to 105% acceleration; engage all the maneuvering thrusters if you have to, just do it,” shouted the flagship’s captain, his voice crackling over a flickering com-channel.
Admiral Manning held on tight to the arms of his command chair as the Battleship rocked around him, and Damage Control continued its litany of injuries sustained by the Battleship.
“Three hull penetrations on the starboard side. Port engine compromised; engineering reports cooling system compromised, the engine will have to be taken off line for emergency repairs within five minutes. Estimated repair time an hour and thirty minutes with a full crew,” chanted the Damage Control officer before pulling up a new screen and continuing. “A major gash in the port side armor that barely missed the shield generator, however a main power line was compromised and the generator has been taken down for repairs when a critical systems overload tripped the emergency bypass breakers. In addition, the Chief Gunner reports every heavy laser on the port side has stopped functioning except Heavy Laser 19, which for some reason continues to work. The Chief Engineer swears it’s not a power line issue and asks us to urgently send a computer repair team to look for some kind of programming fault as Heavy Laser 19 is on the same system as the rest except that, due to battle damage in our previous engagement at Black Purgatory, it was used to replace a damaged turbo-laser and was placed in the same fire control battery as the turbo-lasers,” continued the Damage control officer.
“Both our system analysts and the Distributed Intelligence showed grouping up our lasers by batteries was fine. Sweet son of Murphy, go and get a team to fix it,” Senior Captain Rogers snapped, glaring at the computer team on the flag bridge.
The top computer program supervisor pointed at himself and then, realizing the senior captain was speaking to him, jumped as if stung.
“We were aware of the problem as soon as it occurred, Senior Captain,” the top programmer said defensively, “we’ve been working on it from up here for the past five minutes. We can’t find anything wrong!”
“You assured me linking our weapons, by weapon type, wouldn’t trip the anti-AI protocols. You swore to me, Senior Chief Petty Officer,” Manning broke in, glaring at the supervisor.
The other man paled and started to stutter and was nearly thrown out of his chair as the enemy Heavy Cruiser, which the flagship was just now clearing, smoothly rolled and opened fire into the Battleship’s still shield-less side.
“Listen,” Manning spat as the power flickered for a moment, “keep half your people working on a solution here just in case, the space gods avert, something else pops up. In the meantime I want you to personally take a team down to the gun deck and fix this problem before we’re all dead!” Manning started out calm but ended up yelling.
“Of course, Sir. Right away, Sir,” the young Senior Chief jumped out of his chair and, after calling out a few names, went running for the door.
“In the meantime, Communications: get me the Captain of Hart’s Heart on the horn. He’s going to need to cover our withdrawal until we can fall back on the system defenses,” said Manning.
“Are you sure he’ll hold for us?” asked Rogers, worry cracking his previously steadfast exterior.
“This is his star system, he knows the price of failure as much as anyone. If this fleet can’t hold them off long enough to join up with the rest of the system defenders then the Glorious Fleet is going to do far worse to his planet than anything they could do to his ship. He has to hold for us, and if he has a single patriotic bone in his body then he knows it,” Manning said without remorse.
The breath whooshed out of Rogers and the Senior Captain fell silent. He didn’t have the face to comment any further.
True to the Grand Admiral’s prediction, upon receiving his order the ship Captain just looked at Manning stone-faced before saluting and acknowledging his orders.
“That was harsh,” his Chief of Staff commiserated.
“I will not be anyone’s second fiddle,” Manning said, by his very tone of voice rejecting his Chief of Staff’s sentiment, “prepare a coded message to Hart’s World high command. It’s time we took a page out of the Little Admiral’s playbook.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” Rogers said, straightening with respect.
“Hahaha! Look at them run, the cowards,” Vice Admiral Beecher said in a completely unbridled voice, laughing as he mocked the Spineward Sectors Fleet for running away and abandoning, not just their damaged ships, but also the great many prizes they had taken.
He conveniently ignored the fact the locals had broken through Monica’s englobement tactic in favor of watching and gloating as her detachment of Destroyers proved almost prescient.
“After them, Tactician! Don’t let them get away,” he urged, eagerly popping another full thick black grape him his mouth and chewing.
“Sir, I would advise we slow the fleet and consolidate our gains,” Monica Comet Buster said respectfully.
“Nonsense! We should just let them get away? For what reason, Fleet Tactician?” Justin Beecher slapped an open hand on the arm of his chair and demanded and then he stopped as if just considering something. “Or are you saying it's some kind of trap?”
Monica Comet Buster’s face took on a patient look of long suffering. It was an expression that instantly soured Justin Beecher’s good mood.
“No, Sir,” she said, shaking her head, “however our initial intentions as you stated them were three fold. One: defeat the local fleet, which I’d say we’ve done. Two: lay waste to this star system’s industry. Three: reclaim our lost warships and personnel to increase our reputation and fighting strength.”
“I did say that,” Beecher impatiently motioned for her to get to the point.
The Feet Tactician openly rolled her eyes. “My point is that now is the time to consolidate our gains. If we slow down and secure those derelicts with the main fleet, we’ll have the hulls and all that will be left is to secure the prisoners,” she said.
“What about Hart’s World? I want to be able to report taking another Core World out of the fight when I send in my report home,” Beecher said.
“Easy. We simply detach the three squadrons of Destroyers currently harassing their fleet and reinforce them with the majority of our lighter warships. They can make harrying attacks, destroying shuttles and other sub-light space transport and space trade as well as make an attack on their repair depots and shipyards. It will keep their main fleet occupied and we’ll threaten to continue to fully reduce this star system, not just their military capacity and civilian carrying trade, unless they hand us back our people,” the Fleet Tactician said confidently.
Beecher looked unconvinced. “The carrying trade? And leave a battered but still functional enemy fleet behind me? I don’t want to destroy the blasted carrying trade. I want to finish this fleet!” he snapped.
Monica Comet Buster took a steadying breath. “If you want to change our fleet goals, I can’t stop you. However, with increased gains comes increased risk. As it is, after we destroy this star system’s repair capability where can they go? There are very few star systems with the industrial capacity to repair this fleet. They’ll be helpless and at our mercy,” here she paused and allowed a faint smile to appear on her face, it gave her features and almost enchanting cast before she once again ruined it by speaking, “And it will allow for the possibility of many potential future merits.”
She pulled up a map of the sector.
“Where are they going to go? Blackwood? It doesn’t have large enough facilities. Capria? Maybe. But after they leave the star system we can hound them. Defeating them in battle after battle and allowing for our heroic Vice Admiral to report home to the Grand Assembly any number of hard fought, yet victorious engagements,” she said with a gleam in her eye.
Vice Admiral Beecher stopped mouth hanging open for a second as he honestly considered it and then he finally shook his head with admiration. “I underestimated you, I can see that now. I’m also man enough to admit you have a decided point. However, there is one thing you’re forgetting. That there,” he thrust out a finger, “is only half of the Spineward Rebel Fleet. No. Your idea is sound but it’s not what I want. I want total victory. We’ll place our Marines on Hart’s World and defeat this fleet. Maybe according to your plan we can let a handful of survivors go for a running tally of victories. But when the politicians back home see that I have matched Cornwallis’s achievements in every detail and succeeded where he failed, they’ll have no choice but to turn to Cornwallis’s natural successor: me.”
Monica Comet Buster looked at him coldly.
“With increased glory comes increased risk. I am certain we can get our people and our ships back. We’ll be two hundred ships strong instead of a hundred and twenty. Assuming you can find a place to repair them at, like for instance Aegis. But if you insist on a clean sweep…we’ll have to face down Hart’s defenses, not just her orbital industry and relatively unguarded carrying trade. Our losses will be greater and the risk of defeat goes up,” she warned.
“Details and blather. Who was it that said 'without risk there is no reward?' Well, I’m doubling your base fee,” he said, reaching down and opening his pad before accessing his banking information, “there. I am not a man of empty promises. I pay top credits for what I want. But make no mistake: I want this star system in my hands and the enemy destroyed.”
“You can give me all the credits in the world, Sir, and it wouldn’t matter. I can deliver what I initially promised. Anything more and it’s a roll of the dice,” she said.
“I have confidence in you,” Beecher said and then his eyes turned malicious, “conquer my enemies, Fleet Tactician.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said tightly.
By sacrificing itself, Hart’s Heart and a rear guard of cruisers managed to delay the main force of Beecher’s task force long enough for the Spineward Sectors Fleet to break contact.
Over the course of the next several hours it was a race as the task force of the Glorious Fleet under Vice Admiral Beecher continued to hound the retreating warships of First Fleet.
Finally, despite the best efforts of Beecher’s Fleet Tactician, more than two dozen warships of the system defense force arrived to reinforce the Grand Admiral.
And with them came a nasty surprise.
Attached to bucking cables towed behind them were half a dozen orbital guns and turrets—per ship.
“Now.” Grand Admiral Manning commanded with grim satisfaction.
A signal went out to the fleet at large and the SDF reinforcements from Hart, as well as the Marine and Engineering teams aboard the derelict warships, took action.
“It’s time to take a page from the Little Admiral and stand this thing on its head,” Manning declared, eyes like black holes as his ships spread wide, half moving to either side of the SDF reinforcements, and then turned to engage their now hated foes in the Glorious Fleet.
Almost as if sensing a trap, the Glorious Fleet turned, attempting to disengage or at least escape the combat range of the orbital guns behind Hart’s SDF reinforcements. But it was too little too late.
“Montagne, you yellow blighter,” Manning cursed under his breath, even as he thrust a finger toward the largest most powerful ships of the enemy fleet and directed the orbital turrets to concentrate their fire. “I stand second to no man,” he declared as multiple short-ranged kinetic rounds impacted against the Glorious Fleet's hulls. Who said they needed droids or Bugs to win a battle? Plain old deception and ingenuity were all that was required.
“All ships…attack!” he ordered, and like a wounded bear, hounded to within an inch of its life by a wolf pack, the remains of First Fleet dug deep, turned and reengaged the enemy.
Chapter 10: Beecher Bounces
“Blast it. Those kinetic weapons are tearing us apart!” exclaimed Lieutenant Commander Comet Buster.
She turned to look at the Comm. section.
“New movement order: the Fleet is to disengage. Nav, run a quick calculation using this course and give it to the rest of the fleet,” she said, using her finger to hastily scrawl a new course on her slate. “We must get out of the range of those orbital turrets!” she ordered, hastily forwarding it to the navigator.
“Withdraw? You mean retreat? No! Never!” cried Vice Admiral Beecher, first looking stunned before his face contorted with rage.
“Pass the order quickly,” the Fleet Tactician reiterated.
“Belay that, Technician. We stay the course,” barked the Vice Admiral.
“Sir!” shouted Monica Comet Buster. “We don’t have time to argue about this. You agreed when you gave me this post that my orders would be paramount during combat. I’m invoking our agreement.”
Vice Admiral Beecher glared at her and then a pair of enemy Battleships turned to take aim and fired their broadsides, interrupting him.
The flagship shuddered slightly and Damage Control reported out-gassing on the portside. Meanwhile, right beside them, one of their sister Battleships took the concerted broadside of seventy two kinetic rounds from the turrets. The resulting explosion knocked the other Battleship off course and it started listing toward the flagship.
“E-e-evasive maneuvers. Right blasted now!” shrieked Captain Pretorious
Justin Beecher froze, the whites of his eyes showing as he looked around the bridge wildly.
“Course calculated, Sir,” the Navigator said, shoulders hunched as he turned to look first at the Admiral and then to the Fleet Tactician.
“The Admiral froze,” Monica Comet Buster spoke rapidly, “while he’s still considering things, immediately relay my general movement order to the fleet.”
“Aye aye, Sir!” the com-tech said happily and turned to issue the instructions.
“Stop!” shouted Vice Admiral Beecher, causing the entire rest of the bridge to freeze.
“But, Sir—” started Monica Comet Buster a hint of panic on her face.
“I said: belay that order, Technician. We are not going to withdraw. Now is the time to attack. We must crush our enemies and drive them before us,” Beecher ordered, his face now pale as a sheet.
“There is no shame in withdrawing,” the Fleet Tactician said urgently, her voice rising, “we can still reclaim our captured ships and send spoiling raids against Hart’s World now that they’ve stripped away their defenses.”
“You promised me victory. You promised I could win. I’ve already paid you to make me win! Are you trying to take my money and run!” shouted Beecher.
“Do I look insane to you? Where exactly do you expect me to run on a starship? You transferred those credits to my account, not me, and if you want them back I’m more than willing—,” the ship shuddered again as it took another hit. “If you will just for the love of the Beloved Space Saint turn this fleet around!”
“You don’t want my money?” Beecher said, looking like a cornered animal as he stared at her wild eyed. “You claim not to want it. But the only reason you’re here is because I recruited you… unless,” his feverish gaze suddenly focused like he was looking at prey.
“Curse you, not everything is about money!” Monica Comet Buster recoiled. “But we can still win. We can still have a victory if you will just do what you promised and let me dictate the maneuvers of this fleet.”
“Unless you were paid by somebody else…someone close to me, someone I would never expect,” Beecher’s eyes lit up, “it’s my brother, isn’t it?! He paid you to silently sabotage my every effort. No wonder I haven’t been able to win. It’s you! The problem has been you all along!”
Monica Comet Buster recoiled with revulsion.
“This is crazy talk. This is the talk of a crazy man,” she shouted, turning to speak as much to the rest of the bridge as she was the Vice Admiral, “it was you who brought me on board and you who isolated me on the flag deck. Then when I start to win this battle it is you again who countermanded my instructions, pushing us into this suicidal attack. One where you won’t even let me us maneuver out of to regain the initiative and suddenly I’m the one sabotaging this fleet at every turn?” she straightened, and this time turned to directly appeal to the ship’s captain and the Marines guarding the blast doors.
“Liar! Silence ,you paid traitor,” Beecher shrieked, pulling out a blaster pistol from his pocket and waving it in the air, “I knew there was no way Cornwallis could be defeated by a bunch of rubes. But your deception with the Bug attack nearly had me fooled. You nearly convinced me that mere Bugs were enough to defeat one of the greatest political minds of this century! Well ha! 'Ha,' I say! Now we know the truth. Even using Bugs wouldn’t have been enough for the Spineward Sectors locals to defeat the Praetor. No, it took something much more insidious. It took you, Lieutenant Commander,” cried Beecher, thrusting a finger directly at the Fleet Tactician.
“Captain, it's clear the Admiral has come completely unhinged. I recommend an urgent medical evaluation by the ship’s doctor before we proceed any further,” she said urgently.
“Uh…” Captain Luke Pretorious said stupidly, his eyes bugging out as he looked frantically between the unhinged Admiral and his bought and paid for tactician, “I’m not sure I’m qualified to interfere in this sort of situation.
“What!? You’re the ship’s captain, by very definition you’re qualified,” yelled Monica Comet Buster, backing up as Beecher brought his weapon to bear. “Marines!” she cried.
“How long have you worked as a spy for the Spineward Sectors rebellion?” demanded Beecher finger tightening on the trigger. “How long have you betrayed this fleet, Mrs. Comet Buster!”
“Insanity,” shouted Monica Comet Buster, stepping away until her back hit a console. Her back against the wall, she seemed to regain control of herself and she straightened.
“I am innocent. Again I call upon you to fulfill your duty, Captain,” she said, raising her chin and staring down her nose at Vice Admiral Beecher.
Captain Pretorious stared at her wide eyed. Glancing back at his Marines, he opened his mouth.
Beecher pulled the trigger and the whine of a blaster bolt was shortly accompanied by a female cry of pain.
Monica Comet Buster crumpled to the floor with a hole burnt in her uniform pants and the meat of her thigh still smoking.
“Hmm...I missed, I was actually aiming for her head,” Beecher mused sounding surprised.
“You actually shot me, you blighter!” she screamed, her hands reaching down to hold her leg.
“Sir?” Luke Pretorious asked uncertainly, looking down at Monica Comet Buster and then back up at the Vice Admiral in horror.
Beecher sneered. “Mutiny in cold space never pays, Pretorious,” he gloated, looking down at the fallen tactician, “but don’t worry, thanks to my expert marksmanship the prisoner is still alive to be squeezed. Take this piece of filth away, Captain.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” the Captain said, appearing visibly relieved as he turned to the Marines. The armed bridge guards looked at him steadily.
Captain Pretorious stiffened as if struck.
“Well, you heard the Vice Admiral,” he said irritably, “take the Fleet Tactician to the brig.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” said the Marine Corporal, bracing to attention along with his quad before marching over to the fallen Tactician.
“You’ll kill us all, Justin!” the Fleet Tactician cursed as her arms were twisted behind her back and magnetic cuffs applied. “Ow! You Neanderthals!” she said tears in her eyes.
“This way, LC,” said the Corporal while frog-marching her across the room.
The entire bridge was frozen with inactivity until a loud bang, originating from the starboard side of the warship, shook the bridge.
“What’s happening?” Beecher asked, fury fighting with fear—and somehow winning—as he turned to Captain Pretorious
“We’ve already lost two Battleships with a third heavily damaged and…there goes a fourth. Their ships are hitting us hard. We’ve already lost a squadron of Battleships, Vice Admiral,” reported the Tactical Officer.
“Impossible,” Beecher’s mouth gape mouthed, “but we didn’t retreat!”
“The sensor feed has been verified by communication intercepts. We’re down to sixteen Battleships, Admiral… seventeen if you count the Nebula Storm which just lost one of her main engines and main hyper dish,” said the Tactical Officer.
Beecher stood there, mouth opening and closing, before a his face suddenly flushed red.
“She’s betrayed us again!” he cried like a stuck pig.
“Sir?” asked Luke Pretorious backing away with alarm.
“Monica. It’s Monica Comet Buster! This is all her fault. She was supposed to bring us victory but she betrayed me to the enemy instead. S-she must have reported our movements to the rebels! That’s the only way. Gah!” cried Beecher, picking up the bowl of fruit from the holder built into the arm of his command chair and smashing it onto the floor, “how could I have been so blind?”
“What do you want us to do?” asked the Flag Captain in a tremulous voice.
“We have no choice. Our every plan has been handed to the enemy on a silver platter by the shrew. We…,” he clenched his fists, “we’ll have to make a strategic withdrawal until I can hire another strategist.”
Captain Pretorious gaped at him. “I thought you wanted to stay and fight,” he said with disbelief.
“It’s the only way,” Beecher said, talking to himself as much as to anyone else.
He nodded firmly and sat down in his seat completely ignoring the smashed bowel and scattered fruit on the floor.
“We’ll retreat past the hyper limit. Reclaim our lost warships like I wanted to do all along from the beginning and…” Beecher got a malicious gleam in his eye, “detach every single Destroyer in the fleet for spoiling raids to destroy as much of this star system’s infrastructure and carrying trade as humanly possible. They want to delay the grand reunification of the Spine with civilized space and humiliate me personally? Well then they can just live in squalor, grubbing it out in the dirt for food,” he spat.
Realizing that no one was moving, Beecher bent to pick up a fruit and then threw it at the ship’s captain.
“What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?” he said picking up a second fruit and pelting the captain with it. “Or are you part of Monica’s cabal?”
Before he could pick up a third projectile, the fruit-splattered Captain turned to the bridge.
“You heard the Vice Admiral: sound the retreat! Tell the other ships to run for it. We must reach the hyper limit at all costs!” the Captain panicked.
A com-tech immediately began to verbally relay the orders.
Beecher stared at the captain and then threw the third fruit at the com-tech.
“No, you idiot! Stay in formation. Order everyone except the Destroyers to stay in formation and move toward the hyper limit as a group; the Destroyers are supposed to hit the orbital industry,” shouted the Admiral.
The com-tech jerked around to stare at the Admiral in fear.
“Relay my orders exactly as I’ve said them or you’ll be shot—just like Mrs. Comet Buster,” Beecher said brandishing his weapon.
“I-I-I’m sending an audio clip of your orders now, Admiral,” squeaked the com-tech, and within half a minute of receiving their new orders Task Force Beecher began to fragment.
Between the confused orders and pressure from the Spineward Sectors Rebel Fleet, half of Beecher's force broke formation and ran at full speed for the edge of the star system.
Roughly half the Destroyers and a squadron of Light Cruisers decided to follow Beecher’s orders to attack the orbital industry while the rest of the fleet gathered around the flagship for protection. Sadly, it was the more badly-damaged ships that saw the virtue of following orders, while those with undamaged engines were the quickest to break formation.
Beecher railed against the rest of his fleet, working hard to keep his task force together, but despite his best efforts not every captain and sub-Admiral in his fleet was willing to listen. Worse, his full attention was soon occupied by the Rebel Fleet and it was all he could do to keep his flagship from being destroyed.
“Why are they targeting us specifically?” demanded Beecher.
“When we gave the initial order to withdraw, the technician—who you threw your fruit and threatened to shoot if he got the message wrong—forgot to engage the standard fleet encryption,” reported the Communication’s Department Commander, looking at the Vice Admiral with disapproval.
“Probably another conspirator! Throw him in the brig alongside Comet Buster,” shouted Justin Beecher, “they can stew in their own juices down there together.”
“Sir!” protested the Comm. Officer.
“Marines,” yelled Beecher pointing at the com-tech.
“You’d better come along with us...for your own protection, spacer,” advised the Marine Corporal escorting the technician off the bridge.
“Why am I suddenly surrounded by traitors and incompetents?” demanded Beecher looking around the bridge with wild eyes. “This is the worst carried out police action in the history of the Confederation—I want to know why!”
“Sir, we’re all loyal to you,” said Captain Pretorious
“I don’t care how much they’re paying you. I’ll give a fifty thousand credit bonus to each and every member of the bridge crew when our flagship successfully jumps out of this star system,” Beecher promised in a rising voice, “do you hear that?? And I’ll double that when we’re victorious against these rebels and outlaws in the Spineward Sectors!”
Chapter 11: Manning Victorious
Manning watched coldly as his battered warships drove the now-broken fleet in front of him out of the star system.
“See? No Bugs or machines necessary,” he said with cold satisfaction.
“Sir?” asked Senior Captain Rogers.
“What’s the status of the orbital defenses?” he asked.
“The SDF reports all defenses are ready to receive the Confederation Destroyers and Hart System Command are once again demanding you release our light units to help in the defense of their home world, Grand Admiral,” Rogers reported neutrally. The Confederation spoiling attack was still hours away from the inner star system but Manning and his fleet were still harrying the Glorious Fleet of Liberation’s heavier units to the hyper limit.
The SDF reinforcements, along with the orbital turrets they’d towed to the outer system, had already turned back in a desperate attempt to defend their planet and orbital industry from an attack that was clearly coming.
“Don’t bother replying until after we’ve finished driving off the Glorious Fleet,” Manning said flatly.
“Hart’s World retained their defenses over their home world, but they were forced to draw those turrets from somewhere. Their shipyard defenses were weakened and orbital supply dumps are completely uncovered. We won’t have a quick resupply if those Destroyers take out the dumps,” warned Senior Captain Rogers.
“Nothing else that happens in this system matters if the Glorious Fleet regroups. Right now they’re running from us but they still have the numbers to contest our fleet and capture this star system,” said Manning, “our duty to the Confederation at large, and to the people of Hart’s World, comes before a little system infrastructure and the panicky cries of the provincial government.”
“It’s your call to make,” shrugged Rogers. With Hart’s Heart out of the picture, thanks to its captain covering the initial retreat of the rest of the fleet, no significant strength was going to be lost even if anyone disagreed with the orders anyway.
“It is. Keep up the pressure on their presumed flagship and rebroadcast my demand that they surrender,” Manning said turning to the Communications Department.
“Re-transmitting now,” said the Comm. Officer as he listened into his ear piece and then looked back over at the Grand Admiral helplessly, “all I’m getting is a lot of abuse and another counter demand that we recognize the authority of the Grand Assembly and surrender to Vice Admiral Beecher.”
Manning sighed and shook his head.
“Is that all?” he asked. He’d already listened to half a dozen rant filled diatribes from the presumed commander of this Glorious Fleet contingent. He didn’t need to listen to another one.
“Well this time he’s offering you personal concessions and a cash reward for you and your family if you surrender First Fleet to him,” said the Comm. Officer.
Admiral Manning’s face hardened. “Send in the Cruiser squadrons and cripple the engines of that flagship; have our Battleships follow at our best speed,” he ordered.
“Our Cruisers will get torn up,” warned Rogers.
“Only if they abandon their limpers and focus on the defense of that flagship. Something I’m not sure the rest of those ships with the flagship are going to be willing to do,” said Manning.
“If we take too many losses the other Old Confederation ships might see we’re too weak to stop them and rally,” warned Rogers.
“If we take that flagship, we could put down the strongest quarter of their fleet right here and the rest might even possibly surrender. We could win it all,” Manning said decisively, “my orders stand.”
Rogers nodded.
Four squadrons of Cruisers lunged forward, as did the rest of the Battleships, with the rest of the fleet still accompanying Manning’s flagship into battle.
For a minute it looked like the solid core of ships around Vice Admiral Beecher’s flagship were going to hold strong, and then the enemy flagship sped up abandoning its slower brethren.
“I’m receiving a request for terms of surrender,” reported the Comm. Officer.
“Accept on standard terms; tell them if they strike their fusion cores and prepare to accept a Marine detachment they’ll be granted every courtesy of a prisoner of war with all the rights and responsibilities that come along with it,” said Manning.
As ships began to surrender, by the time the Cruisers were approaching Beecher’s ship a pair of captain’s Cutters broke free from the enemy flagship and accelerated beyond anything the pursuing Cruisers could manage.
Within minutes of their commanding officer abandoning them, the remainder of the Glorious Fleet that had been holding formation surrendered.
Twenty one old Confederation warships were still on course for the star system’s infrastructure while another forty four successfully reached the hyper limit and immediately began to initiate a jump. As for the rest of the Old Confederation warships, they had either surrendered or been destroyed.
It would later be hailed by the government as one of the greatest victories in the entire history of the Spine, and the battle which finally broke the back of the Glorious Fleet of Liberation and put an end to their campaign.
Manning’s stock within the New Confederation rose accordingly. At the same time the Tyrant was once again lambasted as a war criminal, promptly stripped of his position and fired for the use of biological weapons of mass destruction. The use of which, it was said, Manning definitively ‘proved’ through his later skillful campaigns, would have been won by First Fleet anyway—if only the Tyrant hadn't panicked, fearing a straight-up fight too much.
The fighting spirit of the freedom fighters of the Spineward Sectors, the government mouthpieces loudly trumpeted, was without peer or rival—something the Tyrant of Cold Space was fundamentally unable to understand or properly harness.
Of course, despite the various propaganda efforts of the new Government that turned black into white, the Glorious Fleet was not nearly as broken or defeated as the Spineward Sectors Assembly might like to promise the general voting public.
There was still one star system under Old Confederation control.
Chapter 12: A Front Admiral in Retreat
“Where do we go next, Sir?” Commodore Fritters asked now that the relief of rejoining the rest of their small fleet wore off and the hard facts of their current situation had begun to set in.
“It needs to be somewhere we’ll still have access to the ComStat buoys and yet at the same time allows us to make more than basic repairs, Chief of Staff,” Featherby mulled it over out loud. “We can’t just go directly home, much as we might want to. Any ship that tries will soon find itself stranded on this edge of the Reach unless it siphons off fuel from its fellows. The sad fact is we just don’t have the fuel to send more than a few ships directly back to the Confederation of Worlds even if we wanted to.”
“The Overton Expanse then?” Fritters asked, referring to a the series of supply dumps and, in several cases, small repair slips that had been constructed as fall back positions early on in Praetor Cornwallis’s ultimately doomed advance into the Spine, “if we get there first there should be enough hyper fuel to outfit our ships for the return journey home.”
Featherby started to lift a hand and then paused, a grim smile appearing on his face.
“I think we can do better than a retreat into the Expanse, and that’s forgetting the political realities that would almost certainly see you and me sitting before a tribunal trying to justify our actions so far in this debacle. No, I see another option,” he said, pulling up a star chart and overlaying it on his slate. In a sea of blinking red and yellow star systems, indicating the worlds controlled by the locals or recently attacked, was a flashing green icon. It was the sole star system in Sector 25 that was still in the hands of a Glorious Fleet garrison, the formerly designated Imperial Provincial Capital.
“Aegis,” Fritters sighed, hope stirring in his heart for the first time in what felt like weeks, even though it had only been a few of days since the Glorious Fleet had been handed its Imperial head, literally.
“You still want to make a fight of it then?” he asked almost hopefully. Like his good friend and superior officer of many years had just mentioned, if they went home their lives might not be under threat but their careers would certainly be over. The military in general, and Fleet in particular, was currently viewed with suspicion and alarm back home, add on the stink of defeat and…
“Look, if we fall back into the Overton Expanse I’m essentially admitting the campaign will be lost,” said Featherby.
“It’s already lost,” pointed out Fritters, “however if we go back now we could be forced to accept the political liabilities that come with being among the few surviving senior officers,” pointed out Fritters.
The two shared a mutual grimace of understanding. The Confederation of today was not nearly as understanding of the realities of military conflict as the Confederation that had raised, trained and sent them into combat earlier on in their careers.
“By falling back on Aegis and the garrison there, we concede nothing and such accusations become a much harder case to make,” Featherby said baring his teeth, “we also kill several birds with one stone. By reinforcing the garrison, together we can hopefully present a force too strong to simply drive out or defeat. It also gives us time to try and figure out how to turn this crud bucket around.”
“Making the Grand Assembly recall us does make it harder to level certain accusations. It also saves us from wandering through the Sector 25 like a stray dog without a home,” observed Fritters.
“A morale killer if ever I’ve heard one. The men and women need time. Time to rest, time to recover and time to put our house in order. Hopefully the locals will hesitate long enough for us to make use of the captured Aegis shipyards, repair our ships, and wait for reinforcements and new orders to arrive,” Featherby agreed.
“You’re not thinking of any adventurism are you?” Fitters shot his superior officer a penetrating look.
“Right now I just want to survive,” the Front Admiral said honestly, “we’ll let the future take care of itself. If we repair our ships and if the garrison commander recognizes my authority, or at least is willing to work together, and if the Grand Assembly doesn’t panic and start issuing contradictory orders… well, you know me,” Admiral Featherby said with a crooked grin. “I’m not above going after low-hanging fruit.”
“So for the time being all we need to do is play for time,” said Fritters, looking like a previously drowning man who was now grasping a floating piece of wood.
“Exactly,” agreed Front Admiral Featherby.
“Then let’s do it,” said Fritters.
Chapter 13: The Little Admiral Schemes at Home
“Talk to me Spalding,” I said, gesturing toward a chair as a pair of rug rats clung to my legs. A yaya, or babysitter, started to come over but I motioned for the nanny to wait a moment.
“Sure you aren’t too busy, Sir?” he asked as I swooped up one of the kids and started ruthlessly tickling her belly.
My daughter screamed with delight, twisting and writhing around. Especially when I started strumming her ribs like a fake guitar.
“Not at all,” I said, thrusting my daughter into the yaya’s waiting arms with a ‘swooping’ sound effect to match the motion and then promptly grabbed the next one.
A quick but thorough tickling later and both my kids were on their way to a much needed nap, and Spalding and I were the only ones left in the room. Well, aside from my ubiquitous bodyguard.
Royal Armsmen were harder to get rid of than ticks on a boar, and just as mean as both those creatures when the body they were guarding wanted some privacy.
Spalding looked at the door for several seconds after the toddlers were gone. When he turned back I could see a gleam to his lone remaining organic eye that, for once, wasn’t crazy or humorous. If I had to guess, I’d have said the old engineer’s eye was a little wet.
“Is everything okay, Commander?” I asked with sympathy-tinged concern.
“Right as rain, Sir,” Terrance P. Spalding said gruffly. He stopped to clear his throat and then snort in through his nose before swallowing.
I eyed the older man. Back in the Palace, heaven forbid the Royal scion acted in such a fashion. My half a decade of non-voluntary space service had ground off the sharpest of the Royal edges, but even so I still sometimes couldn’t help my training as a youth.
“You’re blessed to have a passel of children, Sir,” said the old cyborg, “not everyone is so lucky.”
“I’m surprised. I would have thought the very idea of children aboard a warship would have horrified an older generation officer like yourself,” I said with a grin.
“Reminds me of my Tiberius,” Spalding said nostalgically, “you know, even after all these years...I guess it’s decades now...I still miss the little guy.”
I coughed, covering my mouth with a hand.
“You’ve heard the latest reports. Your son is somewhere in Imperial space right about now, at least according to our best guesses,” I reminded him.
“Oh, I’ve seen the reports. His life is his own,” Spalding said, rolling his eyes, “if he wants to waste it in the Empire that’s his own business. No. What I was talking about was the little boy who used to follow me around. He was my little buddy. I’d put him up on my shoulders and we’d go everywhere together.” The aged engineer’s eyes darkened. “At least we did back before his mother interfered,” muttered the old man
He then sighed.
“These right here are the magic years, Sir,” he said redirecting the conversation to my own children, “they’ll believe any fool thing you tell them and take it for the space gods' honest truth. Make sure you don’t miss it.”
“I’ll do that,” I said, feeling touched by his sincerity.
He paused. “As for outrage? You don’t have to look to the older generation to find it there’s enough out there right now to go around. Grumbles about the way you’ve abused your position to not just bring along your wife and kids too but a whole passel of nannies, babysitters and bodyguards,” Spading chuckled, slapping his thigh, “make no mistake, you’ve definitely abused your authority to bring them here.”
“Thanks,” I grunted, the warm emotion of moments ago instantly fading into the ether.
“Way I figure it, even though lots of guys say they’d kill if they could bring their families along they’re all full of hot air,” snorted Spalding. “First off, what kind of plum fool would bring his kids into a war zone?”
“Gee, thanks. What am I chopped liver?” I asked.
“Oh, no disrespect intended,” the old man said magnanimously, “you didn’t have a choice. We all know that. The Ladyship pretty well does whatever she likes in that regard,” Spalding added seriously.
My brows lowered. “Maybe we should get down to the reason you’re here,” I said.
Spalding ignored me, “Besides, look at all the good it did any of those jealous idiots on the old exploratory or generational ships? I looked at those records and I know better. It may sound great but at the end of the day…,” he shook his head, “well, I mean, I certainly wouldn’t have put in a hard day’s work getting yelled at by the Chief Engineer and my other superior officers only to go home and get yelled at some more. Or have to listen to a series of unending complaints, which is what you get after a few months, not to mention years, cooped up on the same ship.”
“Well, that’s your opinion. I suppose every couple’s different. For me it hasn’t been so bad,” I informed him.
“Yeah, well not everyone has access to an Admiral’s quarters and an entire flag deck to put the staff on,” Spalding said, slapping his thigh and grinning.
I loudly cleared my throat. “Enough of that nonsense. I mean it,” I said quickly.
“Alrighty then. I can tell you’re a busy man with lots to do now that we’re back at Gambit. What can I do you for, Admiral?” the old cyborg asked good-naturedly enough.
After jumping back to Tracto and left off a few of the smaller and medium sized ships for the Belter’s station to start working on, we’d refilled the hoppers and promptly jumped back to Gambit.
“I need the straight download and you’re the only one I trust to give it to me,” I said without preamble. Not only was it true, but it never hurt to remind someone how valuable they were to me.
“I’m just a humble space engineer,” Spalding said, brushing off his collar. Then, apparently seeing something he liked, he picked up a miniscule crumb. After scrutinizing it, he promptly put it in his mouth to test. His jaw worked for a moment and then he swallowed.
I took a deep, steadying breath. I didn’t have time or inclination to be diverted. Not now. Not on this.
“Listen, this is about Engineering and that’s right up your bailiwick so don’t even start with the humble business. Over the top, unhinged, crazy as a space rat, all those maybe, but humble? Forget it. You can consider that an order,” I said sternly, glancing briefly at his collar and suppressing a grimace.
“Well, spit it out lad! It’s not like we have all day to jaw around. I’m an honest space engineer with work to do and I’m sure you have…whatever it is you do all day long,” Spalding finished, waving his hand in the air uncertainly.
I flushed. “I need an honest assessment on our repair yards. How long is it going to take to get through all these ships, Commander?” I asked in an official tone.
“Hmm...that’ll take me a little think,” he said, reaching up and twirling a finger in his long upright Albert Einstein-like hairdo.
I waited patiently.
“Well, I suppose it all depends on what you mean by 'how long',” Spalding said finally.
“Just your best estimate will do,” I said helpfully.
“Not what I meant,” Spalding was visibly unsatisfied with my response, “look, let me break it down for you.”
“I really wish you would,” I quickly inserted.
Spalding briefly rolled his eyes. “Look,” he said turning serious and leaning forward abruptly.
I could tell I’d caught his interest with something, which wasn’t hard when you were about to talk engineering with an engineer.
“Way things are set up now, you’re looking at 3-4 months just for the majority of the damage to the fleet. That’s not everything, mind you; some of the worse off hulls will take longer to put right but we’re talking most of the major stuff fixed and the smaller things papered over at least,” said the old Engineer, a fire lighting in his eyes as he considered everything.
I looked at him gravely. “That mostly lines up with what the yard has been telling me. Though I’ll admit it wasn’t what I wanted to hear,” I admitted.
Spalding shrugged. “Yard knows the broad strokes at least,” he conceded begrudgingly.
“But, correct me if I’m wrong, I’m thinking the issue isn’t the repairs. It’s all those brand new hulls…well, not new,” the old Engineer said introspectively, “although most of them are a darned sight newer. or at least more advanced. than anything we’ve got out here in the Spine.”
Spalding stopped and smirked.
“Well. except for here in the MSP,” he said visibly swelling with pride.
“You and your engineers have done wonders. Both on our ships and in the repair slips,” I agreed, not hesitating to stroke Spalding’s ego. “But what are we looking at right now for all of these new captures?” I couldn’t help but ask eagerly.
Spalding frowned.
“I’d say about…” there was a pregnant pause as Spalding chewed on his upper lip and squinted one eye, then his eye shot back up to look at me.
I looked at him expectantly.
“Probably about three years, give or take,” Spalding said after a moment’s thought.
I suddenly felt a headache coming on.
“I was hoping for better news,” I admitted.
“Sorry, Admiral, but we’ve only got four slips big enough for our largest ships, not counting the Clover,” he added with a proud look.
I silently noted how he currently had more in common with a rooster than a person.
Then he quickly deflated.
“Look, we can speed that up if you focus on building us some more slips and take it down to a year and a half, or more like two years probably, but that’s about it,” he said finally.
“Why not just build more slips if that’s the hold up?” I asked.
Spalding eyed me. “We could try and build more slips, and I was counting on doing just that...the yard would probably come to you at some point about it, but there’s a couple of problems with that,” Spalding sighed.
“Give it to me straight,” I said.
“Look, more slips mean more ships we can run through the yard but you’ve got to figure the flexibles, which are the only things we can build quick like, are only really useful for Medium Cruisers and below,” he advised me. “For the bigger Heavy Cruisers and Battleships, the only real way to work on them are with dedicated repair docks or large yard slips. So that’s the first problem.”
“I’m assuming there’s a reason I can’t just wave my hand and have the yard build us more fixed repair slips?” I asked.
“They require more men, more facilities and, well, more of just about everything. So even if we could build them, which we can given enough time of course,” Spalding said confidently, “the problem isn’t so much hard docks as it is manpower.”
“Well, that and the technology mismatch,” he added.
“I didn’t think that would be a big consideration,” I said.
Spalding’s brows beetled. “What are you talking about?” he scoffed. “We’ve got the basic tech base to take care of the older style Confederation warships we’re used to seeing out here in the Spine, plus we’ve got the basic Imperial tech base as of oh, five years ago or so, plus everything we’ve pirated off those Imperial ships we’ve captured. Thought we’re still working on that. But,” here Spalding leveled a finger at me, “and it’s a big 'but,' We don’t have the base for these new first and second generation Confederation warships, which is most of what we captured. Worse, just like around here, many of the ships we’ve captured are one offs. Sure, we can sort through it eventually but the Empire uses a lot more standardized tech than the Old Confederation does. It’s going to take us time to sort through everything which is going to take time. I mean, sure, we could rip out everything and start fresh. But that has problems of its own. We’d be giving up any tech edge those ships we captured used to have, and stripping it all out ship by ship and replacing it's almost going to take as much time as if we just ran a bunch of one-offs, considering just how many warships we’ve got on our hands. In the end, all I can say for sure is it’s a right big mess we’ve got on our hands and it won’t be gone through anytime soon,” Spalding sighed.
“So, in short, the current plan is we’re going to have the equivalent of an entire fleet of ships sitting around doing absolutely nothing while they’re waiting to be repaired,” I said.
“Oh, we can shift a few over to Omicron; they’ve got some nice repair slips going on over there, especially for the lighter units, though I wouldn’t trust anything big to them,” Spalding opined. “And we could send a few more to Tracto if we had to, but basically you’ve hit the nail on the head. They’re just going to sit around here for a few years while we go over everything.”
“I see. In that case, I wonder if we’re not putting too many eggs all in one basket,” I said, mulling it over as I thought aloud.
Spalding frowned. “I don’t see what you’re on about, Admiral,” he admitted.
“I’m just recalling that debacle with the antimatter,” I said and when Spalding looked at me blank faced I decided to prod him a little. “You know, the missing load the Droids sent back to Tracto?” I reminded.
Spalding flushed. “Now wait just a cotton-pickin' second: every gram was retrieved and accounted for! I’ll admit, mistakes were made. To start off with, we can say trusting that Union of theirs to run things was a shot in the foot. Just like corporate bosses were born ready to cut your pay and short your overtime, I’ve yet to meet a union that didn’t foul something up and cause a work slowdown!”
“You’re just mad because they made you look bad,” I said.
“I’m man enough to admit you’re too blasted right!” Spalding said, looking absolutely furious. “Who’s done more for the Droids than Terrance P. Spalding? Then all they can do is call me an anti-machine bio-bigot. Bunchy of rust-covered faulty processors! I’m a bigot? I’ve saved more Droid cores than anyone I know,” he said with pride and then immediately scowled, “if they want to see some anti-machine action all they had to do was ask! You know, sometimes it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed in the morning,” he grumbled, “Droids… Admirals…slackers.”
“I hope you’re not saying I’m a slacker,” I said, covering my mouth to hide my true expression.
“I would never ‘say’ such a thing,” Spalding groused and then shot me a hard look, “but put Droids and my personal life aside since that’s not what we were discussing.” He stopped and peered at me suspiciously.
I was temporarily stumped, wondering how exactly the conversation had come here and the best way to say it and then I just decided to go for it.
“Well, as you know from personal experience with the anti-matter, it’s easier to get things, even anti-matter and starships, out of this star system than it ought to be,” I said.
“Don’t remind me, please, but of course, yes, you’re right,” Spalding snorted and then his eyes turned sharp. “Since you’re pointing this out, do you have an idea on what to do about it?”
“Well, our secret rebel base isn’t exactly secret anymore. And after the way the Spineward Assembly kicked me to the curb, we’re actually a lot closer to being rebels than ever before. I think it’s time we fixed that,” I said, one corner of my mouth turning down.
“The secret or the rebel part?” Spalding asked, quick on the uptake. “Because I have to say, once a secret’s out—like the location of a particular star system, say—well, putting the cat back in the bag is harder than scratching Duralloy II. O’ course, it’s not like we’re exactly sure the coordinates have leaked out and all…” Spalding trailed off, looking like he’d just eaten a bug.
“In a way, I’m glad those Droids did what they did,” I said philosophically, “at least now we know we’re potentially compromised—I mean in more than just a sheerly hypothetical way.”
“You can be glad,” the old Engineer harrumphed, “me, I’m not glad. I’m mad. I’m going to break some metal heads over this, mark my words! Not to say that it was all that hard to tell Gambit’s location had leaked out like a two day old sieve!”
“I thought you were more of a Droid advocate than that. Breaking metal heads? For shame,” I snickered before turning serious, “but what’s this about how easy it was to tell how the coordinates must have leaked out?”
“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Spalding rolled his eyes, “I mean, you jumped a whole blasted lot of Border Alliance ships into Gambit when we were running away from Grand Assembly Speaker Isaak at Easy Haven.”
“I didn’t run from anybody! It was a strategic withdrawal. One that left us with the panther’s share of the prize that’s all,” I finished defensively.
“Yeah, and my grandmother’s milk tea wasn’t just healthy for you, it tasted good too,” Spalding mocked, rolling his eyes. “But am I to take it from this line of conversation that it’s the 'secret' part of this rebel base of yours that has you the most concerned? Because I would have thought it’d be those Confederation Admiral’s nebulae on your collar that would have had your knickers in a knot.”
“You’re right, it’s the no longer secret location,” I sighed, “sad as I am to admit it, the 'Admiral' ship has sailed. Oh, make no mistake, I figured victory would keep me in the driver's seat longer than it did,” I said helplessly, “but I always figured once I joined this Spineward Sectors lash-up of theirs that my career as a Confederation Admiral was on the short track to nowhere. I just,” I splayed my hands helpless, “I figured it was the only way to save our people from the Empire. Sure, I could have just sat back and waited until they wrecked the new government and crushed everything inside of Sector 25, but it just didn’t feel right,” I said dispiritedly, “in retrospect that might have been one of my bigger mistakes. Huh?”
“It’s a hit, and a big one, make no mistake about it,” Spalding groused, “and you’ll probably lose most of the Border Alliance boys before too long. Probably even some of the original crew too. Once it's official.”
The old engineer looked dour as he swept his long hair back.
“Fill me up with cheer, why don’t ya?” I said, crossing my arms unhappily. “Anyway you’re right. I don’t want a bunch of unattended hulls sitting around Gambit just waiting for someone to sneak on over and take a few items away with him for a little graft and corruption to line his pockets.”
I paused.
“You aren’t intending to bail on me now that I’m no longer representing a Confederation are you, Spalding?” I asked, trying to hide my concern.
“I’ve done too much damage while under your command to get away with slacking off now, Admiral,” Spalding said belligerently before continuing, “besides, what kind of Prince runs around without an entourage of some kind? It’s better than giving myself up for trial about that antimatter we’re mixing up.”
“Gee, thanks, Spalding!” I exclaimed, mostly relieved and only a little bit outraged.
“Mark my words: if they come for me in the night like storm troopers and then put the screws to me, it’ll be up to you to rescue me because I’ve already done the prison break routine—and let me tell you it’s nerve-wracking enough I don’t know if I’m up for a second time,” he informed me, “I’m too old and too borged for any more of that hero nonsense.”
“I’ll try to make sure that doesn’t happen but if it does, and I’m still at large, I’ll come for you. It’s the least I can do after everything you did for me,” I said seriously.
“Good. Because if you don’t, or if you take too long, I’m telling them you made me do it. All of it. Whatever they ask. Everything was your fault and I’m just the poor, humble space engineer who was in over his head. Like a babe in the woods, I couldn’t leave even after everything went belly up because I was personally sworn to your service. It’ll be 'your highness this' and 'your highness that' as I take your name in vain over every little thing they accuse me of—including that space rescue where we liberated you from the Durance Vile,” Spading assured me.
“Way to kill any sense of appreciation I had for your efforts in the past, Commander,” I said dryly.
“I aim to please,” the old Engineer said with an unrepentant smirk, “now what was it you wanted to do with all those extra ships?”
I resisted the urge to wipe that smirk off with a cutting remark. “Not all of them,” I said, getting back to business, “just enough so that if things go poorly we don’t have all our eggs in one basket. In fact…I might even be willing to take a few names in vain along the way.”
“You mean you want to hide them and then foist the blame on someone else?” he asked.
“We’ll shift a few here. A few there to the Omicron. We could even say some ships were lost in transit,” I said wryly.
“A false flag operation,” Spalding grumped, his interest clearly piqued but not wanting to show it, “but who are we going to blame? Jean Luc’s dead, Arnold Janeski’s dead, Cornwallis is dead—way to get revenge for what he did to Capria by the way and Ambassador Isaak’s part of the new Government, the very people we’re trying to convince. Heck, he runs it.”
“That’s not important,” I dismissed.
“Not important?!” Spalding cried.
I waved my hands in the air like a street magician.
“If necessary we’ll conjure someone up. Operations Budget Balancer and Rounding Error didn’t come about because Captain Jean Luc Montagne suddenly decided he wanted a life of crime...or at least that wasn’t the only factor. Parliament needed a villain and so they conjured him up!” I said with a flourish. “I’m sure we can do the same. Especially since we won’t be killing anyone. I mean we could off a few pirates, and maybe we should, but that’s about it,” I added contemplatively.
“You’ve got anybody specific in mind?” asked Spalding.
“The Interstellar Shoveler, Captain Furious, the Blue Rajah… does it really matter?” I rolled my eyes. “The important thing is moving them around like a magician and making them disappear. And not just that,” I leaned forward intently, and at this Spalding cocked his eyebrow, “to make it easier, maybe a few of those warships we captured turned out to be more damaged than we thought. Maybe we had to sell them off or break them down for spare parts.”
Spalding looked startled and then he began nodding, a conniving expression appearing on his face.
“I like the way you think,” the old Engineer, “of course we’ll have to alter the weight scales,” he looked contemplative for a moment before he nodded, “monkeying with the Duralloy records, that’ll be easy peasy. All we have to do is ‘sell’ a few loads of the right sort of minerals from Tracto, ship them over here instead, and we can smelt them down into duralloy. The problem will be the odd bits that make up the internals, power runs and DI. We’ll have to figure out how to do that.”
“Why don’t we just say we stripped out all the machinery and computer systems and sold them to a wholesaler in Sector 23?” I pointed out.
“It fits. But if everything we try to sell gets mysteriously intercepted by pirates before it arrives, people might start asking questions,” said Spalding.
“I think we can get around that. The Capital Star System sounds like a place where anything and everything can be sold, for a price. Why, I’m sure we could even have Captain Archibald sell a few actual loads for us—he's been developing an impressive satellite operation out there ever since McKnight followed Middleton's example and split. If funneling some of them to Capital covers our tracks and helps fund and expand our covert operation’s list of contacts, it’ll probably be well worth it,” I declared. “Speaking of which, I should probably talk with Archibald and see about rotating his crew and assigning new personnel to his black hat patrol,” I said glumly, reminded yet again that an Admiral’s work was never done. There was always something else to do.
“Then it looks like we both have some more work to do,” Spalding said, rubbing his hands together and with a gleam in his eye that would have instantly put me on guard if I hadn’t been the very one to put him in his current state.
As it was, I had to wonder what kind of monster I’d just unleashed. When it came to squirreling things away, Commander Spalding—initially, in our relationship, just a Junior Lieutenant—had proved himself a master.
The only question was whether or not his skills would translate over to this newer, larger stage.
Had I just created a monster—or was I simply feeding one?
Chapter 14: Stravinsky Reaches the Confederation Fleet Headquarters
Captain Stravinsky held the slate holding her electronic orders in a tight grip as she walked through the eerily empty hallways of the Fleet Starbase. A slight wrinkle creased her forehead as she walked stiffly down the hall.
Chimera Prime was remarkably different from the old Wolf-9 starbase. Built at the same time and to a similar build plan, and utilizing the same materials technology, she would have expected it to feel like home. Yet somehow it didn’t.
The almost depopulated military complex was manned more by automated dust busters and self-activated cleaning bots than it was by military officials. Wolf-9 had gone from empty to always shorthanded too, so a lack of personnel shouldn’t have been jarring and yet, somehow, it was.
Maybe it had to do with the few spacers she’d seen wandering the halls. Everyone in Easy Haven had moved with an energy and sense of purpose that just seemed to be lacking here in Chimera Prime.
Finally, she left the region of well lit but empty halls and rediscovered a veritable hive of fleet personnel. One that was almost as off-putting on general principle as the empty halls had been. The administrative section had all the hustle and bustle which had been lacking in the rest of the starbase but it was the bureaucratic kind that was nearly as bad as inactivity.
Walking forward, she showed her ID to the security guards just inside the entrance to Administrative and then stepped through into the halls of Fleet power.
“I’ve been spoiled out in the Spine,” she sighed, memories of a time before the hustle and bustle of building, training like your life depended on it, and then literally fighting for your life before the cycle started all over again in the Spineward Sectors. Somehow all of that action, that energy had dulled the memories of the previous dull routine and endless paperwork and bureaucracy that was the Confederation Fleet.
She felt a brief pang before reminding herself that the Spineward Sectors was still a part of the Confederation. Now that contact with the Confederation was reestablished and Commodore Colin LeGodat was in the good hands of the doctors, she had every reason to believe she’d be sent back to Easy Haven with new orders.
Every reason, she reminded herself firmly.
“Did you say something, Ma’am?” asked one of the security guards.
The Captain started. “No, spacer, I’ll just be on my way,” she paused. “And it's, 'Sir',” she added pointedly.
“Of course, Sir. We are more than happy to use your designated signifier,” said the Guard.
“What is this?” she asked sharply. “Are you mocking a superior officer?”
The guard stiffened.
“You’re not my superior anything, Fem-Sir,” he said coolly, tapping a patch on his shoulder boards, “private security contractor. All your frog and jump nonsense went the way of the dodo birds when they replaced the Marines with us.”
“Private contractor? In one of the most sensitive military bases in the nation?” she said with disbelief.
The guard looked at her sardonically. “Where have you been the past five years, Fem-Sir?” he inquired.
“Clearly not here,” she said, turning on her heel and striding away while trying to ignore the small pit that had just opened in the middle of her stomach.
Following the starbase map app she’d loaded onto her slate, Stravinsky finally arrived outside a door with a pair of proper Marines standing guard outside the door.
“Captain Stravinsky, Lieutenant Commander, Confederation Fleet, reporting as ordered,” she said, proffering her slate.
“This way, Sir,” said one of the guards opening the door and then escorting her inside to a waiting area.
She sat and waited while the Admiral’s personal assistant sat filing her nails and then she waited…and waited. Until Admiral Croatoan finally called for her to come in.
Stepping into the Admiral’s office, she straightened to attention.
“Lieutenant Commander Stravinsky, Captain of the Q-ship Hot Potato, reporting as ordered, Admiral,” she said, coming to a stop before the desk that took place front and center in the office.
“It’s good that you could arrive so quickly after being summoned, Commander,” the officer sitting behind the desk said with a slight curl of the lip.
“I live to serve the Confederation, Sir,” she said, bracing to attention and saluting.
“That has yet to be determined. After you pass the new mandatory sensitivity training, we’ll see if there’s a place for you and your crew in the new Starbase Wall initiative,” said Admiral Croatoan.
“The Old Confederation now requires loyalty tests?” Stravinsky asked, drawing back in surprise.
“'Sensitivity training,' I said! Loyalty tests are for third barbs out on the frontier who are part of failed planetary nation states,” Croatoan said sharply.
“If you say so,” Stravinsky said doubtfully, and then quickly wiped her face clean of expression.
“All of you Academy trained officers are the same. Think that you’re above the new anti-discrimination laws, do you? Well, let me inform you of something, gentle-fem: despite this new initiative, a pet project of our glorious Speaker can only take you so far! Do you hear me so far?” growled Admiral Croatoan.
“I’m sure I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re referring to, Sir,” Stravinsky said firmly, “the Wolf-9 Reserve squadron was abandoned in place five years ago in Easy Haven, which is a part of the Spineward Sectors. I have less than no idea what new legislation you are talking about.”
“Ignorance is no excuse, Academy!” Croatoan sneered. “Although, with your attitude, I can see why they abandoned you.”
Stravinsky stiffened, a flash of fury sweeping through her like lightning. She forcefully suppressed the emotion before looking back at the Admiral levelly.
“I take it from your statements you did not come up through one of the Fleet Academies?” she asked, instead looking for something to get the conversation back on track that wouldn’t set Admiral Croatoan off again.
Croatoan openly scoffed. “I attended a University like any truly patriotic servant of the Confederation,” said the Admiral.
“That’s something we share in common then. I was part of my world’s self-defense force’s JROTC during my secondary schooling, and then transferred into Antigua Prime University for the ROTC track program,” she said, inclining her head.
The Admiral’s upper lip curled. “A meathead, then,” Croatoan sniffed, “fortunately I was wise enough to attend training in a proper program, and received a Masters in Space Industries Management with a minor in Inter-Cultural Relations.
Stravinsky blinked with surprise. “I take it then you didn’t come up through one of the traditional training programs,” Stravinsky said in surprise, “were you perhaps a merchant fleet transfer?”
“As it so happens, I ran a series space factory platforms before being directly commissioned by the armed services committee into the Fleet. Unlike you, I actually worked for a living before coming to the luxury resort you lot have set up out here,” said Croatoan with an edge to his voice. “In fact, I’ll have you know I worked my way up through the factory’s Cultural Diversity department. Started as an officer gopher and eventually ending up running the department. After becoming department head I was promoted to factory manager. After that it was a simple step for the Grand Assembly to recognize my talent and assign me out here to keep an eye on you rogue military types.”
“Sir, I resent the implication. The Reserve Squadron and my own Hot Potato have been anything but rogue operators. We’re patriots, Admiral,” she said with force.
Croatoan looked at her with slitted eyes. “I have to warn you, you are treading close to some very dangerous territory, Officer Stravinsky. Very dangerous indeed,” said the Admiral.
“I don’t see how proclaiming my loyalty to the Confederation is dangerous, Admiral,” she said faithfully.
“You will after you attend sensitivity training. That you haven’t had a chance to attend such training is the only reason I’m not placing you under administrative review immediately. As it is, I am prepared to withhold judgment until after seeing your test scores,” said the Admiral.
“My test scores, Sir?” Stravinsky said with disbelief.
“Let me tell you something: I have been brought in because some in the Grand Assembly are quite concerned with the recent resurgence of the toxic military culture they’re seeing emerge inside this Fleet,” warned Croatoan. “If you had attended your training, you would know that one of the hallmarks of toxic military culture is loud cries of patriotism and loyalty to the Empire.”
“I’ve never heard of toxic military culture,” Stravinsky shook her head in a lack of comprehension—though, in truth, she feared she understood all too well.
“Cries of patriotism are code, you see, for a conspiracy of officers and politicians which we believe are determined to bring back a resurgence of the military-industrial complex. As such, any right thinking officer and spacer must be doubly careful not to make excessive utterances of loyalty, patriotism and pride in the Fleet,” Croatoan said earnestly.
“I don’t see how being loyal to the Confederation is a crime, Sir,” Stravinsky said carefully.
“Being loyal isn’t, in fact it’s a virtue, but saying how loyal you are…now that’s dangerous. Much like the toxic fraternities of old on University Campuses that had to be disbanded, their permits revoked to prohibit their lawful assembly, so too must toxic military culture be rooted out,” said Croatoan.
“Is this legal?”
“That’s another toxic question,” Croatoan said sharply before reluctantly adding, “unfortunately for all right-thinking officers, it is not. Not yet anyway. Just like fraternities that were disbanded for proclaiming themselves exclusively male institutions with doors only open to people who, regardless of biology, proclaimed themselves male. So too must we search until we find the proper regulatory breech before we can bring the toxic culture within the military to its heel. I hope you are onboard with this plan and that I can rely on you going forward?” Croatoan asked pointedly.
Stravinsky looked at the Admiral nonplussed. This was not at all what she’d expected upon returning to home space.
“You can count on me to enthusiastically follow, carry out and apply all valid Fleet regulations, Admiral,” she said enthusiastically.
Croatoan’s expression twisted like curdled milk. The Admiral was about to speak when the door entry chimed. “I told you I was not to be interrupted,” Croatoan said, smashing a finger on the desk activating the intercom.
“I’m sorry, Admiral, but Commodore Gamecock insisted,” said Croatoan’s Secretary.
“Ah!” Croatoan snapped, silently fuming for a minute before opening the door from the console built into his desk. “Gamecock,” Croatoan sneered the moment the Commodore strode into the room, “what seems to bring you here on this gloomy day?”
Gamecock came to attention and snapped off a razor sharp salute. “I wish you every respect on this wonderful day, Admiral,” said the Commodore.
“Get out of here. Out of my office and back to that benighted demon hole you call home,” demanded the Admiral.
“I am truly sorry to come between you and another opportunity for more sensitivity training, but rules are rules I’m afraid,” the Commodore said with a cheeky grin that appeared to nearly send Croatoan straight up the wall. “I’m here for the officer, I’m afraid,” he said, jerking a thumb at Stravinsky unrepentantly.
“You cheeky blighter!” swore Admiral Croatoan.
“Cheeky? Why, I’m hurt that you would say that, Front Admiral. Just plain hurt. My each and every utterance is in line with the regulation manual,” Gamecock said with a wounded expression, “but fear not, Sir. I’ll have the Captain back to you before long never you fear,” the Commodore ended with a wink.
“Commodore, I am ordering you to get out of this room this instant!” snapped Admiral Croatoan.
“Of course, Sir,” Commodore Gamecock nodded seriously and turned to Stravinsky with an eyebrow cocked, “well, do you want to get back to the business of the fleet or are you more interested in an administrative post and sensitivity training?”
“I’m a ship’s captain,” Stravinsky said, studiously avoiding Croatoan’s increasingly irate look, “and the needs of the fleet must come before the personal desires of any officer.”
“False patriotism!” bellowed Croatoan.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Admiral,” the Commodore interjected before Stravinsky could open her mouth, “but as both the Captain and I are both aware, her agreement is just a formality.”
“Officer Stravinsky, take one step off the administrative deck before I clear you and you’ll be up on charges,” snapped Croatoan, “as for you, Gamecock, I’ll deal with you later.”
“I’m sorry, Sir. But the officer is unable to be detained at this time. I’m afraid I’ll have to take her with me,” the Commodore said respectfully, and then turned to Stravinsky who was worriedly looking back and forth between the two senior officers.
She didn’t want to be caught up in a power struggle far above her pay grade, and even though she tended to agree with the Commodore so far the Front Admiral clearly had the rank.
“How dare you countermand a senior officer, Gamecock?!” snapped Croatoan.
“Without a writ of authority placing you in command of this starbase, as the senior line officer I am in command of this base,” replied Gamecock laconically, a wry smile on his face.
“I’m a Front Admiral! Line or no line, I’m in command here, Commodore,” sneered the Admiral, “the last time I checked the flow chart, an Admiral is above a Commodore.”“As I seem to need to remind you on a daily, if not tri-daily basis, Sir, the holder of an honorary commission is deserving of every courtesy due their rank. But until Fleet Admiralty or the Grand Assembly directly give or assign you to a command, that duty falls upon the senior-most combat officer,” said Gamecock.
“I’ve been put in charge of fleet sensitivity training! Can’t you get this through your head? I’m in charge here,” snapped the Front Admiral.
“Yes, and we’ve shown you every courtesy in setting up your office, supplying you with certified training officers and set up an entire administrative sub-department for you. Now if that will be all, I must take my leave as you yourself ordered. Come along, Captain,” said the Commodore, snapping off a picture perfect salute before turning for the door.
When she hesitated, the Commodore added.
“If you upset the Admiral, the worst he can do is assign up to forty hours of mandatory retraining. I, on the other hand, have the authority to decide whether the Potato is ever refueled and refurbished. Not to mention whether or not you retain command will depend significantly on my own reports,” the Commodore threw over his shoulder dryly.
“Coming right away, Sir,” Lieutenant Commander Stravinsky jerked before hurrying to follow the Commodore.
“Turn back, Officer Stravinsky, before it’s too late!” warned Croatoan and when she kept going the Admiral’s voice rose. “Remember that I’ll expect to see you in three days for your mandatory training!”
The door swished shut immediately after the Admiral finished speaking.
“Three days?” Stravinsky asked as they walked away from Croatoan’s office.
“Unless you agree otherwise, training officers are required to give at least three days notice before mandatory training. You can push that for up to two weeks in non-combat situations,” explained Commodore Gamecock, “after that I’m afraid you’ll have to go in for your homework like a good little schoolgirl,” he rolled his eyes, “and knowing the Croat you’ll immediately be slow-tracked and have to put in a full week listening to a training officer drone on. After all, why would you be any different than any other officer on this base?”
Stravinsky took a deep breath. “I’d forgotten how it was like to serve in a big peacetime organization,” she said into the growing silence as they left the Administrative district.
“I take it you’ve seen some action out there on the Rim then?” Gamecock asked with a sidelong look.
“You can say that again,” she snorted.
“I’ve heard its rough out there with all the pirates, warlords and refugees,” he said.
“I haven’t seen any refugees, and pirates were pretty light where we were at. Neither the Commodore nor the little Admiral were about to put up with any of that nonsense anywhere near us,” she said.
Commodore Gamecock had an interested look on his face. “So what was it, more warlords then or did I hear something about Droids?” he prompted after she didn’t appear ready to continue speaking.
“There were several pirates and a few Bugs along the way but those were mostly handled by the MSP. What we had to deal with were mainly the Imperials and the local governments who were outraged at being abandoned by the Confederation,” she informed him. “Like with the pirates, it was mainly the little Admiral and the MSP who fought off the Droid invasion in Sectors 23 and 24,” she said, only realizing the Commodore had lost some of his easy going goodnatured attitude after several steps.
She eyed him.
“I heard the Empire is all set to recover the Sector Wolf-9 was based in. You weren’t mixed up in any of that business?” he asked with a frown.
The captain’s mouth made a thin red line. “I left before that was anything but a rumor. I’ve been bouncing around from one star system to the next before I finally landed here. My Commodore—” he cut Stravinsky off.
“Yes, we here at Chimera Prime are all well aware of the heroic actions of the Lieutenant Commander,” said the Commodore.
“Lieutenant Commander…,” Stravinsky stiffened, “you may not be aware of this, but that Lieutenant Commander was promoted to Commodore.”
“Acting Commodore, and by an Honorary Admiral who has since left the fleet and joined a local insurrection movement. Even before that, your Little Admiral sure seemed to treat his supposedly Confederation Fleet more like his personal own private force. Taking all of that into consideration, I think it’s highly doubtful any promotions he issued will be regularized. Sorry,” said Commodore Gamecock.
“Even after we were abandoned in place, we held the line and said no one may pass,” Stravinsky was mad enough to spit fire, “now you’re telling me that this is the thanks we get?”
Gamecock’s smile stayed in place but his previous humor turned cold. “You seem to be under the impression you’re owed something, Captain. I would disabuse myself of that notion double quick if I were you,” Gamecock said with reserve, “I don’t know what kind of crazy cowboy operation you people had going on out there, and frankly considering the circumstances and shoestring budget you all were working under I don’t have any interest in investigating.”
He turned to meet and hold her eyes.
“But make no mistake: you are back in the Confederation now, Junior Lieutenant. So you need to get with the program, quickly, if you hope to make it here. The Fleet was almost completely dismantled. You think maybe there was a reason the Admiralty left you and your Reserve Squadron’s hindquarters swinging in the wind? The Admiralty was all but sent home, our ships mothballed, our fleets only stood up in name while the hulls rested in space docks across the Confederation,” said the Commodore. “Frankly if it weren’t for old orange hair and his frankly quite nearly insane Wall initiative, that’s where we’d still be,” he continued, “so you need to get yourself together. Understood? Our mission may be to build a wall that can’t possibly stop every smuggler on the Rim looking to coyote in desperate refuges from the Spine, but that’s what we have.”
“You realize there wouldn’t have been any refugees if the Confederation had done its job? Seven whole Sectors were just up and abandoned, left to their own devices, but only after the Empire blew up anything resembling defensive or orbital industry. I know that isn’t hyperbole because that’s what the blighters tried to do under the command of Captain Cornwallis, the Senator’s nephew, after the Withdrawal was official but before word had reached our base,” she replied levelly.
“So you had it rough out on the Rim of Known Space. Boohoo, Officer Stravinsky,” Gamecock said coldly, “you may not have noticed but the Confederation is all that stands between anarchy and Empire. We do not have time to cater to the egos of every battle-weary officer who just jumped out of the frying pan. You’re in the fire now, Captain. So either you figure out how to square your duty to help this Fleet back onto its feet and get ready to stave off any enemies internal or external, or you can feel free to hand in your resignation papers,” said Gamecock.
“Now that the Commodore is receiving the sort of care he deserves, all I care about is jumping through whatever hoops I have to and then getting back to Wolf-9…sir,” she said, keeping blank-faced as she responded.
“Unlike Croatoan, I have the eyes to recognize a good officer when I see one. But this isn’t some mothballed Sector Podunk, it's Chimera Prime on the edge of the Heartland and we have a mission. Your window to realize your place within it and seize it with both hands is slowly diminishing,” said Gamecock.
“It’s good to see the Confederation focusing so much effort on heartland concerns, Commodore,” Stravinsky said pointedly.
“Forget whatever grudges you think you have. The Spine is gone until and unless the Grand Assembly says otherwise. If you can’t live with that, resign and file a suit in High Judiciary. I’m sure a panel of Sector Judges will hear your case in a few years, after all of this has already been made irrelevant,” Gamecock shrugged, “like I said: you have potential and we could use an officer that’s seen combat recently, along with her crew.”
“I’ll take that under advisement, Commodore,” said Stravinsky.
Chapter 15: Triumvir Bellucci Unleashes 5th Fleet
“Thank you for arriving so quickly, Admiral Davenport I realize it had to have been an inconvenience,” said Triumvir Bellucci.
“Magnus, please, and I live to serve the Empire and the Senate, Triumvir Bellucci,” Magnus Davenport, Admiral of the Empire’s 5th Fleet, said with a bow.
“Come now, there’s no need to dissemble. Nothing you say here will be used against you,” joked Bellucci with a smile any jaguar would appreciate, “you can tell me what you really think.”
Magnus’ eyes flashed. “While I’ll admit I had wanted to spend my first few hours back on home world soil with my family after weeks away from them, as a dedicated officer I of course wanted to heed the call of my Senate and Empire more,” Magus Davenport said with every appearance of a relaxed Flag Officer of the Empire.
“Nice. Subtle too. Letting me know you’d rather have the chance to see your family first while openly placing duty before family,” Bellucci said with satisfaction, “you just may be the man your records say you are, and thus the officer I’m looking for.”
“I live to serve the Senate and the—” Magnus Davenport started to repeat himself but Mary Bellucci cut him off abruptly.
“In this case, while your upcoming operation has been approved by the Senate, you will be working directly for the Triumvirate,” interrupted Bellucci.
Magnus Davenport tensed. It was barely evident but to a seasoned political operator like Mary Bellucci it was unmistakable.
“What’s the mission and who am I supposedly working for? You, Triumvir?” asked Magnus.
“Officially you’re working for me, that’s what it’ll say on the paperwork at least, but in reality all your efforts are for your grandfather, Pontifex,” she said.
Magnus Davenport stiffened, his eyes boring into the Triumvir like lasers as he attempted to discern what she was hiding from him.
“Forgive me if somehow that doesn’t sound very plausible, Triumvir,” replied Magnus.
“It’s the truth. You will be working to recover some of his missing property. That you will simultaneously be doing a little favor for me in helping to reclaim that property, and thus help me avoid any blame for the entire affair, should be secondary in your mind, don’t you think?” Bellucci smiled.
“Cornwallis,” Admiral Magnus Davenport said his mouth working.
“How perceptive of you, Admiral,” said the Triumvir.
Magnus stiffened. “I’m a Davenport, not a Pontifex, Triumvir Bellucci. My wife does not dictate my loyalties. Remember that,” Magnus said stiffly.
“Not your loyalties, perhaps, but certainly your alliances,” Bellucci said sardonically. “Understand in the clearest terms that I did not bring you here to fight.”
“No, you needed someone to carry out your will, to pull your proverbial chestnuts out of the fire. Someone who is above reproach or close to it. How better to avoid blame for the recovery effort than to send an officer with ties to the Pontifex to clean up your mess?” said Magnus.
Bellucci’s smile dropped to the range of sub-zero temperatures within seconds. “Hardly my mess, Admiral—or 'Magnus' as you wished to be called. This is all the doing of Charles Cornwallis. The,” she sneered, “fourth rail has gone off the rails. I’d call it an entirely rogue operation if it weren’t for the Senate's stamp of approval!”
“From what I heard, Senator Cornwallis had both the Senate’s stamp and the Grand Assembly’s personal invitation,” Magnus said, raising a brow.
“Whatever he intended, and from my sources it was less than grand and far sweeping, the good Senator has fallen on his face. That’s if he isn’t dead already,” she said coldly.
“Things are so bad out there you’re not even sure if he’s dead or alive?” Magnus asked with surprise.
“I have my sources,” Bellucci said evasively.
“I’d like to know what I’m walking into or you can find someone else,” said Magnus Davenport.
“And put a blot on an otherwise spotless career for refusing the will of the Senate?” Bellucci archly.
“If you think I’m walking blind into a contest between a Triumvir and Charles Cornwallis, you don’t know me nearly as well as you think. I want everything you have or you can find someone else with ties to Triumvir Pontifex to do your bidding,” said Magnus.
Bellucci’s fingers became claw like as they dug into the upholstery of her furniture. “That can be arranged, assuming that’s your only hangup,” she said.
“The only one for now. I’m sure I’ll think of a few more things after I see the information,” said Magnus.
“I can see we have an understanding,” said Bellucci.
“Your sources?”
“A number of very disturbed officers, including more than one Confederation Admiral, sent reports directly to the Speaker of the Grand Assembly. It’s unclear exactly what occurred and how, except to say Charles Cornwallis failed spectacularly. It’s unclear if he’s dead or alive, however one thing is clear: the reserve Flotilla was effectively destroyed,” said Triumvir Bellucci.
“Destroyed?” Admiral Davenport started with surprise and then reflexively asked. “How exactly did you get reports from Confederation military officers directly back to the Speaker of the Grand Assembly?”
“A few warships are confirmed to have escaped but we can hope for more to follow. Right now none of them have reported back,” she said.
“That’s ominous,” said Magnus.
“As for 'how,' you ask?” she paused, twisting at the waist leaning over to pick up a tablet that she then tossed at Admiral Davenport. “Everything we have is on there.”
“Thanks,” muttered Magnus Davenport, smoothly picking it out of the air.
Bellucci shook her head and then brightened. “In response to your first question, PGE sold us the access codes,” Bellucci continued with a smirk, “as for the reports themselves,” she stopped to buff her finger nails on her shirt sleeve, “the Confederation hasn’t been working nearly as hard at building encrypted codes for their secure data traffic as we have in breaking them and reading their data traffic.”
“I’m impressed,” Magnus admitted.
“Don’t be. From the various reports we’ve intercepted, the Confederation and its much vaunted Fleet are much more of a paper tiger than even we had estimated,” she said scornfully.
“Too bad there’s a war on with the Gorgons then,” said Magnus.
“Too bad indeed,” said Bellucci with a viper like smile.
Then she straightened and her expression cleared.
“Basically, Admiral Magnus Davenport, you and your fleet are to be tasked with cleaning up the mess in the Spineward Sectors that Cornwallis made for the rest of us. You are to take 5th Fleet, retrieve Cornwallis if he’s alive, and bring the Mighty Punisher in regardless of its condition—and regardless of whether the good Senator is dead or alive.”
“One Fleet, when from what I’m reading here,” he said lifting his tablet, “an entire flotilla buttressed with massive Confederation forces were overcome?”
“You will have Rim Fleet as a backstop and emergency reserve,” she stopped, “let me stress that last part: Rim Fleet is there for emergency purposes, and may Man help you if you cause significant damage to either of your forces. Also, if your mission takes too long in the Spine, first Rim Fleet and then eventually your own 5th Fleet will be withdrawn for service in the front by the Senate as intended in the original rotation.”
“No pressure then,” Magnus said wryly.
“Please keep in mind this is not me needlessly causing trouble for you. Regardless of any survivors, after Cornwallis’s blunder, the Empire has been significantly weakened. The loss of the 2nd Flotilla as a combat formation, and having an Imperial Command Carrier be damaged or destroyed, will set us back on the Front,” she said flatly. “Cornwallis was supposed to strengthen us with more worlds, more revenue and possibly even more second and third rate ships, instead he achieved nothing but his own destruction.”
Magnus felt a chill run down his back.
“You speak as if he’s already dead,” observed Magnus.
“If he’s not now then he soon will be. The Senate might be forgiving, but the Triumvirate is not.”
“Command Carriers are the most powerful warships in the galaxy; how exactly was one taken out?” Magnus stiffened, avoiding the multiple perils of weighing in on the internal political workings of the empire. The constant push-pull of the Senate and Triumvirate had ground up better officers than himself before breakfast was served.
“It’s all in the report, but from what I read it looks like they used Space Bugs to win the battle,” Bellucci’s face turned dark, “Bugs we ourselves seeded in the area. Which is not pertinent to this discussion; your job is to recover the Carrier and clean up the mess before 5th Fleet’s failure to rejoin its regular rotation back into the war threatens Imperial interests on the Front. In short, you have to get it in there and get it done quickly. Can you do that for us, Magnus, or do I need to find another officer one who can get the job done?”
“I can, Triumvir,” said Magnus Davenport, giving the only answer any loyal Imperial officer could give.
“Good,” the beautiful Triumvir reclined on her couch. “Now I’d like to discuss exactly how you’re going to carry out the will of the Senate,” she said mischievously as she posed artfully on the couch.
Magnus just looked back at her steadily.
“What’s your plan?” she asked, lifting a brow moving her arm in such a way that the front of her robe almost fell open, hinting at what lay barely hidden in shadow, “I’m all ears.”
“Leave that to me,” said Magnus, standing up and starting toward the door, “my leave just started and now I must go tell my wife and child I have no more time for them.”
Bellucci laughed. “Go ahead and run back to your wife, Magnus Davenport...if that’s what you want,” she chuckled.
His back ramrod-straight, the middle-aged Admiral’s eyes glared steely anger at the room's doors until they swished open and he swept out of the room.
Behind him, Bellucci continued to play the same little games that had lifted her above the common herd and made her the weakest member of the Triumvirate.
Which was to say, she was one third of the most powerful executive authority in known space.
Chapter 16: Magnus Speaks with Adviser Jerkins Simpers of the Imperial Secretariat
Magus Davenport finished reading through the innumerable reports on the fiasco in Sector 25 of the Spine and rubbed his eyes.
He finally felt like he had a handle on what had happened in Sector 25, as well as a good idea of just what needed to be done to rectify the current situation.
Now all he needed to do was touch bases with the Imperial Secretariat, and deal with their undoubtedly unreasonable demands, if his fleet was to finish this mission as quickly as Bellucci and the Senate required.
That was always fun.
Grimly, he opened a channel to his Chief of Staff and asked her to set up the meeting.
“Hello there, Admiral. What brings you to my office?” said the nondescript man in the Assistant Under Secretary’s office rising from his chair and extending his hand.
“Magnus Davenport,” the Imperial Admiral said, introducing himself with an iron-faced nod and not doing the other man the courtesy of fully introducing himself.
“Jenkins Simpers, at your service,” the Simpers reciprocated, his friendly expression not wavering for the slightest even in the face of the Admiral’s very rude greeting, “and today I am an Assistant Under-Secretary for my many sins.”
“Nice office, Simpers,” Magnus said just to get the social pleasantries out of the way. He didn’t even bother the pretense of looking around the room.
“Why, thank you, I do try to keep up appearances,” Simpers said with amusement.
Magnus Davenport’s mouth tightened. His eyes were like laser beams as they roasted the man in front of him. “In truth, your office is shoddy, looking more like something that ought to belong to a clerk than an Under-Secretary,” he ground out, his temper starting to rise at the clear level of importance the Secretariat was showing toward his mission and more importantly his fleet.
“I thought that was understood,” Simpers said, rolling his eyes and then leaning down to tap the ‘Assistant’ portion of his job title written in the placard in front of his desk, “now what can I do for you? I understand your fleet has certain specific needs.”
“This is preposterous,” Magnus Davenport stood up, thrusting his chair that was now behind him out of the way.
“What seems to be the issue?” Simpers asked, cocking his head in a manner that made the Admiral want to knock the simpering little fool in the head.
“I obviously didn’t expect the Minister himself to personally deal with the needs of my fleet, but what I did expect was the Secretariat to show enough respect to assign a Assistant Minister or the Under Minister’s secretary at the very least. This,” he said, gesturing at the Jenkins Simpers and the rest of the room in contempt, “is not the manner of cooperation I was expecting. Instead it is a deliberate show of contempt!”
By now the Imperial Admiral was starting to get genuinely angry. Placing his uniform hat under his arm, he turned on his heel and started for the door.
“If you would prefer to speak with an Assistant Minister, I can arrange that for you. Of course, you’ll be speaking with someone who doesn’t have the slightest clue who you will need to speak with to gain access to the intelligence assets you’ll need. But if you would rather wait to speak with Secretariat’s head of the Spineward region’s covert units only after going through an Assistant Minister, I can always wait until then,” said Jenkins Simpers.
Magnus Davenport stopped mid-step. “Flaming spooks,” he swore quietly and then turned on his heel.
Jenkins Simpers continued to smile at him, only this time there was a faintly sinister cast to his expression.
“You’re the man in charge of our intelligence assets in the region?” the Admiral demanded, his anger being replaced with overwhelming irritation with the spy games the Secretariat liked to play—even with line officers who really and honestly had better things to do with their time.
“Deputy Station Chief for Confederation Affairs, with a recently expanded portfolio that includes the Spineward Sectors,” Jenkins Simpers said smoothly, “I can’t say that every Imperial agent in the Spine answers to me, just that I put the majority of our agents in their current locations and that they still answer to me—whether they know it or not.”
Magnus Davenport frowned at Jenkins, who was still lounging in his chair while an Imperial Admiral stood and then resumed his seat with icy humor.
“I take it then the name on the office is just for show?” he asked, taking his uniform hat and deliberately placing it on the table before him with the front turned toward himself.
“For my sins I really am stuck in this office as an Assistant Under-Secretary,” he flashed a sharp smile, “for the moment at least. The job is real enough, as is the workload I’ve been saddled with, but I thought we were here to talk about you and your needs?” Simpers said with a smirk.
Magnus looked at the spook silently and then, rapping a knuckle on the desk in front of him, he leaned forward, “Can I see some credentials?”
“Sure,” Jenkins said, tossing him his Assistant Under-Secretary’s ID.
Magnus tossed the ID back on the table and looked at Jenkins Simpers steadily.
“Sorry, what you see is what you get. So let’s just assume for right now that you're too smart to throw away your best chance at getting what you need and let’s talk turkey,” said Simpers.
“I’ve never had turkey, whatever that is, and just how sure are you that I need someone from the covert department?” Magnus shot back.
Jenkins Simpers looked at him in disbelief and the Admiral realized just how stupid the question had been. “Do we really have to go there and play this little game? Really?” asked Simpers shaking his head. “How about instead we just skip to the part where you tell me what you need and I help you get it?”
“I’ll admit it was clumsy, but I still need one question answered,” said Magnus.
“I’m all ears,” Simpers scoffed.
Magus took a steadying breath and reminded himself that he wasn’t dealing with an Assistant Under-Secretary, but a man just as competent in his field as Magnus Davenport was in his.
“Why are you offering to help me? This isn’t charity on your part, and the Davenport Family doesn’t have the sort of connections in the Secretariat to secure the services of a man such as yourself. So I’ll say it again: why?” asked the middle scion of one of the Empire’s Senatorial families. “The Davenports have been higher, and we’ve certainly been lower, but right now we have an Admiral and a Governor to our name but our only representative in the Senate is a Grandfather living on borrowed time.”
“Believe it or not, I am a man who looks after his agents. I put most of them out there in the line of fire and I intend to see they’re taken care of,” Simpers said after a minute.
“Can’t take the heat? Agents have sacrificed their lives for the Empire before. People die; you need to get used to it,” observed Magnus.
Simpers looked at him with slitted eyes. “I don’t mind if they die for the Empire. A life without meaning is a waste, and a life without risk is useless. But right now they are not dying for the Empire but for Cornwallis’s folly, and that I can’t abide,” said the Deputy Station Chief.
“Hmm,” said Magnus.
Simpers looked at him patiently before adding, “I also have a personal stake in this situation as well as critical knowledge of the key players and events.”
“That may be true as far as it goes, but do you know what I think?” asked Magnus.
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” Simpers deadpanned.
“I think that maybe you aren’t supposed to be here...that maybe you have the ability to help me but are acting on your own accord, not from directives by higher authority,” said Magnus.
“And why would I do that?” asked Simpers.
“You only control most of the agents in the Spine, yet you’re up on everything I need to know. I wouldn’t happen to be the first commander of an Imperial fleet about to be sent into the Spine that you’ve helped in the past am I?” demanded Magnus.
“I don’t exactly see how any of that matters,” Simpers said, his face hardening.
“I do. I’m already being pulled in three different directions and, one of those directions isn’t even aware I’m working to reclaim his Command Carriers,” Magnus Davenport barked, “I need further complications like I need a hole in the head. A man cannot serve three masters at the same time and do it well. I don’t need to be tied up in a Cornwallis plot to extricate the Praetor from a hell of his own creation at the expense of my fleet and myself.”
“I can tell you that you’ve got me all wrong, but believing or not believing is up to you,” said Simpers, “my connection to the Senator was that of a working relationship only. He needed Secretariat assets for operations in the Spine and his authorization from the Senate provided access to those assets. Along with those assets naturally came a controller, in this case a certain Deputy Station Chief who shall remain nameless,” Simpers smiled mirthlessly. “Right now everything the Senator touched is contaminated, and I certainly don’t intend to see a spotless career in the Secretariat go down in flames. So, yes, I saw a way to help myself by helping you and I took it. If that somehow offends you or disqualifies me from providing you the assistance you yourself seem to believe you require, then by all means feel free to walk out that door,” Jenkins Simpers said, motioning toward the door.
He stopped and his eyes bore into those of the Imperial Admiral’s.
“I am here to stay. If you are too, then it’s time to cut the smoke and tell me what you mean to achieve and what you need. You have my vow that nothing said in confidence in this room will leak out to anyone else of any stripe, rank or position,” said Simpers, “also, I can promise that if you let me help you here—you personally as well as House Davenport—will have the chance to let me continue helping you going on into the future.”
“I see,” said Magnus, his mind racing and then like the trained combat officer that he was he came to a rapid decision. That decision was to take a chance and dip his toes into the murky water that was Imperial Secretariat and see what advantages he could wring out.
Every operation was an opportunity.
“Right now our mission is threefold: retrieve the Senator if he’s alive; recover Mighty Punisher no matter what the condition; and extricate the Empire from Cornwallis’s debacle,” said Magnus Davenport, “I personally will also add the intention of retrieving as many of our lost ships and officers as possible.”
“How very military of you,” the smile on Simper’s face didn’t reach his eyes, “but please go on. What do you need from me?”
“After going over the material, to succeed I believe we must create exactly the right political atmosphere,” said Admiral Magnus.
Simpers looked at him in surprise. “Imagine that...an officer who doesn’t intend to go in there guns blazing,” said Jenkins Simpers with mock shock.
“Laugh it up,” Magnus said without humor. and Jenkins’ mirth disappeared as quickly as it arrived, “military action will be a key part of our strategy, or at least the threat of it will be. I’m willing to take a win and walk if it means achieving my objectives.”
“Now that is a surprise,” Jenkins said with slitted eyes, “but do go on.”
“Objective one is isolating our main enemy, who I have identified as this Grand Admiral Montagne of theirs. This will be done by marginalizing him and elevating his opposition,” said Magnus, “in the later states we can dangle Imperial censure versus the possibility of damage control and containment limited to this Jason Montagne of theirs in order to strip him of his allies and give his enemies ammunition. After he’s been weakened and his opponents have been allowed to taste the sweet taste of superiority, threatening to take everything away and cut a deal.”
“How very devious,” said Simpers, a new look in his eye as he reassessed the Imperial Admiral, “I also have a few ideas on just how exactly I could help you make that happen. But how is the Grand Admiral to be weakened in the first place?”
“We will create a military crisis to draw him out utilizing clandestine elements that you should be quite familiar with, the Reclamation Fleet. With ‘rogue elements’ of the Reclamation Fleet eager to revenge themselves and their losses on the new Spineward Sectors Government, all eyes and attention will be focused toward Sector 26 and they will have no choice but to respond with their best,” Davenport explained. “Then when they are distracted I will arrive, strike fear in the hearts of the Spineward Sectors Assembly, and offer them everything they have ever wanted on a silver platter: peace with the Empire and a reunion with the rest of civilized space on terms they can accept. All they’ll have to do is throw out the hero of the hour and the only man, as far as I can see, who has the stones, the brains and the sheer gall to cross the Empire and succeed at doing it,” said Magnus Davenport. “At every turn it is this Admiral Montagne who has impeded us. With his own people turning against him he’ll be isolated from his allies and unable to oppose us.”
“A simple enough plan, but what if he sees you coming?” asked Simpers. “Because I agree with you: Jason Montagne has far too often been at the forefront when the Spine has thwarted the Empire.”
“We won’t move until he’s personally engaged,” said the Imperial Admiral with confidence, “and for that I’m going to need a few things from you which we will discuss later.”
“Alright, you don’t want to let the cat entirely out of the bag this early in our relationship. I can respect that,” said Jenkins Simpers.
“I will issue orders for Reclamation Fleet forces to provoke the new Spineward government until they have no choice but to respond, and then we'll fall back and avoid a decisive battle until Montagne’s arrival. After that,” he slapped his hands together with a crack, “I will take them down in detail. Either with politics or military action, and I really don’t care which.”
“Your plan may succeed, but if you lose too many ships it won’t matter. You could succeed in your mission but if you make the Empire look weak and ineffective you’ll lose everything you have the moment you return back home,” advised Simpers, “think about that.”
Magnus frowned. “I expected to have more latitude,” he said finally.
“Oh, you’ll have latitude. They’re going to give you enough rope to hang yourself with. If you take serious fleet losses and Cornwallis is alive, you could maybe throw him to the wolves. But if he’s dead and you don’t handle the situation flawlessly, they’re going to be out there demanding red meat and you’ll be on the menu,” advised Jenkins.
“So quick to turn over your old boss to the wolves, Simpers?” asked Magnus.
“Who said he was my boss? I serve the Empire, not any one Admiral or politician,” Jenkins Simpers said pointedly.
“Point taken and remembered,” said Magnus.
“Make no mistake, once I assist you we’re in the same boat. If you fail, I fail, so I will do everything I can to make you succeed,” said the Agent. “Look, you have to be careful; you can’t afford to make the Empire look bad and still expect to retain your command when you return to stand before the Senate and account for your actions.”
“You’ve said that before. I’m well aware of the risks involved.”
“I’m not certain you are. I’ve been at this for a long time and it's clear as crystal Bellucci and others are looking for someone to hang out to dry; they’ll not hesitate to paint with a wide brush. It’s not just you they’ll tar and feather, but your top sub-commanders and anyone in your personal patronage network that you’ve brought up. They’ll want this situation fixed quickly so they won’t have to deal with Pontifex. They’re fools for believing they can avoid him but that won’t stop them from attempting damage control, and that means if and when they go after you they’ll pull you up root and branch leaving nothing behind that can threaten them,” advised Simpers, “your elderly grandfather won’t be able to save you, Senator or no.”
“I’m a Davenport. I’m intimately aware of just how cutthroat Imperial politics can be,” said Magnus, “I only took this job because if I refused it would stain my reputation. My House only has two scions able to take a place in the Senate, and I can’t afford to wait another twenty years to make Junior Senator.”
“If Senator Davenport dies before he can shepherd you into the Senate, your House will rapidly decline,” agreed Simper.
“Which is why I must succeed,” said Magnus, “this is my chance for two Triumvirs to owe me a favor, and receive Senate recognition and approval in one fell swoop.”
“Forget about your future political career for a moment and come back down to the reality of today. They won’t interfere no matter what you decide, so long as you succeed,” warned Simpers, “but after you come back they’ll crucify you in a heartbeat to save the reputation of the Empire. Even execution might not be off the table. The ‘favor’ of a highly placed politician can be just as deadly as a blaster bolt, and that’s even if you succeed in gaining it in the first place.”
“Execution?” Magnus scoffed.
“Believe it. I’ve seen more done for less. If you bungle this and get your fleet wrecked you might as well not bother coming back,” Simpers said levelly.
Magnus Davenport grit his teeth. “I see I’ll have to thank Triumvir Bellucci for her kind consideration in tapping me for the job in the future,” said the Imperial Admiral before slapping a hand on the table, “I’ll just have to hand the Empire a large enough win that they have no choice but to enthusiastically welcome my return and induct me into the senate. The Empire does not call it the Path of Glory into the Senate for nothing.”
“I don’t see how,” said Jenkins Simpers harshly. “Curb your ambitions. You don’t have time to do more than retrieve our Carrier and win a battle or two. Focus on that not the impossible.”
“It’s not impossible. After I’m done with Montagne and have them dancing in the palm of my hand, anything is possible. In order for both sides to save face, I’ll call for a plebiscite as part of the peace deal and then ‘willingly hand back’ any Imperial territory that would prefer to rejoin the Confederation.”
“How does that help?” Simpers' brow winkled.
“The 28th Provisional,” replied Magnus.
“Ah,” said Simpers, momentarily freezing.
“It’s time the Empire had a new Province, don’t you agree?” the Imperial Admiral asked with a smile.
“I’ll give you this: you don’t dream small, Admiral Davenport,” Simpers said with only a hint of dissatisfaction at the ambitious plans of the Admiral in front of him.
“Do we have a deal?” asked Magnus, extending his hand.
Simpers eyed that hand warily before leaning forward and taking it with one of his own, “We do.”
“Time to ride the tiger,” declared Magnus.
Chapter 17: Bluetooth’s Big Push
“Rear Admiral Bluetooth?! Congratulations again on the promotion, but what brings you to the bridge?” asked the ship’s new captain with surprise.
Bluetooth swelled with pride as he looked down at the pair of Admiral’s nebulae on his collar.
“They do look rather dashing don’t they?” asked Bluetooth before continuing. “Who’d have thought a year ago that I’d be trading in a Sector Guardsman officer’s uniform for a Confederation Admiral’s?” Bluetooth threw back his head and laughed uproariously.
The captain smiled politely and wisely maintained his silence.
“Well, enough of that, Kermit. The Grand Assembly has decided that we’ve recovered enough from the debacles of Black Purgatory and Hart’s World to renew the offensive,” Bluetooth said with satisfaction.
“That’s a relief. We’ve been chasing Confederation Fleet survivors for the past four months,” said the Captain.
“Reinforcements and a new voting delegation from Sector 22 are scheduled to arrive any day and the Grand Assembly has finally decided, in its infinite wisdom, to send us the first of the newly repaired and reorganized units formerly belonging to First Fleet,” Bluetooth said with determination.
“Great news! When do we hit Aegis and liberate our people from the jackboot of the Empire?” Kermit asked eagerly.
“Aegis?” Bluetooth glared at him. “What has Aegis done for the Confederation lately to deserve special treatment? And besides, it's the Confederation fleet that barricaded Aegis not the Imperial Navy.”
“Special treatment? What do you mean, Sir? How is kicking the old Confederation or the Empire out of Aegis special treatment? It seems to me only common sense,” retorted the Captain.
“That’s why I’m paid the big bucks and you just drive the ship, Kermit,” Bluetooth said harshly, reaching out to press a finger against the other officer’s forehead, “expand your mind and the answer will come to you. Why would the government send us back into Sector 26 instead of throwing us against that murthering big fleet dug in at Aegis?”
“I honestly don’t know…Rear Admiral Bluetooth,” the Captain’s voice had a bite to it as he retorted.
“Don’t get uppity with me,” warned Bluetooth.
“Sorry, Sir. But I’m just here to drive the ship,” the Captain said unrepentantly.
Bluetooth winced. “Alright, I’ll admit I went over the line there but my point still stands,” he said.
“So what about Aegis?” Kermit persisted.
“You’re worse than a tick on a boar. Listen up: we’ve lost more worlds to the Reclamation Fleet in Sector 26 than are occupied by the entire Glorious Fleet of Liberation. If we go back into 26 we can liberate worlds, win a PR bump and at the same time maybe pick up a few warships,” said Bluetooth.
“Even so, that Fleet of Glorious Liberation ships…” Kermit trailed off unhappily.
“I’ll tell you the same thing Speaker Isaak told me when I voiced some of the very same complaints,” Bluetooth grunted.
The Captain looked at him expectantly.
“The Glorious Fleet in Aegis is too strong to root out right at the moment. Leave Aegis to Admiral Manning and let him worry about it. In the meantime, you and I can do our careers some good by liberating worlds and gaining more votes for the Speaker,” advised Bluetooth.
“It just seems wrong to divide our strength like this. First Fleet is still tied up in dry dock and the Glorious Fleet could sally out at any time!” said Kermit.
“I said don’t worry about the GF,” Bluetooth said harshly, “we’ve been given the green light to renew our activities in Sector 26 and by Murphy that’s what we’re going to do,” said the new minted Rear Admiral, clouting the smaller man on the shoulder.
Kermit promptly produced a thin smile, “You’re the Admiral, Sir.”
“It’s time for the big push,” Bluetooth said with gleaming eyes.
Chapter 18: Acting Commodore McCruise Appears before the Grand Assembly
“Commodore McCruise, I’d like to thank you for appearing before this august body to account for the actions of the Reserve Squadron and Wolf-9 Starbase while under your command,” said the orange-haired Speaker and leader of the One Way Party
Synthia McCruise motioned she wanted to speak and the Speaker nodded to her. “Just to be clear: I only assumed command of the expanded Squadron and remains of the Wolf-9 e complex after the Starbase was already destroyed,” said the Acting Commodore.
Assemblyman Charles Thomas, co-chair of the Armed Services Committee, leaned forward.
“Thank you for that clarification, Officer McCruise. Please continue,” he said, speaking into his microphone.
Beside him, Assemblywoman Irene Gravity looked absolutely furious.
“To clarify,” said the Speaker leaning, forward while behind him a number of army, Lancer and Marine generals looked on, “I have initiated this blue ribbon fact-finding panel to get to the bottom of the reports of incredible events taking place in the Spineward Sectors. It will be headed by myself and Assemblyperson Gravity, and it is why you have been summoned here today.”
“Thank you for that clarification, Speaker,” said Synthia McCruise impassively.
“To start off, what do you know about the massive defeat that Senator Cornwallis and our fleet suffered at the hands of the Spineward Sectors Rebellion?” Irene Gravity cut in angrily.
“I don’t know, Assemblywoman. As you know, I’ve been here for months waiting to see someone in authority and report the status of the Wolf-9 expanded reserve squadron. That battle, and the events you are referring to, took place literally months after I left the region,” said the hatchet-faced Acting Commodore.
Orange Hair cleared his throat. “Be that as it may, and not to step on my friend from Absolute Choice’s feet, you are the only local resource we have from that region of space. As such we’d like to hear your opinion on what’s actually happening there and what, in your opinion, we should do going forward,” said the Speaker.
“Well, Sir,” McCruise turned from the Assemblywoman back to the Speaker, “it all started when this Assembly granted a twenty year old provincial noble an honorary commission which put him in command of a Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet.”
Grand Assemblywoman Irene Gravity jumped to her feet “Check your fake news, McKraken!” shrilled the Assemblywoman. “Our records clearly indicate Montgomery was only ever intended for ceremonial command. Arnold Janeski of the Imperial Rim Fleet was given operational command.”
“It’s McCruise, Assemblywoman, not Bracken, and in case you didn’t notice—” the last commanding officer of Easy Haven was cut off.
“You can address me as 'Assemblyperson' for the duration of this fact-finding commission, Fleet Officer,” shot back the 3rd in command of the Absolute Choice Faction.
Synthia McCruise frowned, looking at the Assemblywoman patiently.
“Of course, Assemblyperson; to misidentify a person is something that any person of moral fiber would immediately attempt to rectify. I apologize for referencing the name plate in front of your seat, which indicated you were an Assemblywoman, and will make the appropriate adjustments,” she said after a moment.
Irene Gravity flushed. “No more of your lies then, Fem, or I’ll see you sanctioned before the General Assembly,” she snapped and sat back in her seat, arms crossed as she glared daggers at the Acting Commodore.
“In case it has escaped the Assemblyperson’s attention, the Armed Services Committee is in charge of censuring, commending, or—dare I say—promoting Fleet Officers. In short any such actions as the Assemblyperson is suggesting fall under our purview,” Charles Thomas interjected, locking eyes with Irene Gravity.
An ugly expression crossed the Assemblyperson’s face. “Your Committee, of which you are merely the Ranking Member, can be overridden by the direct will of the Grand Assembly, Assemblyman. You would do well to remember that it is the Grand Assembly that wields absolute choice in any situations,” Irene warned.
“You mean unless we absolutely support your every decision, is that it?” the former Admiral asked with a hard glint in his eye.
Grand Assemblyperson Gravity started to reply but the Speaker leaned forward. “Enough of this bipartisan bickering. I would like to finish hearing the Commodore’s report sometime today,” said the Orange Haired Coalition Leader.
“Acting Commodore,” Irene Gravity immediately corrected the Speaker with a frown.
The Speaker waved his hand irritably and then turned to Synthia McCruise.
“Ronald, dear, if you would just—,” Irene Gravity interjected, her voice now sounding like dripping honey.
“Irene, please, you’re beautiful. Now shut up. Enough with the gender morphic interruptions; let’s just put aside side issues and get down the business, yes?” said the Speaker.
Irene Gravity looked immediately put out.
<Polymorph> Charles Thomas pretended to cough loudly into his hand as he spoke.
The Absolute Choicer immediately stiffened with impotent fury. “I have never been so insulted in all my life,” she exclaimed, glaring around the room.
“Assemblyperson, you’re beautiful. I assure you. Now please let Commodore McCruise speak,” said the Speaker. He then turned back to McCruise, “Please continue.”
“I’ll remember this, Ronald,” Irene glared daggers at everyone in the room before turning away with a loud huff.
“As I was saying before,” McCruise continued, “when Arnold Janeski abandoned the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, the only officers he left behind where a trio of Junior Lieutenants and the Fleet’s nominal commander, Acting Vice Admiral Jason Montagne. My understanding is that it was a political sop to stroke the egos of the local worlds into providing warships,” continued McCruise, as if she hadn’t just heard a lot of back and forth well above her pay grade.
“Despite every ship in the patrol fleet, including his own flagship, deciding to withdraw from the MSP and go home, the man Janeski left in charge thought you, this body, actually put him in command of the defense of the Spine and proceeded to act accordingly,” she said and then sighed. “And he was more than willing to show as evidence his honorary commission and writ of fleet command when prompted to do so. In short: you created a monster, one who believed he was acting on your behalf and with your authority,” she continued with a level gaze as her eyes pierced every member sitting on the blue ribbon fact finding commission in front of her.
“This is preposterous,” Assemblyperson Gravity huffed turning around, “it reads more like fiction than an actual event.”
“For once I am inclined to agree with the Assemblyherm… oh, wait, I meant Assemblyperson,” Charles Thomas said, at first serious and then at the end unable to resist ending with a dig at the Absolute Choice Whip.
“You see the sort of intolerant attitude I have to deal with when working with the BIM’s?” Irene Gravity demanded, glowering at Charles Thomas.
“You had your chance to get rid of me once and for all and took a pass, Irene, choosing to go with Senator Charles Cornwallis instead,” Charles Thomas’s smile had an edge to it, “we’ve all seen how that worked out for you. And please, it's Border Integrity Movement not BIM.”
“Ronald!?” snapped Irene, still glaring at the former Admiral and current Minority Faction Leader.
“We’re here to find out what happened, Assemblyperson,” the Speaker soothed absently, “how can you expect me to make a deal and fix this mess if you insist on insulting everyone who sits across the table from you?”
“I’m sorry, Speaker,” the Assemblyperson said after taking a few breaths.
Charles Thomas smiled contentedly while she leaned over and hissed.
“You listen to me, Minority Leader: the day will come when we no longer sit still while the Minority oppresses our Majority. A change is coming, one that you can believe in,” she said in a low voice, “and you can take that to the bank!”
“I’m oppressing you? Are you certifiable, Grand Assemblywoman?” asked the Minority Leader.
“Minorities have oppressed majorities for centuries, at least until right-thinking individuals who are against hate and oppression have stood up and said 'no more',” Irene Gravity assured him in a threatening voice.
“Please continue,” said the Speaker, ignoring the byplay and motioning to Synthia McCruise to continue.
“Yes, please help us to understand,” agreed Charles Thomas, ignoring the Assemblyperson and her threats.
Synthia McCruise blinked and then paused a moment to gather herself.
“It's simple. The rest of us, who had been abandoned in place, didn’t have the rank or authority to say the Vice Admiral was wrong, so he took it upon himself to rebuild the Patrol Fleet, which at that point consisted of just his flagship. He then started fighting every threat in the Spine, from pirates to Droids to uplifts and rogue Imperials, all in the name of the Confederation Fleet,” McCruise pursed her lips disapprovingly, “or at least he did up until you violated the Confederation Charter and sold his fleet and home world out from under him—and to the Empire no less.”
“Preposterous! Outrageous! We didn’t violate anything. Those worlds were auctioned off for back taxes,” snapped Irene Gravity, “we have the right to eminent domain! It was only after there were no longer sufficient unsold worlds to form a conclave that the Sector administrative districts in the Spine were dissolved and the region handed over to the Empire.
“Actually that makes a lot of sense, Captain. It's improbable but I can see it,” said Charles Thomas, “as for my fellow assemblyperson’s words, they are so ludicrous that while I can understand each and every individual word when taken as a whole they make less than no sense.”
The Orange Haired Speaker of the Grand Assembly looked back and forth between his two advisers and fellow Grand Assemblypersons and frowned.
“The Commodore makes a certain level of twisted sense...if you accept the premises she puts forth,” the Speaker said after moment.
“This is complete poppycock. You can’t be honestly listening to this, Ronald?” Irene Gravity’s brows rose with alarm. “There’s no way a tax evader such as the Acting Officer has described could have possibly defeated an Imperial Praetor like Senator Cornwallis! Why, the Paetor is a former Imperial Admiral! I still think it’s all lies and rumors designed to mislead and confuse us. There’s absolutely no way,” Irene finished, shooting daggers at McCruise like Synthia was her personal enemy.
The Speaker turned back to look at McCruise questioningly. “You say he defeated Admiral Cornwallis?”
“Look, I wasn’t there, and I’ll be frank: I didn’t think he could do it,” Synthia McCruise blinked, “but that said...I’m not surprised. Not really. If anyone in the Spine could do it, take on an Imperial Admiral and win, it’s him.
“You almost sound as if you admire this rogue, this tax evader and traitor to the Confederation and Empire. Remember that he threw his lot in with the rebellion, Acting Captain!” snapped Irene Gravity, rising to her feet and thrusting a finger at Synthia McCruise, “the Spineward Sectors Rebellion!”
“Why do you continue to misidentify and malign me, Assemblyperson?” McCruise finally rose to her feet and met Irene Gravity’s eyes levelly. “Quite frankly I detest the man, and I object to this body ever giving him his honorary commission in the first place. I consider it a stain upon the honor of the Grand Assembly and the Confederation Fleet,” said Synthia McCruise in a calm level voice, “at the same time I have eyes and I can recognize a successful officer when I see one. That he should never have been placed in command of a fleet is beside the point, as is the fact that Rim Fleet and Grand Assembly negligence placed him in a position to command the defense of three entire Sectors in the first place. It doesn’t even matter that there is every chance Jason Montagne will turn into a warlord of the first stripe now that he’s turned his back on the Confederation. None of that matters. The fact is he’s lucky, and I don’t mean the kind of 'here today, gone tomorrow' luck. Expect the unexpected from him, that’s all I’ll say,” said McCruise.
“How would you rate him on a tactical scale, Commodore?” asked Charles Thomas with interest.
“Put him in a straight-up slug fest with equal numbers and weight of metal? He’s average at best,” said McCruise and then frowned, “although that may just be my own prejudice against the young man speaking.”
She paused in thought, during which lull the belligerent Assemblyperson mockingly interjected, “Then from your own mouth there’s no way Senator Cornwallis could have possibly been defeated by this rube. And yet, out the other side of your mouth, you’re now trying to tell us you’re not surprised the Senator lost? Pick a side and stick to it, Officer McCruise.”
Synthia McCruise’s hatchet-like face tightened. “I may not like what he stands for, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m talking about, Assemblywoman. If you would just let me explain uninterrupted for once,” McCruise said with no little temper.
“That's 'Grand Assemblyherm' to the likes of you, Lieutenant Commander!” barked Irene Gravity, slapping the table with anger.
Synthia McCruise blinked. “As I recall, isn’t that the third gendered state the Assemblyperson’ has experienced so far today?” Charles Thomas asked with pointed politeness.
“I’m not sure. I distinctly remember two,” the orange-haired speaker said reluctantly.
“Assemblywoman, Assemblyperson, Assemblyherm,” Charles Thomas, said ticking them off on his fingers.
“What’s your point?” Irene Gravity demanded.
“I’m just worried for you, that’s all,” Charles Thomas said compassionately, “every time you’re in a stressful situation on the floor you seem to transition and then immediately accuse the person you’re arguing with of misgendering you, and now here today you’ve exceeded the legally allowable daily transition limit. I’m just worried for you because this appears to fit classic polymorphic behavioral symptoms. Are you sure you’re not feeling any strain or mental confusion?”
“What, you’re going to accuse me of gender dysphoria now?” Irene Gravity demanded. “Ce careful, Minority Leader, or I’ll have you up on bigotry charges so fast your head will spin.”
“I never said the words you are accusing me of. Everyone knows that as of five years ago no one is legally allowed to be diagnosed with that medical condition. I only asked if you were feeling confused, nothing more,” said Charles Thomas.
“'Mentally confused' is code for Dysphoria! Everyone knows that. For the last and final time: I am not a polymorph! I just transition a lot. It’s part of my identity,” Gravity said defensively.
“Maybe you should just admit you’re a Gender Blender and we can finally stick to one set of pronouns and one form of address. It will let you experience whatever internal state you’re feeling without restriction, as everything inside a Blender is on a spectrum and the rest of us can stop catering to your constant transitions in the middle of heated debates,” advised Charles Thomas.
“Deny it all you want, but I know that secretly in your heart you’re a bigot who only believes in the base twelve genders! You’re the last person I would listen to for advice,” she declared standing up and thrusting a finger at him, “admit it. You’ve been deliberately evading the anti-bigot algorithms for years!”
“As a member of the Grand Assembly, I’m not subject to routine monitoring. So how would you know anything about those algorithms?” Charles Thomas asked suspiciously. “Unless you’ve been illegally worm-riding my feed?”
“Anyone suspicious, even an Assemblyperson, can have their immunity waived for a six month block. Surprise, surprise: no one trusts you! Now that’s a real shocker,” Irene Gravity shot back.
“You said 'for years,' though,” Charles Thomas said, his ire openly rising.
“There’s no limit on how many extensions can be requested,” Gravity openly gloated.
“Every Assemblyman is supposed to have immunity so they can do their job without their correspondence being monitored by their political rivals. This is fascism, straight up,” the Minority Leader was quietly furious.
“Absolute Choicers have labeled ourselves anti-fascist and as everyone knows labels disable, which is why it’s impossible for us to be fascist oppressors,” Irene Gravity said triumphantly, “the fact is you just can’t handle that everything we do is for the good of the people, and for the record no one here is admitting to have read your feed. Those are the paranoid ravings of your own delusional mind,” Irene Gravity vindictively rolled her eyes.
“I’m going to file a complaint with the Ethics Committee!” growled the former fleet Admiral.
“And you call me mentally confused for one small slip up? A Gender Blender indeed! Who do you think authorized the worms!” she said indignantly.
The Minority Leader stared at her and then fell back in his chair.
The Ethics Committee was made up of highly respected members of every faction in the Grand Assembly, and a few permanent members above reproach to give it continuity. Even McCruise knew that if his feed had been effectively permanently hacked that meant that every member of the Ethics Committee, including members of rival factions like Absolute Choice, had been reading his every click and correspondence for years…
She silently marveled at just how much insanity had taken root in the highest offices of the Confederation, to allow such displays to persist in the middle of important inquiries like this one.
“I am going to file a complaint and demand an investigation,” he growled. “I want a special counsel appointed. For all I know everyone in the majority leadership is part of this plot.”
“We’ll just shut it down. Do we look insane? You’ll never get your special counsel,” the Assemblyperson sneered.
“Irene,” the Speaker said warningly.
“He started it,” she argued.
“Irene!” snapped the orange-haired Speaker. “There is no need to air the Assembly’s dirty laundry in front of civilians.”
“Hmph,” she turned away.
“If there has been any abuse of your rights by anyone, I promise to personally have my people help you in sorting it out. I am and have always been for open and transparent government,” the Speaker said righteously.
Charles Thomas eyed him warily and then grimly turned away.
“I am innocent of any charges,” insisted the Speaker.
“Tell that to the voters,” Charles Thomas said grimly and then turned back to the panel. “You were saying, Commodore McCruise?” asked the Border Integrity Leader deliberately turning away.
“As I was saying, with Montagne you have to learn to expect the unexpected. The Little Admiral will come at you sideways when you least expect it, and he’s not bounded by any notion of traditional allies. He’d make a deal with a Droid if he thought it would put him ahead,” she hesitated, “as he’s done several times in the past.”
There were audible gasps around the blue ribbon panel as previously silent members sat up and took notice.
“He’s cozied up with the machines?” exclaimed one Assemblywoman, all talk of investigations and special counsels falling by the wayside.
“This is outrageous,” snapped another.
“Man not Machine!” cried a furious male assemblyman who was a part of the Health Care Dogs.
“What exactly has this Rebel Admiral done, Commodore?” asked Charles Thomas grimly.
Synthia McCruise’s mouth made a thin red line. “When the local SDF fleets were outnumbered and out gunned, and a Droid invasion that looked unstoppable and ready to sweep the Sector 23 and 24, Montagne wasn’t above cutting a deal that turned one of the three factions of Droids against the others,” she said.
There were severe frowns all around the table.
“While morally questionable and certainly deserving of a good hard look to make sure what exactly went down, sometimes you have to make the hard calls. Turning your enemies against each other in a wartime situation is not a crime,” Charles Thomas said sharply, “but I’m sensing there’s more to the tale.”
“The problem isn’t whatever lies he felt necessary to tell the Droids to get them to turn on one another. Even a straight up transaction that paid them to leave human space could have been understood, if not condoned. But the problem wasn’t that he lied to the machines, rather that it seems he didn’t lie and even now Droid warships go into battle alongside his fleet as if they were proper allies,” McCruise said dourly.
“Outrageous,” shouted an Assemblyherm, “we might as well return to the days of the cost-benefit ratio.
“There is only one way to settle this. This Admiral must be prosecuted for his crimes,” exclaimed a One Way Assemblywoman.
“The day humanity allies with the Droids is the day we invite the machine menace back into our homes,” snapped a Heath Care Dog.
“This sort of thing never ends well,” the Speaker said with certainty.
One of the Assemblymen in the room wrinkled his brow.
“You have something to say,” the Speaker jutted his jaw belligerently.
“I’m the Grand Assembly Historian, and I have information that’s not generally available to the public at large,” said the Historian.
“Spit it out or let us get on with the meeting,” said the Speaker, “we all know the horrors of the Droid menace from primer school.”
“Yes, a rather… simplistic and sometimes completely wrong account. For several hundred years the Droids proved to be quite productive, law-abiding citizens of the Confederation. It’s not impossible that their energies could have been harnessed for productive ends,” said the Historian.
“Only potential traitors to humanity talk that way. I fear your historical studies have led you dangerously close to heresy and treason,” warned the Health Care Dog on the panel.
“We are not mired in the superstitious past,” scoffed the Historian, “this isn’t treason, it's science, and the records are clear: the Droids were very productive members of society at one time in the past. It’s not impossible to conceive they could return to that state. It’s a simple matter of programming, after all. I admit it’s unlikely, but it could happen.”
“Man not machine,” the Healthcare Dog spat back, “all records the Droids touched—including, I would presume, your precious historical files—are tainted.”
“Are you an idiot?” asked the Historian.
Immediately almost every set of eyes in the room glared at him.
“Tread carefully or impeachment will be the least of your worries,” warned the Health Care Dog.
“You really don’t know? Unbelievable,” cried the Historian.
“Explain yourself,” instructed the Speaker.
“The Grand Assembly used to have Droid assemblymen walking our halls and inside our committees. As for legislation, the human bill of rights was co-drafted by a Droid politician. If everything they’ve touched is tainted, does that mean we need to scrap the bill of rights and turn our assembly into an Imperial style Senate? Are you completely insane or just too stupid to be allowed to speak?!” the Historian demanded right back at the Health Care Dog.
“Lies!” cried the other Assemblyman. “No Droid was ever in this Assembly, let alone a co-founder of the Bill of Rights! You’re trying to confuse us with fake news. The fact is slavery was a blight on the honor of this great star nation. Mechanocide is the only answer!”
“It’s hard-coded in the assembly servers. I’m not talking about software, but the actual solid state crystal historical records everything is based off of. It’s the software files that have been turned into restricted viewing. Just use your personal access codes and you’ll find out the truth the same as we at the Historical Department have. If the solid state records are lies then considering they are what we were actually founded on I don’t know what to say,” protested the Historian, “the records are clear. We had Droid politicians. They were a minority but they were involved in our government right up until the slavery initiative passed and they were escorted out of our halls and over to the machine factories by their fellow assemblymen and women. Why do you think so many people of the time helped smuggle them out? Surely you didn’t think they were all evil people just itching for a chance to become traitors to humanity?” the Historian chuckled until he realized no one else in the room was laughing, but were instead staring at him in appalled silence.
“What? It’s the truth. Just look at the primary sources,” he said defensively.
“True or not, this is clearly restricted information that shouldn’t be exposed during a session like this,” the Speaker said, this time in a foul mood.
“You could even be prosecuted for releasing classified information,” Irene Gravity said.
“Pennant-ranked officers and above are cleared for this kind of information,” the Historian said, sounding bewildered.
“Regardless, try to keep your murmurings confined to the Elected Assembly in the future,” warned the Speaker.
He turned back to the rest of the panel.
“I think I’ve heard enough. I’d like to thank the Acting Commodore for her attendance in this quite… instructive meeting. As far as I’m concerned you are cleared of all charges. You and your people acted in the highest standards of this Confederation. Please ensure your records and a list of your officers and crew, both past and present, are included in your files and send a copy to one of my aides,” instructed the orange-haired speaker.
“I will, Sir,” said McCruise.
“Needless to say, everything pertaining to this meeting, including the questionable actions of one Jason Montagne as well as everything else,” he waited a beat for emphasis, “are to be considered 'need to know.' You are not to spread the information available to you around.”
“I know how to keep my mouth shut, Sir,” McCruise said.
“Good. Show me the same dedication to duty that you showcased so well at Easy Haven and I don’t think regularizing your rank and those of your officers and merging them back into the newly expanded Confederation Fleet will be a problem,” the Speaker nodded.
“Of course, Sir,” said McCruise, looking surprised.
“Excellent. In the meantime,” he turned and looked at the rest of the Blue Ribbon Panel grimly, “I think that after dismissing the Commodore we need to enter a closed session. It was one thing to let the Imperials clean up our mess. But now that it looks like they’ve failed, I don’t think we can let a potential PR disaster like this Rebel Admiral keep running around stirring up trouble and making whatever deals with ‘whatever’ he feels like,” said the Speaker.
“Yes, Sir,” murmured a number of the panel members.
Irene Gravity looked surprised. “But we ran on an anti-war, non-interventionist platform. You ran on it, Sir,” she reminded the Speaker.
“We’re not going to war. This is just another police action,” the Speaker said confidently, “and besides,” he added with sudden calculation, “I sense an opportunity here.” He turned to Charles Thomas. “You’re a former Fleet Admiral right? Come see me as soon as the closed session is over.”
“Why would I possibly help you of all people?” the Minority Leader looked at his biggest rival and shook his head in rejection.
“The Empire stumbled and I made my career on getting the best deal possible. I sense an opportunity here that transcends tri-partisan squabbling,” said the Speaker.
“I still haven’t heard any reason I should believe a thing you’ve said,” replied Charles Thomas the Minority Leader.
“Agree to help me clean up this mess and I’ll give you your special counsel,” said the Speaker.
“Done,” the Minority Leader promptly thrust out his hand.
“Ronald, no! That’s insane,” shrieked Irene Gravity.
“I’m innocent,” the orange-haired speaker said uncaringly as he reached over and shook the hand of his biggest political rival outside of his own coalition government. “And this is for the good our party and the Confederation.”
The two men smiled grimly as they shook hands while beside them Irene Gravity stared at the leader of the One Way Party looking betrayed.
Chapter 19: Bluetooth on a Roll
“Yee-haw! We got ’em on the run, Kermit,” Bluetooth howled with glee as a series of Reclamation Fleet Destroyers took to their heels and ran for the hyper limit.
“They’re going to get away again, Sir,” pointed out the Captain, “our force can’t plot an intercept course.”
Bluetooth’s good humor immediately soured. “Prometheans!” Bluetooth swore. “Blasted Manning thought it was a sweet idea to send me some of the slowest ships in the galaxy.”
“They’re not just Prometheans, Sir,” Kermit pointed out.
“Their commander’s a tool,” Bluetooth scowled, “they send him out here for us to keep an eye on you know? Costel Iorgu last served under Tyrant Montagne.”
“I thought the entire MSP and most of the Border Alliance worlds went back to Tracto with the Grand Admiral,” said Kermit.
“The Grand Dunce you mean!” Bluetooth snickered, “finally hoisted on his own tyrannical petard. Ha!”
Kermit frowned.
“Oh, Prometheus was never really a Tyrant supporter. They were just desperate, or so they claimed, to liberate their world and as soon as it was they left Admiral Montagne’s command,” said Bluetooth.
“So what are they doing here?” asked the Captain.
“They need inter-provincial foreign aid and an economic rebuilding package. My guess is the Grand Assembly had deeper pockets than the Tyrant does,” snorted Bluetooth.
“Then should I make sure the other captain’s welcome them into the fold?” Captain Kermit asked with a slightly distasteful expression.
Bluetooth eyed him dismissively. “They may have no love for the Tyrant but they’ve served with him and that means that even if they don’t like him, they have…connections. Options at least. So, no, we’ll keep the Prometheans at arm's length. It’s safer for everyone.
“I think I get it. Keep them at a distance but don’t stand them off too far,” the Captain said uncertainly.
The new minted Rear Admiral rolled his eyes and then his eyes caught on the screen and mid-eye roll he went from mirth to full blown seriousness.
“Those Hammerhead Medium Cruisers are slugs!” he growled, looking at the screen where another perfectly good ambush was blown because the Grand Assembly just wouldn’t give him the ships he needed to get the job done.
Then one of the Reclamation Fleet Destroyers flared and started to slow down.
“Looks like engine trouble. They pushed their engines too hard; you might get one today after all, Sir,” chuckled Kermit, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he laughed.
Bluetooth face curdled like old milk. “You look like a kek when you act like this. You know that, right?” he asked.
The Captain slowly closed his mouth until his lips made a tight line. “As you say, Sir,” he said.
Bluetooth snorted uncaringly and turned back to watch the rest of his fleet as it finished chasing the enemy out of the star system.
“Any new orders, Sir?” Captain Kermit asked, his voice neutral after they were the only ones left in possession of the star system.
“We’ll take a few hours to contact the government and offer the services of the Governor’s Rifles in clearing out any lingering unwanted forces on the surface of this system’s main inhabited bodies, and then it’s off to the next system,” said Bluetooth.
“This is the twelfth inhabited star system we’ve cleared in Sector 26 this month. Why hasn’t the Imperial fleet concentrated against us yet,” asked Kermit.
“Remember the Reclamation Fleet is an NGO, a non-governmental organization, basically they’re partisans. A paramilitary organization with a thin cadre to support them,” advised Bluetooth turning grim.
“Yes but all the prisoners we’ve taken so far have either seen for themselves or are certain the Reclamation survivors still have access to at least a squadron of Battleships. If that’s the case then why haven’t we seen them yet?” asked Captain Kermit.
“No need to speculate. I’m already considering all the angles,” Bluetooth said abruptly.
“You know what it seems like to me? It’s almost like they’re falling back, waiting for us to reach a time and place of their choosing. A trap, almost, one that—” Kermit rambled with concern.
“I said 'enough'!” Bluetooth said angrily. “Ours is not to reason why. We have our orders. If for some reason we need it, we will request reinforcements from the Grand Assembly. That lazy blighter Manning can get off his duff and come relieve us. In the meantime we free these worlds and secure them for the Spineward Sectors government. Do you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Sir,” said the Captain.
Chapter 20: It’s a Spalding!
He was the very model of a top secret space engineer
Terrance P. Spalding whistled tunelessly as he parked his Lander alongside his favorite Elder Tech Jump Spindle.
He silently activated the magnetic grapples built into the undercarriage, and wondered what his life had come to that caused him to be perched on the side of a piece of alien tech previously unknown to mankind, while stationed in a system so unimportant—and far from home—that he’d never even heard of it before.
The lander jolted.
Well it had been unimportant, he allowed, unfastening his safety harness. Turning on the expanded screen he’d put in special just for the occasion, he began calibrating the internal sensor feeds build into the lander.
Most landers didn’t have these sort of sensors. Sweet Murphy, even an old Engineer like himself hadn’t heard of half of them before.
He pulled out a large, hover-equipped lock box from under the co-pilot’s seat. He paused to unlock the box, which considering it required a retinal scan, finger prints, a blood sample and a code word, took a while.
“No alien figment of my imagination is going to take out Spalding without a fight,” he muttered, pulling out a plasma rifle and leaning it against the wall next to the pilot’s chair. One by one he pulled out everything from ion pistols to blaster weapons, sonic guns, and even a magnetic launcher. “It’s a mere coloration of my mind,” he declared, jacking a round into the flash shotgun before stowing it in the dashboard directly underneath the new screen.
“Yep,” he said confidently as he finished placing the weapons around the room, “no way it’s real. Or if it is, has to be something on the order of time dilation combined with a bad case of jump psychosis.”
He nodded with certainty as he pulled a special little safe out of the hover box. After going through the process of opening it, he pulled out a small, odd-looking gun.
“If the light is green, the trap is clean,” he mumbled holding the weapon by the handle and peering down the barrel before deciding once again that he had nothing to worry about for his upcoming little trip.
After all, there had been no glowing creatures chasing him down the halls during his last two jumps. Sure, walking down empty corridors and appearing and disappearing from the ship’s internal monitoring system was strange business but when had a little bit of crazy business held back a real engineer? Oh, sure, things might appear strange and unusual but a rational explanation was always found eventually.
“Time dilation, due to some kind of interaction with my cybernetic parts. Faulty internal sensors. Totally alien tech with spotty maintenance records. The beloved Saint reaching down personal like to lend a man a hand, moving him to where the action is,” he finished confidently, once again reassured that everything was nice and logical.
He heard a tap-tap-tap sound and looked down to realize he was patting his strange new space gun against his cyborg leg, and immediately purpled. Quickly shoving the handgun into the front of his trousers and trying to look innocent, even though no one was around to see him, he nodded with complete, total and utter certainty.
“Yep, it’s all in my head. No problems here,” he said, ignoring the half a dozen weapons stashed all around the cockpit of the Lander. “When a man gets old he starts to hear things no one else can hear. He may even see things that no one else can see. That's a completely normal part of the aging process. Why, I remember my own great grand-pappy was convinced the AI’s were sending their servitors around to spy on him, and what did a year and a half of vigilance get him? Nothing but a busted up cleaning-bot he took down with his old auto-wrench. Now, where exactly that bot came from, no one exactly knows. But I remember what they did to him after that,” Spalding said laying a finger alongside his nose. “Kicked out of his own workshop, he was. Didn’t let him touch another tool after that but the ones he snuck out in the night. 'Young Terrance,' he told me, 'If only I’d been smart enough to just take out that bot without letting anyone know, why I’d still be fixing hover-cars and working on heavy equipment to this day!'” Spalding finished with a disgusted look on his face.
“Like they say: loose lips sink Battleships, and no one’s ever accused Terrance P. Spalding of talking out of turn. Nope. Never,” he quickly crossed his heart.
“Besides, old boy,” he informed himself happily, “let’s say it really was something. Let’s say this as a hypothetical, just for instance,” he added, eyeing the exact placement of the magnetic launcher, “that there really was something to the whole 'alien tech, glowing spiders,' business. Just who's the unlucky blighter they’d put on the case? Whose job would it be to get to the bottom of the issue and report back?” he thumped his chest. “Me, that’s who!”
That’s why there really was no reason to start worrying everyone about the integrity of either the Elder Spindles or a certain ornery old engineer.
“If there’s trouble, I’m just as mean and twice as ornery. I can handle it,” he assured himself.
Once again he eyed the empty lander and wondered if there was really enough room to run around in…just in case there was a need. Which, of course, there wouldn’t be.
Besides, the Admiral said it had to be sent to a top secret location. Those weren’t his exact words, but that’s what he meant, of course. Spalding just knew it deep down in his bones. The only way to ensure the Admiral’s true intentions were carried out was if there was only one man who actually knew where those hulls were located.
Which is why he’d taken the Nav-console out of one of the new wrecks that was being recycled into spare parts and installed it in the Lander. The tech boys had looked at him like he was crazy when he had them install it in the lander but the Fix was already considered his own personal project vehicle but that was all part of the plan.
'Crazy old Spalding is tricking out his sweet little ride,' that’s what they’d think. 'Quick, don’t tell him that landers are aero-space craft intended more for atmospheric insertions than space travel.' Well, laugh it up, fuzzballs. The joke was on them.
The sacrifices a miracle worker has to make for the good of the fleet, Spalding silently lamented.
“We stole those hulls fair and square,” he growled belligerently, “no one is going to steal them back.”
After the new sensors were all calibrated and he had finished slapping himself on the back for thinking of digging them out of the Imperial Constructor’s database—along with a few that weren’t even in that database, but were from the Mighty Punisher—he was finally ready.
Pulling up the lander’s external sensors, he observed the one hundred warships he slowly had hauled over here by automated space tugs.
“Ninety three hulls, right where they’re supposed to be,” Spalding nodded sagely as he once again ran a sensor scan, this time looking for heat sources, radiation or any other signs or indicators that could give away these warships once they arrived at their final destination.
Who would have ever though that Terrance P. Spalding would be an engineer who moved derelict ship hulls to top secret locations, instead of riding maintenance in the boneyard back at Capria? From Junior Lieutenant to Commander, from the most expendable engineer in the SDF to the most trusted engineer in the MSP, I’ve come quite far, he thought with pride.
Spalding once again decided he had been right to stick it out with the Lucky Clover all those years. Sure, he could have accepted a new assignment. Sure, he could have taken the carrot promotion and walked. They'd offered him a transfer to a new ship when Arnold Janeski came knocking and wanted the Clover for his new flagship. Instead, he took the demotion without a blink and all of his years of hard work and sacrifice had finally paid off.
Oh, sure, going Confederation had been rough. The Clover had been hurt bad, so bad she’d even needed to be almost entirely rebuilt, but then the same could be said about her faithful old engineer. But just look at her now? Wasn’t she the finest ship in the quadrant? Unlike a certain man that was more machine than metal, nowadays the old girl had never looked finer.
Why, even a Command Carrier couldn’t survive when she swept upon the battlefield. The old engineer visibly swelled with pride at the thought of her. The old bird had finally lived up to her potential. Even if he died tomorrow, the legacy of the Lucky Clover would never be forgotten.
Then, before any of the naysayers could stop him with their nonsense, like stopping him to point out he was about to attempt a jump without a trained navigator riding the boards, he loaded in a pre-calculated course and told that computer that yes he really, really wanted to jump out into the middle of nowhere in particular.
They might think he was mad to try to jump out of Gambit like this, but he’d had a few Ensigns calculate this run a couple weeks before as one of his many ‘hypothetical training exercise’. He wasn’t a complete idiot; he’d made sure to have them check and counter check each other's work!
Finally accepting his orders, the Fix’s retrofitted navigation system started to count down.
Then, un-belting for one last check, he went to the very back of the lander to check on what might just be the most critical part of this entire operation.
Unbolting the hatch, he stepped into the large troop bay that took up most of the space in the lander. There, laying in the bed of a powered down grav-cart, was Lieutenant Shepherd. Moving over to check the tie-down straps—which both secure the unconscious man to the cart and ensured that he couldn’t escape the hold of the lander until after it was all over but the crying—Spalding ‘tut-tutted’.
“Must have hit him harder than I thought,” he mumbled, observing the swollen red goose egg on the navigator’s forehead before bending down to make sure his backup plan was fully powered down.
After confirming the grav-cart was down, he stopped and gave his backup plan a sidelong look and then humphed.
Grav-cart computer cores were a secret weapon in his toolbox and they hadn’t failed him so far, but there was a first time for everything. He just hoped young Shepherd was able to carry through.
The important thing was that no one know where these ships were stashed. It was much less vital that an old man long past his most useful years, and a sometimes suicidal navigator, made it back home after. One of them spoke to himself, literally, and the other wanted to die!
Humming a nice little ditty he’d often heard back in his glory days of chasing down the Automated Underground, he wandered back up into the cockpit singing about the good old days that weren’t quite forgotten.
After all, he was still here to remember them and quite frankly there was nothing like chasing down a malfunctioning grav-cart gone bad.
Chapter 21: Bluetooth and the Sector Guard!
“Send the guard units around the starboard flank,” ordered Rear Admiral Bluetooth, “we’ll have them do an end run and break this Reclamation Fleet flotilla.”
“Who's going to hold the middle if you send our former Sector Guard squadrons around the flank? And besides, I thought we’re all supposed to be on the same side? Is continuing to segregate our forces by planetary or other prior organizational loyalties really the best way to bring this fleet together?” asked Kermit.
Bluetooth looked at the captain with steely eyes. “We haven’t exactly had a lot of time for training evolutions and formation maneuvers, in case you hadn’t noticed,” he said seriously, “so first it’s not been practical to try and break down those barriers. Second, I know we can trust the Sector Guardsmen to do their jobs. As for the rest of them,” he shook his head. “Tell Captain Costel Iorghu I’m sending the Promethean Sub-Flotilla in right down the center of that enemy formation. His Cruisers can hit them where they’re strong and hold their attention while we go around them and attack where they can’t defend as well, and break this enemy flotilla apart like cracking an oyster,” ordered Bluetooth.
“Aye, Sir,” Kermit said, his face blank to likely conceal his true thoughts on the subject.
As far as Bluetooth was concerned, the only person in the flotilla entitled to his or her own opinions was the Flotilla Commander, in this case himself, and his Vice-Commander. And just like in a proper Captain and XO situation when it came time to make the decisions the Vice Commander was free to give his opinions and then free to help carry out the final decision of the Flotilla Commander.
Slowly at first, and then with increasingly coordinated speed, the Sector Guard units pulled free from the rest of the Flotilla and skimmed around the side of the Reclamation Fleet formation.
Behind them, Task Force Prometheus slowly fought to form up, their slow engines a detriment but the fact that their weapons and best armor facing were almost entirely in the front of their warships proved a decided advantage as the enemy moved into attack range.
“Tell the rest of the ships to form up on us,” ordered Captain Costel Iorghu.
“That order has already been given, Sir,” reminded his Comm. officer.
“I’m well aware of that, Ensign! Now relay the order again,” snapped Iorghu.
“Aye aye, Sir,” muttered the Comm. Officer.
The Promethean Captain frowned at the screen as the rest of the ships once again under his command slowly began to form up. Except for his fellow SDF survivors, no one was in anything he’d consider a proper formation.
“This is intolerable,” he growled.
“The other SDF’s are none too pleased to be a part of Sub-Flotilla ‘Prometheus’,” his First Officer observed quietly from behind his elbow.
“Yes, I’m well aware they’re offended that they were put under my command and that of all the Sub-Flotilla’s in this Fleet ours is the only one the Fleet Commander allowed to be named after one of the contingent’s home world,” snapped the Promethean Captain.
“If it weren’t for our home world being one of the few survivors of Janeski’s attack, and thus with the right to some serious payback, I’m pretty sure it would be worse than just slow maneuvers and grumbling,” observed his XO.
“I’m sure my lackluster career as a ship and squadron commander has failed to inspire any confidence either,” said Costel.
His First Officer’s silence was pointed.
“That bad, huh?” Captain Iorghu winced.
“Let’s just say that it hasn’t helped. At all,” said the XO.
“There’s no need to rub it in. I’m well aware of my command failings,” Captain Iorghu said grimly, “if there was someone else I could trust to look after the interests of our home world better than I could, I’d turn over command in a heartbeat. That is assuming they were a better commander than I am, which frankly wouldn’t be that hard.”
“In my opinion and in that of a lot of the crew, you’re too hard on yourself, Sir,” said the First Officer.
“I doubt it, but we don’t have time for any more jawing,” Costel said, turning back to the battle screen. “It’s time to fight.”
In one neat and well-synchronized unit, the enemy Cruisers turned side on to Costel’s Medium Cruisers just before the two groups of ships came within range and authored simultaneous broadsides.
Costel Iorghu’s frown deepened as his sub-flotilla’s broadside showcased a much more ragged burst of laser fire. Not just different ships firing at different times, but sometimes gunners aboard the same ship firing literally seconds apart.
As lasers flashed back and forth, Costel Iorghu’s outnumbered force started to take the worst of it. That his ships were losing the firefight wasn’t obvious. One, because while the enemy ships had to flip from side to side to bring every laser to bear, the majority of his ships had all their weaponry in the front; and two, because the Hammerheads didn’t have to protect their flanks, they could focus all their shields and armor in the front.
They might be slow and they might be old, but the one thing the Hammerhead could do was take a beating. And take one they did.
“Full power to the forward shields. Spread that out throughout the sub-flotilla,” ordered the Captain.
“Captain Myers of the People’s Authoritarian Collective is protesting the order, Sir. He says he can’t fight if he’s pulling energy from his gun deck into his shield generators,” reported the Comm. Officer.
“We’re not going to win this battle with our lasers, Coms. That’s a job the Rear Admiral has taken upon himself and the former Sector Guardsman units,” Costel said bitterly, “that being the case, our task has to be to hold them by the nose and take as little damage as possible while doing that.”
“We hold them by the nose while Admiral Bluetooth kicks them in the rear,” said the First Officer.
“Exactly,” Costel said mouth working silently.
“It’s good to see the Prometheans are good for something,” snorted the Rear Admiral.
“I don’t think that’s entirely fair. Not to the sub-flotilla which is not even a majority Promethean force or for that matter to the Prometheans themselves. Like the rest of us they’re just doing the best they can with what they have left,” said Captain Kermit.
“You know what, Kermit? There’s a reason I keep you around,” chuckled Bluetooth before falling silent in appreciation as the Sector Guard swung around the enemy formation and then fell upon their unguarded sterns.
“Why is that, Sir?” asked Kermit as the Reclamation Fleet formation began to fragment.
Bluetooth gave a start and then smirked down at him. “Because you’re just so very fair-minded. It helps give me insight into your kind of fleet officer,” said the Rear Admiral.
“Glad I could be of some service,” said the Captain.
“Order to the rest of the Guard: steady as she goes. Keep it nice and slow. Like they say, slow and steady wins the race and I don’t want to overshoot these guys. No. I want them broken,” said Bluetooth.
“Aye, Sir,” said the Captain.
Pressed on all sides, the Reclamation warships finally broke formation exposing the merchants in their midst.
“Take out those freighters,” ordered Bluetooth, leaning forward excitedly.
“Sir most of those ships are cargo haulers but some of them are passenger liners,” pointed out the Captain.
“You’re point?” Bluetooth asked shortly.
“There could be a considerable number of people onboard those liners, Sir. And the way their fleet has been keeping them in the center of their formation and refusing to run like they had in the past tells me something,” said Kermit.
“It tells me something too, Captain,” said Bluetooth with a hungry smile, “it tells me that’s their weak spot and I intend to destroy it. But it’s a good thing you pointed out those liners. I want your ship to focus exclusively on them.”
“You want us to fire on unarmed ships?” Kermit started.
“Fine, offer a surrender. If they refuse then fire on them,” ordered Bluetooth.
The Captain looked over and urgently signaled his Comm. Officer, who then quickly relayed the order.
The Comm. Officer nodded and then shook his head. He turned to his superiors.
“The Passenger Liners state that they are transporting women and children, along with a number of wounded officers and crew. They request that we wait until the battle is resolved,” said the Comm. Officer.
“In other words, they refuse,” Bluetooth nodded curtly and then looked over at Kermit and gave a nod.
“Uh, Sir…?” asked the Captain.
“An enemy ship has refused our offer to accept their surrender, Captain. The time for half measures is over. Carry out my orders,” said Bluetooth.
“Those are women and children!” blurted the Captain.
“And enemy wounded. However, you’ll note that ship is neither flying a hospital ID nor is it a purpose-built hospital hull. As such, having refused our surrender offer, they’re fair game. Prepare to fire on my command, Captain,” said the Rear Admiral.
“My men won’t fire on women and children, Sir,” said Kermit, drawing himself up.
“Then tell them to put the children in escape pods! As for the rest there’s women and, I presume at this point, wounded on both sides of the battle. This is the space age, Captain, get with the program. There’s nothing a man can do that a woman can’t do just as well or even better. I won’t tolerate any cultural backsliding. Equality of the genders, Captain, or so help me I’ll stuff those regressive offenders into the airlock myself and then open the outer hatch!”
Captain Kermit looked at him wild-eyed. “There are rules of warfare, Sir,” he protested, his voice at a higher pitch than usual.
Bluetooth gave him an unflinching look. “We’ve followed the rules of warfare to the letter. Upon noting a potential transport, we offered to accept their surrender. They refused, stating they had military personnel aboard their ships along with a variety of soft targets. You know who does that, Captain? Who hides behind children, painting symbols of neutrality over their weapon dumps and builds command facilities under schools? Terrorists! And I refuse to give into terrorism. There are exceptions in the rules of warfare when a military force deliberately hides behind soft targets. Now are you ready to follow orders or do I have to find someone who will?” demanded Bluetooth.
“That’s sophistry, Sir. With all due respect, you’re dead wrong. I don’t care if it’s a technically legal, killing women and children is a war crime,” snapped Kermit.
“I respect your position, if not your decision. After what the Reclamation Fleet did to worlds like New Pacifica and Prometheus, they can rot in Hades,” Bluetooth turned, “Master at Arms, the Captain…” the Rear Admiral paused, one eye narrowing ever so slightly. He then turned to the communication’s department. “Open a communication line to Newton’s Luck,” said Bluetooth.
“Line open, Admiral,” the com-tech said quickly.
“Captain Piebold, I have a task for your ship,” said Bluetooth.
“We’re ready to carry out your orders, Admiral,” said Piebold.
“I believe you were an officer in the Aegis SDF before joining the guard. Am I correct?” he asked.
“You sure are, Rear Admiral,” Captain Piebold agreed.
“Good. I am sending your ship a target: it’s a passenger liner that refuses to surrender. I have reason to believe its loss will hit the Reclamationers where they live,” said Bluetooth.
“Really?” asked the Captain, visibly hesitating before his face hardened, “I understand, Sir. After what they’ve done to Aegis, they deserve it. Piebold out.”
“Good,” said Bluetooth with a nod a moment before Piebold disappeared from his screen.
“What? You can’t do this!” shouted Kermit.
“Ah, but I already have,” Bluetooth said, and then ignoring the Captain he turned to the Tactical Officer, “relay the targeting directions to Captain Piebold.”
“As your Flag Captain, I refuse,” snapped Kermit.
“Refuse what? You can fight your ship according to your principles and conscience. As I said, I need you for your insight. However, yours is not the only ship that can carry out my orders. Speaking of which,” Bluetooth's eyes hardened, “I’d think twice—and three times again—the next time you consider disobeying one of my orders in the middle of combat.”
In the middle of the last verbal exchange, Captain Piebold’s ship opened fire, his broadside knocking the passenger liner out of commission.
“The liner’s dead in space,” reported Sensors.
“Piebold is calling on the liner once again to surrender. Why is he doing that, Sir?” asked the Comm. Officer, perplexed.
Kermit went white-faced. “You have to stop him. Hail Piebold and tell him I demand to speak with him before he fires again!” snapped Kermit, looking like a man at the end of his leash who suddenly dug in his heels and took a hard stand.
Before the other captain could be brought on the line, Piebold’s Cruiser fired a second time, holing the liner in half a dozen places.
In response, the Reclamation Fleet Cruisers went completely wild.
“Here they come!” Bluetooth said with eagerness as three quarters of the enemy fleet broke formation and rounded on the Sector Guard units of the Confederation Flotilla.
One by one and then in their squadrons the Reclamation Fleet accelerated and then threw themselves at Bluetooth’s flanking maneuver.
Heedless of the damage the Promethean sub-flotilla was doing to their sterns and engines the lasers of the Reclamation Fleet contingent lashed out hitting hard and fast. With more than half of their fire focused on Captain Piebold’s warship.
“Maneuver to cover Piebold,” ordered Bluetooth as the various squadrons of the sector guard in the Flotilla returned fire.
Three new Confederation cruisers attempted to maneuver between Piebold and his attackers but only two of them were successful in moving to cover his top and port flank. The third new Confederation warship tried to move into position but a Reclamation Medium Cruiser drove straight between it and Piebold seeming to not care that it risked a ramming.
“I see we finally caught their attention,” Bluetooth said with dark satisfaction, “I doubt they’ll try to run away from this battle, and I’d like to see how successful they’ll be if they try.”
“You planned for this?” Kermit looked at him with horror.
“Grow a pair, Captain. This is war,” Bluetooth sneered, “do you think the Tyrant would balk at a few civilian casualties if it suited his purpose?”
Kermit glared back at him. “While I wouldn’t put it past his wife slapping the hell out of a bunch of irate civilians, that’s a far cry from openly murdering women and children! I am also unaware of any time he has destroyed a civilian transport that wasn’t openly flying a pirate flag. I wouldn’t swear he hasn’t sent in Marines or Lancers into crowds, and maybe civilians died, but they never opened fire indiscriminately, Rear Admiral,” the Flag Captain said judgmentally.
“Nor have we,” Bluetooth said with finality, “we’re not savages or out-of-control rogue operators. If those fools on that transport had struck their fusion generators and surrendered to us they’d still be alive. Enough with your sanctimonious harping. This is war. Lives are on the line and I’ve been tasked with winning. We can’t do that until the enemy is prepared to stand and face us.”
“I’ll say you’ve no doubt succeeded in that last bit. I know if anyone did to our people what you just did to theirs I wouldn’t stop until every one of those blighters was dead,” snapped Kermit.
“Good! It’s high time those blasted Imperials paid for what they did to our Sector. You may have forgotten New Pacifica, Prometheus, Aegis, Easy Haven and more worlds than I can easily list, but I haven’t,” sneered Bluetooth, “worlds burn while you moralize. They brought me in here to make the hard calls and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
After a furious back and forth that left two squadrons of the Confederation Flotilla under Bluetooth drifting in space, the Reclamation Fleet contingent finally broke.
Just like Bluetooth planned, most of them didn’t get far. Only a handful succeeded in reaching the hyper limit and half of them never made the jump out of the star system.
All in all, eighteen Reclamation Fleet Cruisers were captured or destroyed before the battle was finally over.
“What now, Sir?” Kermit asked, stone-faced after the battle was over.
“Our first priority will be getting tech teams over to those ships and cracking their databases. I want to know where the Reclamation Fleet is and where it’s going. Priority two will be rescue and relief shuttles and boarding forces. Despite what you may think, I’m not completely heartless; priority will be given to any civilians and we’ll start looking for them on those liners we shot down. After that, priority medical care will go to any wounded ours or theirs on the battlefield,” said the Rear Admiral. “We’re not the monsters, Kermit. They are.”
“Whatever you say, Sir,” replied the Captain.
“What’s our fuel status?” demanded Bluetooth, finally starting to lose his temper with the captain.
“Due to the temporary trillium embargo from Tracto after we fired Admiral Montagne, we left Sector 25 with our fuel bunkers half full. If we keep going then pretty soon we won’t have enough fuel to make it back to Central, not to speak of Hart’s world for a reload,” Captain Kermit reported stiffly.
Admiral Bluetooth’s face hardened. “Then we’ll just have to siphon more fuel from the Reclamation Fleet. It’s fortunate we’ve captured so many of their cruisers today,” said Bluetooth.
“A stopgap measure,” agreed Kermit, “however unless we keep having victories like these we won’t be able to liberate even half the worlds of this Sector before heading home.”
“The Grand Assembly won’t leave us to wither on the vine. I’ll send another courier back home and ask them to stockpile a reserve for us in New Tau Ceti on the Sector 25/26 border,” he said firmly.
“Hopefully they’ll listen this time,” the Captain said neutrally, “we need more spare parts, too, and just about every squadron in the Flotilla was built by a different world. Even ships that are technically the same class but built by different worlds have slight but significant differences in things like air filters and laser focusing crystals. The Old Confederation may have been great about a good many things, but spare parts standardization isn’t one of them.”
“For all we know, they’ve already sent us a convoy with food, fuel and spare parts, possibly even a Constructor ship to build us a real fleet base,” Bluetooth said, ending that train of the conversation. “Until then we’ll just keep racking up victories. The blitz campaign is working out even better than planned. I refuse to slow down or hold up because of mere logistical issues.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” muttered Kermit.
Chapter 22: Trouble in Paradise
“What do you mean you jumped us out in the middle of nowhere and now you have no idea where we are?” Shepherd screamed, thrusting a finger at the old engineer like the tip of a sword.
“Don’t you point at me, lad!” Spalding cursed, throwing his hands wide. “And how, exactly, am I supposed to know where we are?”
“What do you mean 'how are you supposed to know?' You’re the only other person here!” cried Shepherd, looking panicked and about ready to kill someone. His accusing finger fell, curling up into a fist which he promptly shook in Spalding’s face.
“Calm down. Calm down, just calm down now, Mister Shepherd. It’s not as bad as all that,” Spalding informed him seriously.
“I don’t see how it could be worse. We’re cast away, marooned! Lost in space! And you are telling me to calm down?! Just how did we get out here in the first placed?” he demanded, and then the look on his face radically altered. “Yeah, and that’s another question. I have no problem imagining any number of ways you could end up lost in space. But not me. What am I doing here, Chief Engineer?”
“Now don’t get your knickers in a twist. You just had a small accident with a solid metal object like, say, a door or a wrench or something. I couldn’t just leave you laying there now could I?” Spalding said piously laying a hand on his heart.
“So you brought me out into your shuttle, which just so happens to have landed in the middle of nowhere, instead? A specific patch of 'nowhere,' it just so happens, you will almost certainly need a navigator to help you get back out of?” Shepherd asked sharply.
“Maybe…” Spalding admitted after a minute.
“This is just great. No, I take that back; there’s nothing great about this. This is unbelievable. You are unbelievable!” accused Shepherd, reaching up to investigate his head by touching the visibly swelled spot and grimacing in pain.
Spalding looked down at the irate young officer and started to lose his patience. “Honestly, this mission needed a navigator and it was risky. So what can I say? You fit the bill,” he grumped.
“I fit the bill? You mean I was deliberately shanghaied! Then this isn’t an accident at all. What did you do hit me with, a wrench?” he asked, rubbing his head and wincing.
“Look, we can stand around here jawing all day or you can get back to plotting us a course home,” ordered Spalding, guiltily looking away and deliberately avoiding the subject.
“Sure thing, Commander,” Shepherd said witheringly. He turned to look at the nav-computer built into the cramped lander cockpit and shook his head in disbelief. “What did you do to create this abortion? This can’t be regulation,” scoffed the Navigator.
“If the Fix flops, don’t worry. I’ve got a backup plan already worked out,” Spalding assured the younger man, “you just worry about getting us home.”
“That would be a whole lot easier if I knew where we were,” muttered the Navigator sitting down at the nav-console and pulling up a screen. In short order, he had the sensors scanning of the local starscape in order to triangulate their position.
“How did you say you got here, anyway, if you didn’t have a navigator and I was unconscious?” asked Shepherd.
“Oh, that. I had a couple of boot ensigns in at Gambit Station for training run some jump calculations for me and double check each other’s work. After that it was just plug and play,” said the old Engineer.
“I’m surprised we’re not dead then. Stellar drift alone could be enough to cause you to miss a star system if you wait too long between calculations,” he scolded, “that’s why you run the course calculations immediately before you jump: to cut down the risk.”
“I’m an engineer, not a navigator. And besides, we got here just fine, wherever here is. Getting back home’s your problem,” Spalding said with a wink.
“My problem?” Shepherd snapped and then a look of panic crossed his face. “Wait, I have a date for tonight! I don’t know if we’ll make it back in time!”
After so saying, the young navigator turned to his console and began working with a vengeance.
“No need to be in such a rush,” opined Spalding, “I mean to say that you’ve been unconscious for the better part of two days.”
The Navigator froze and turned to look at the old engineer coldly. “Two days, huh? So why am I just hearing this now?” he asked.
“You woke up practically hysterical. When exactly was I going to tell you?” Spalding said, throwing his hands in the air. “Besides, it’s not my fault it took you two days to wake up. When you didn’t wake up on your own after a couple hours I just followed the directions in the med-kit’s built-in medi-comp and put on the patch it said. How was I to know it would knock you out for this long?”
“So, in short, you bashed me over the head and conscripted me against my will, and without asking so much as a word for some crazy mission of yours—a mission which, taking your track record into consideration, is probably a rogue operation of some kind and certainly not authorized by anyone but yourself. Is that it?”
Spalding irritably waved away his whining. “You complain worse than my ex-wife. I get this is a shock, but don’t worry. I’ll square everything with the records and make sure you get hazard pay for your time spent out here,” he said.
The Navigator glared at him. “First it’s an error, and then it’s a mission. But knowing you it’s probably a mission in error. I honestly don’t get why you picked me. I mean do I have it written on my face somewhere that says 'abuse me, I’m up for it'?” he demanded.
“You know what? I think all that time in rehab has rotted your brain. So I’m going to put that outburst down to yet another case of medical-induced psychosis and let it pass,” growled the old Engineer. “But I want to be clear here: your job is to get us home, nothing more. Got it, boy-o? Now enough with the bellyachin'; it’s time to get cracking.”
“This can’t be regulation,” Shepherd repeated, “you know something, you may be the great and powerful Commander Spalding but I’m the Fleet’s top navigator...or at least I was before I had to go into physical therapy.”
“You look much better than the last time I saw you,” Spalding said solicitously.
“Thanks,” Shepherd said absently and then immediately scowled, “but that’s beside the point! I’m not going to let you get off scot free. When I get back I’m filing a formal complaint with Fleet Legal. See if I don’t.”
“Now don’t be hasty lad,” Spalding said warningly, “everything here is perfectly legal. Fact is I’m on a mission for the Admiral himself. He doesn’t know you’re involved because he told me to take care of it and I, apparently mistakenly, thought you were an MSP man through and through. A man who could be trusted and relied upon. I apologize for being wrong about you,” the old engineer finished with an overly exaggerated frown.
“I see what you’re doing,” said the Navigator. He paused for a minute and added, “And it won’t work. Besides,” he continued righteously, “I’m a Patrol Fleet officer. I’ve been here from the beginning same as you.”
“Anyway, it’s no point complaining. I believe you. Just remember this is a secret mission, hear? That means it’s a secret. Can’t have you going around blabbing your mouth to all and sundry now, can we?” he ended with a significant look at the younger man.
“That’s still no excuse for bashing me over the head,” burst out the Navigator, “you could have killed me.”
“Papa Spalding knows how to tap a man so he recovers eventually, don’t worry about it. That’s all in the past,” Terrance P. Spalding said soothingly.
Shepherd gave him a disgusted look. “I’m not some boot Ensign straight out of the academy on a fresher cruise. You owe me, and I won’t forget that,” warned the Navigator.
“You drive a hard bargain,” the old engineer said, pulling out a flask and offering it to the other man.
“Poison?” Shepherd scoffed before snatching it out of the other man’s hand and taking a swig.
He immediately started wheezing. “What is this?” he demanded.
“Just some of the finest liquor known to man. It’s Gorgon Iced Ale, lad. I’ve been saving some for a special occasion. I figured I owed you after hauling you all the way out here without asking you to help save the Fleet,” said the old Engineer with an unhappy sigh when the younger man proceeded to chug more than half the flask, “careful now, we don’t want you so drunk you can’t manage the calculations.”
“You made me miss a date. The least you can do is not complain about getting back late,” shot back the Navigator and then he reluctantly added, “save the fleet, you said?”
“Fine, fine there’s no call to get jumpy,” Spalding said, showing his hands, “and yes sir that’s what we're on about. Why? You don’t actually think I’d drag you out here on a whim do you? You lot always wonder how an old man like myself manages to get as much done as he does, well here you are. It’s a lot of hard work and unhappiness,” he looked pointedly at the navigator, “everyone wants to take a look behind the curtain but they’re never happy afterward. Give,” he said, pointing to the flask.
“I think…well, I’m pretty sure you don’t want to hear what I think,” Shepherd said, taking one last sip before reluctantly handing it back. “Anyway I don’t know what we’re going to do after I finish these calculations,” the Navigator said looking around the cramped lander in concern.
“Ever hear of five card shuffle?” asked the old Engineer, producing a pack of cards.
“The ones with the scantily clad saints and goddess on them?” the Navigator perked up.
Spalding immediately scowled. “These are playing cards, not some kind of swimsuit edition pornography in disguise. Saints and Goddesses indeed!” he harrumphed.
“Too bad,” Shepherd said heavily.
Later, when they were waiting for the Elder Tech Spindles to cycle up, the old Engineer looked back at the younger man over a handful of cards.
“So where did you say a man could get a deck of those new cards?” he asked casual like.
Shepherd blinked and then shook his head firmly. “Like I’m going to tell the likes of you,” he scoffed.
“What, me? A lonely old engineer?” Spalding ask piously.
“An old reprobate who isn’t above tucking a pack of confiscated playing cards in his back pocket after he’s finished shutting down the supplier,” said the Navigator.
“You’ve got me all wrong, lad,” Spalding protested.
“The answer’s still 'no',” said the Navigator.
“Hmph!” Spalding snorted, and they went back to playing.
He’d have to keep his eyes open. A little diversion here and there was good for a crew, but too much of a good thing led to the inevitable high stakes gambling games. Before a man knew it, half his crew was at the throat of the other half and inter-departmental rivalries took on an ugly edge.
These cards were probably nothing, but a wise officer knew how to keep his ear to the ground and a finger on the pulse of the crew.
“How about I raise two hundred credits and all you have to do to match them is give me a name if you lose. No one has to know you sent me and I promise not to bust anyone…this time,” the old Engineer schemed.
“The answer’s still 'no',” said the Navigator.
“I’ll work you down eventually,” challenged the old Engineer.
“You’ll try,” said Shepherd, deliberately reaching up and running a finger around the knot on his head.
Spalding leaned back in frustration. “There’s still a lot of hours to go before the jump,” he warned.
Chapter 23: Concern in Gambit
“What do you mean Commander Spalding is missing and no one has seen him for days?” I asked, my head snapping around to track on a concerned looking Yard Manager.
“Sorry, Sir, but it’s true. Commander Spalding went to work in the Yard in that personal lander of his, The Fix, and apparently never checked back in,” Glenda Baldwin said, her eyes fixed at a point somewhere over his shoulder as her neck colored with embarrassment.
I frowned at her. “Is that all?” I asked leadingly—because with Spalding it never was.
Baldwin gritted her teeth. “No, Sir. Somehow the Elder Tech Spindles have disappeared as well,” she informed me.
I sat bolt upright in my chair. I thought I knew what was going on but Spalding was supposed to be there and back, done with the whole project before he could be missed.
“What exactly happened, and why was I not informed about this before now?”
The Yard Manager gulped. “You know that old reprobate- er I mean Commander Spalding effectively has free rein to do whatever he likes in the shipyard. You signed the orders yourself,” she reminded me.
“I’m well aware of the Commander’s privileges,” I informed her coldly, “but I’m still curious why I’m only finding out about this now.”
“A day without the Commander jogging our elbows is usually a good one, and I didn’t stop to look a gift horse in its mouth. Either he was with you or out playing in the scrapyard where all the hulls are being stripped, or he was out in the boneyard where anything we don’t have time to work on gets stowed. That’s the usual case,” she said and took a deep breath, “I only thought to look for him because…well, he’d been gone so long. And a day or two off is fine but if it goes on longer than that and he’s in-system it usually means he’s scheming something that’s going to cause me a headache. I did a search so I could run him down and nip it in the bud and…he was gone.”
“How 'gone' are we talking about? And please don’t hesitate to get back to the part about how one of the fleet’s top secret weapons—the Jump Spindles—is missing. I’m particularly interested in that part,” I said.
She looked back at me levelly. “As best I can tell, Terrance Spalding, using your authority, moved the Spindles as well as a number of heavily-damaged warships intended for breakdown in the orbital furnaces from the scrapyard to a position somewhere behind Pandora’s Box,” she informed me.
“Pandora’s Box?” I asked.
“It’s a moon, one ironically enough named so by Commander Spalding while he was stuck in Gambit medical. Apparently there are a number of other asteroids and moons also named by the old reprobate from that time. Presbyter’s Folly and Medical’s Doom in particular stand out,” she said.
I closed my eyes.
“And those are just some of the more tame ones,” she added, getting her revenge when and where she could.
“I’ll have my staff look into the matter of these names and…review any of the ones that might need to be altered,” I said, and then opened my eyes pinning her with my gaze.
“The name of the moon is suggestive in and of itself,” Baldwin paused, “considering what the Commander appears to have been up to before his disappearance.
“None of that matters. I want my Spindles back. Remind me again why I wasn’t informed of the Spindle’s departure from the star system?” I said.
“First, they were behind one of the larger moons in the star system. Second, traffic control was notified the Spindles were scheduled for a test jump. It was logged by the Commander and countersigned using your authority,” Baldwin gave me a searching look, as if to see if I was aware of this.
I just looked back at her impassively and she hurriedly moved on.
“Finally, I’m not sure because even with that there should have been some kind of signal however,” she hesitated before continuing cautiously, “there are fourteen artificial constructs of some kind orbiting an area the size of which makes me think they were placed outside the spindles’ transfer area. It’s possible they are jammers of some kind.”
“Possible? Let’s be clear: my Spindles are missing and all you have are a triple handful of satellites you don’t understand?” I said in an overly calm voice.
“I have people going through the sensor logs now and three of my best teams working on the constructs. I’m hoping something will shed some light on where he’s gone,” she said.
“Presumably Spalding filed a flight plan?” I asked.
“Yes, Sir. He reported a jump to Omicron and back,” she said, “I’ve already sent a request via the FTL network.
“Yes the FTL network,” I muttered and shot her an assessing look, “speaking of which, I want your team to look into the feasibility of building our own FTL network after this current emergency is over. Right now we’re using Old Confederation buoys and transmitters and, quite frankly, we don’t have enough of them.”
“I can have a team look into it but I know that even with the complete tech specifications I’m going to need to bring in a sample to look at. Even then it’s going to take some time to build one of our own, even if we just copy the Old Confederation version. If you want us to try and improve it, that might be beyond our capabilities and it will certainly take longer. I'm talking about years here,” she said and then added as an afterthought, “we’ll also need a certain amount of trillium both for testing purposes as well as for each buoy we build.”
“Trillium's not an issue, but I don’t have years to fool around trying to perfect something new when there are already working versions out there. Any improvements I’m thinking of would be in computer systems security. Cosmetic changes aren’t an issue, but I’m not looking to reinvent the wheel. What I want is to extend our communications network,” I said.
“Okay. But what do you want me to do about the Commander? And do you happen to know anything about where he might have gone? I thought maybe he was on a mission of some kind for you,” she said.
“The Commander was working on a project for me, which is why I doubt he was going to the Omicron. However, anything is possible as he had mentioned stopping there before going to Tracto for more trillium. Considering the fact he chose to disappear from behind a moon, I highly doubt I know anything more about where he is currently than you do. If he was working for me he’d have already returned with the trillium,” I said, deciding that telling a version of the truth was better than denying it outright.
Glenda looked pale.
“If there’s been a malfunction with the Spindles he could be anywhere! Even the range on those things is variable,” she actually seemed to choke as she spoke.
“Let’s give it another day to track down what he was doing before we panic. For all we know he might have landed within range of the FTL network and a message might be beaming its way back to us right now,” I said, trying to project a calmness I didn’t feel. Blast it, Spalding, you were supposed to hide a pocket fleet of warships, not get yourself lost or killed—especially not with my Jump Spindles!
I immediately repented that last thought. As far as I was concerned, yes, the Spindles were probably worth a fleet of warships in their own right, at least until they broke down like they very well might have here, but I’d still far rather have my Chief Engineer back.
Spalding was the man who had believed in me when no one else had. Or rather, he’d believed in the ship and didn’t want to be captain, which probably meant in his slightly crazy mind that so long as he did his job the ship would take care of the rest. But somewhere along the way he’d given me real loyalty.
Even when I’d offered a chance for him to return to Capria, he’d turned it down. I wasn’t so foolish to think that if he set his mind to it he couldn’t figure out a way to jump the new and improved Lucky Clover to Capria and disable its crew long enough to work a deal with the government back home.
King James would fall all over himself offering Spalding a pardon, or simply declare he’d been a Royal loyalist all along and offer him a patent of nobility instead. The fact that Spalding would probably insist on staying aboard a ship he’d just effectively pirated from his previous employer might be a sticking point…
I shook it all off. The important thing wasn’t Spalding’s loyalty, but his life. Hopefully he’d just experienced a minor mechanical problem of some kind. If so there was literally no one I’d sooner trust to fix it and come back home in one piece.
It was only as I sat there staring the loss of the old man in the face that I realized just how much I’d miss him when he was gone.
I looked back up at Glenda Baldwin. “Don’t worry about Spalding for now. I’ll look around and see if he left me a message of some kind,” I told her sympathetically, “even if it is some kind of breakdown or other issue, you couldn’t conceive of a man more likely to survive it and make his way back home.”
“I don’t know why anyone still thinks I care about that man,” she said, furiously wiping away a wet spot at the corner of her eye.
“Sure,” I shrugged, everyone was entitled to their own little self-deceptions. I certainly couldn’t cast any stones. I mean who was more jacked up on self-deception than a man who’d thrown everything away for the survival of a people who seemed determined to spit on him, call him tyrant and kick him when he was down?
Fortunately for them, I had grown up a Montagne and was used to the spit and name calling. Even more fortunately, for them anyway, was that I’d sworn a solemn oath. I would never start down the seductive path of reasoning that had created true Montagne tyrants like my ancestors. As far as my younger, less world-wise self had been concerned, it was my job to make up for the sins of my ancestors.
I wasn’t sure I agreed with that younger person anymore, but ultimately if a man couldn’t even trust himself he had nothing. It would take more than a few beat downs in the name of ‘speaking truth to tyranny’ to turn me to the dark side. A whole lot more.
On the other hand, I was no one’s punching bag and as soon as my fleet was repaired, refurbished and crewed up the world would rediscover it. It wasn’t my fault if the people who spat on me and called me names got all sorts of wrong ideas the next time I had reason to parade a fleet past their home worlds.
Then there was the little matter that I was no longer a governmental servant and the fact I was willing to die for the people of the Spine didn’t mean my officers and crew worked for free. To my mind, far too many idealistic heroes, so-called, felt that because they were willing to work for free then the band of brothers who followed them into peril naturally shared the same ideal—or at least they should.
As the history of House Montagne made painfully obvious, if you didn’t pay your warriors and servants what they were worth, it didn’t matter the righteousness of your cause, you’d wake up with a knife inside you.
Then the people really wouldn’t have their selfless defender any longer. Of course that was those heroes, who said I wasn’t interested in being paid?
Thanks to my overzealous wife, I now had an oversized family and a palace to maintain.
Nope, I may be a fool for throwing myself between the Spine and danger but no one took advantage of underaged children—my children.
No one.
I was a man. I stood between the darkness and the light and if that meant I had to suffer, bleed and even die to pay for the sins of my fathers then I would. But if I had to make like the renegade who had it made in order to take care of those kids, I would. There was very little I wouldn’t do for those children.
Almost nothing.
It ended with me.
Chapter 24: Spalding’s Reprisal
He was the very model of a recently returned space engineer
“One more jump and we should be there,” reported Shepherd.
“This is taking too long,” Spalding fumed.
“It’s not my fault you didn’t pack enough hyper fuel to get us home, and besides this cutter is P.O.S. You should have picked something faster if you didn’t want to slow boat it home,” said the Navigator.
“This was what was available. Besides, it’s not my fault we ran out of trillium,” Spalding said defensively, “the Spindles said there was more than enough for two more jumps! We were supposed to have enough to get back to Gambit and then make a jump to Tracto for more!”
“And you trusted that buggy interface? Murphy's sake, Spalding. Between that and this POS cutter you pulled out of the scrap yard we’re lucky we only broke down once—and even luckier you were able to fix it!” the Navigator said fiercely.
“Hey now, don’t talk down about Murphy’s Chariot,” Spalding said looking around nervously. “Remember the last time you were talking down about this old son he went belly up like a frog in a pot of stew?”
“That’s just gross and you know it,” Shepherd said with disgust and then looked around nervously, “besides, you know I don’t go in for all that superstitious nonsense.”
“Well whatever you call it, don’t jinx us,” Spalding said, walking over to what passed for a captain’s chair in the cutter. He promptly knocked on the small piece of wood set aside just for that purpose.
“We’re only one jump away from home. All the Chariot has to do is make it through one more jump. At least you loaded up this cutter with enough hyper fuel,” he informed the old engineer in a withering voice.
“Bah. I done told you, boy: the Spindles had more than enough fuel. Something went haywire,” Spalding muttered, “I knew that last jump was too smooth! Not a single creepy crawly to be seen and no flickers on the sensors. Nothing. It's just unnatural I tell you.”
“What are you talking about? Did you break into the iced ale while I wasn’t looking or are there some drugs on this cutter I don’t know about and maybe should?” asked Shepherd.
Spalding’s eyebrows beetled. “Just you mind to your business and leave top secret classified business to the professionals,” he growled angrily, “if I say that last jump was off then by the Sweet Saint it was off, do you hear me? What you think, I’m some kind of old man that needs to be put out to pasture? Is that it?” he asked, pulling out a plasma torch and brandishing it in the direction of the Navigator.
Navigator Shepherd’s eyes bulged. “No-no-no. You’ve always talked funny. No one can understand it I swear, Sir. I’m sure if you say there’s something wrong with the Spindles there is,” he said getting up from his console and backing away, “what do I know, anyway?”
“Just make the jump, lad, and don’t make me put you in cryo when we get back,” warned the old Engineer, advancing on the younger man.
“My lips are sealed. If anyone asks about a trip, I’ll say 'what trip?' If they ask where we went, I’ll say we lost the data files,” swore Shepherd.
“You’ll keep that yap trap of yours snapped when we get back if you know what’s good for you,” threatened Spalding, “as far as you’re concerned, the only person cleared to hear so much as how we broke wind on this trip is the Little Admiral himself. If anyone asks you, send them to me,” his thumb thumped into his chest.
“You got it, sir. I’ll make like a church mouse,” said the navigator.
“Good, because I may not be the only one who knows the codes for the waste recyclers to disassemble organics but I do have them,” said Spalding.
“Sweet Murphy, what crawled into you and died to make your mood so sour? I said I can keep a secret,” Shepherd started to sound indignant about the same time his back hit the wall. “When have I ever let you or the Admiral down, Commander?” he said in an aggrieved tone.
“Hmph,” Spalding loudly turned away and replaced the plasma torch onto his belt before once again rounding back on the Navigator, “the fate of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet certainly and maybe even the Spine rests on what we know. I won’t have any slackers or welchers ruining it, understand?”
“Five by five, Sir,” said the Navigator carefully returning to his console, “you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve gone the distance.”
“I suppose you have at that,” Spalding allowed finally.
“Look, we’re past the point of no return and are about to reach the final countdown, Commander,” said the Navigator, pointing to his screen which seconds later started flashing.
Spalding’s cheeks puffed out, “Time to face the music.”
<Jump in 5-4-3-2-1,> said the DI through the overhead speaker system.
Then there was a flash and the small cutter was in another star system.
Chapter 25: Worry and Advise on the Home Front
I stood there silently pacing back and forth in front of the small work station built into the Admiral’s quarters. Walking was thinking or at least that was the idea, not that much thinking was taking place while I walked from one end of the room to the other. But what little was going on was key, because I was afraid if I was just sitting there I would literally be doing nothing but staring at the walls.
“Would you please stop moving back and forth like that? You’ll wear a hole in the carpet,” complained my wife.
I gave an appropriate response to this potential destruction of utterly replaceable material:
I grunted.
Akantha waited for me to walk another two laps before sighing in frustration.
The tapping sound her foot was making slowly penetrated my incessant pacing and I ground to a halt. The noise was irritating, but it wasn’t worth commenting on. Not when I’d apparently been just as irritating.
On the counter side of the situation, I’d been in here first and had said I needed to think when she came in. Not that I expected logic like 'first come first served' or 'late comers be warned' to have any impact on my wife.
“Yes?” I said, throwing myself into the nearest chair.
“Rough day?” she asked.
I nodded.
“You look like I feel after a morning spent with the governing council,” Akantha offered.
I briefly considered throwing a fit over not being allowed to properly stew and discarded it. What was I, sixteen?
“I’m just worried about Spalding,” I said tersely. I didn’t want to talk about the situation. I wanted to be doing something. What I really wanted to do was fix this situation. Preferably by recovering my top engineer, but even a certified proof of death would be better than not knowing.
“What’s happened now?” she asked, and I realized for the first time that I hadn’t relayed the news to her yet.
“Well,” I said awkwardly, “he’s gone missing.”
She looked surprised but not as concerned as I’d feared.
“I gave him a job and its possible he’s out doing that, but he didn’t tell me beforehand and now both Spalding and my Jump Spindles are gone. Two strategic resources missing without a trace!” I exclaimed.
“Not to mention he’s one of our top advisers,” Akantha said calmly.
“I’d rather have him back than the Spindles, but I don’t even have an idea where to start,” I said, leaning back in my chair wearily.
“Where exactly did you send him?” she asked curiously.
“I didn’t send him anywhere. He was supposed to find a quiet, out of the way place to stash a few ships without letting anyone know. I didn’t think he’d be keeping the location a secret from me,” I said.
“That’s not good,” Akantha replied.
“Ya think?” I shook my head when she started to look irritated, “I’ve got the Yard Manager looking into the disappearance. So far we’ve tracked down the most probable place for him to have slipped out of the Star System. So when combined with the missing Spindles, it looks like he wasn’t quietly murdered and thrown into a furnace or recycler at least.”
“That’s comforting,” she said.
“How is that comforting?”
“Spalding’s one of the smartest men I know. If he got himself into trouble, he will be able to get himself back out again. Right now your main concern should be keeping that secret of yours,” she advised with a glint in her eye, “to be brutally honest, you probably shouldn’t have even told me.”
“I’m not going to lie to you. I’ve seen enough trouble with marriages; I want to avoid that mistake,” I said.
“Then maybe you should have involved me from the beginning. Either way there’s nothing either of us can do right now,” she said.
I ran fingers through my hair. “You’re right. There’s nothing that can be done right now. I’ll make sure any anomalous FTL transmissions or messages are routed to me immediately and keep a watch on the slower than light listening bands but I think that’s all we can do,” I said with a nod, “we’ve already gone through his files and there’s nothing there.”
“Unless he was hiding them somehow,” Akantha pointed out.
“On what, a secret slate hidden in the walls?” I joked.
“Secret papers perhaps? Your culture doesn’t always consider looking for the written word on anything but your computers,” she noted coolly.
I paused. “That’s a good idea,” I said, making a note to send to my Chief of Staff later in the day.
“Anything else?” Akantha asked with a smile.
I considered her words briefly. “Sure there is. How are the kids doing?” I asked with a smile.
Akantha’s smile turned genuine. “Little Sapphira can already count to three as of today,” she said with pride.
“Of course she can,” I chuckled.
She looked at me quizzically.
“I’ve been reading them the story of the Three Little Pigs and I make sure to count to 3, one-two-three, each time,” I said with a smile.
Her smile turned into a mock frown. “You and your secrets,” she said, eyeing me.
“Hey, I tell them bedtime stories when you’re around too. Jack and the Beanstalk. Mama and the Three Bears,” I shrugged.
“I don’t like that last one,” she informed me.
I looked at her innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That one’s the best,” I immediately disagreed, “I can’t help it if the story has the mama break into the bears' home to steal their food,” I said, splaying my hands.
“Why do I find it so hard to believe you?” she muttered, still giving me the eye.
I smiled complacently. “No idea. But about Spalding… thanks for the ear. I didn’t know I needed someone to talk to,” I said.
“Or perhaps someone in particular?” she prompted.
“You could be right,” I grinned, still thinking about the creative retelling the story about the three bears that I told to wide-eyed children every three or four nights.
Chapter 26: A Small Dose of Hot Water
Murphy’s Chariot arrived in a flash of light.
“By all that’s rotten, why in thunder did you turn on the running lights and scan the system like we were going into a war zone!” Spalding demanded angrily.
Shepherd looked at him blankly. “What are you talking about? We just arrived back in Gambit. If we try to sneak around we’re going to draw exactly the wrong sort of attention. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want a guard ship to roast us extra crispy just because we didn’t identify ourselves, sir!” the Navigator retorted.
“Yes. But…there was no,” Spalding spluttered to a stop finger pointed at the young officer impotently. He curled the finger back into a fist. “Look, I just don’t want to turn this into a spectacle. We need to ease back into the situation before everyone goes crazy.”
“Were we honestly supposed to try and sneak back into the Star System? Spalding, we were nearly marooned! We’ve been missing for a week and we were good and lucky we made it back as it was. Did you honestly think they'd go, 'oh, a navigator and our top engineer must have decided to take a sabbatical' and failed to notice the missing set of Jump Spindles that disappeared around the same time?” asked Shepherd.
Spalding visibly swelled, and then as he glowered down at the navigator, deflated.
“I can see now it was too much to hope for,” he said finally, “if we’d come back like I’d planned none of this would be necessary.”
“Right you are, Commander,” Shepherd said with an evil chuckle.
“But you’re wrong about something,” Spalding grumped. “We were never so much as in the same star map as marooned. Like I told you in the first place: this ship would get us home, and here we are,” he finished with complete certainty.
“If you ignore a small breakdown along the way. And by 'small' I mean two full-fledged disasters! First the Elder Spindles stop working partway through, and then this cutter almost goes belly up,” Shepherd said and then frowned, “and that’s another thing. I mean...how does that even work? How can you have a short jump that doesn’t fall short by a few astronomical units, but something like half the distance and lands you in the wrong star system entirely? That’s no simple calculation error.”
“You’re bothering yourself with things that aren’t your concern. It's alien technology, and not just that, it’s old. So old it makes me look like a spring chicken. Of course it's buggy! Why, I would have been surprised if something didn’t go wrong now and then,” the old Engineer said firmly.
“Now and then? If you’re using the Spindles expecting them to fail, then they’re way beyond buggy. They’re flat out death traps!” snapped the Navigator.
“None of that now,” Spalding said severely, “this is the military, not the baker’s union. Just like the private sector, we expect results! How do you think we’ve been winning here?”
“Well…” Shepherd paused.
“I don’t wave my magic wand and squirt fairy dust in the Empire’s face and expect to win. Life’s a long string of risks. To my mind, any jump you can walk away from is a successful jump, and any ship that gets you home in the end without being killed or irradiated is a good one,” said the old Engineer, proudly patting the duralloy walls of the cutter.
Shepherd’s console flashed.
“I’m glad you feel that way because you’re about to get the chance to explain everything to a man who thinks he’s in charge of Gambit,” the Navigator replied with dark humor. “We’re being challenged by the system guard patrol.”
Spalding looked at the plot showing every ship, habitat, station and mining operation that the little cutter’s myopic eyes could see and frowned.
“Put whoever it is on. I’ll deal with them,” said the Commander.
“Nothing would please me more,” Shepherd smirked.
“Terrance P. Spalding, what crazy notion crawled inside your brain and decided to take up residence this time? Everyone thought you were dead. You’ve been missing for over a week! Message me back and let me know it’s really you so I can hop on a shuttle and go out there so I can strangle you myself,” Yard Manager Baldwin threatened the moment the cutter entered communication range.
Spalding stomped around the deck for a moment before opening a channel and straightening up.
“No, Glenda, I was on a top secret mission. Of course I couldn’t tell you about it. You know how it is,” Spalding said seriously, “as for the rest of it, sometimes things break down. How was I supposed to know it was going to happen on this trip? But don’t worry, I have returned safe and sound and just as soon as I get back to the orbitals you can reassure yourself I’m still alive enough to strangle with yer own two hands.”
“You’re impossible! I don’t know what mission you think you were on, but from his reaction to your disappearance I don’t think even the Admiral knows exactly what you were up to. So don’t 'now Glenda' me,” she snapped.
Spalding blinked in surprise. “Careful what you say over an open com-line. Even if it's encrypted, half the fleet could break in and start listening to you. Hush, you yard-based engineer, before you give the game away without knowing it,” he said quickly.
“Don’t you dare mention games to me,” she humphed loudly, “you’re the one playing games and this time your chickens have come home to roost.”
A blinking red light lit on the truncated communication console in front of the engineer.
“Sorry, Glenda, but the Admiral’s calling on the other line. We’ll have to pick this up when I’m get back to the yard,” Spalding said quickly while moving to cut the channel.
“This isn’t over with,” warned the Yard manager moments before disappearing from the screen.
The old engineer barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief as Glenda’s scowling face disappeared from the screen when it was immediately replaced by a thunderous looking Admiral.
“What the deuce?” Spalding asked, rearing back.
“Just helping out,” Shepherd said, covering his mouth with a hand but his eyes gleamed in a way that let the experienced engineer know who exactly it was that had sandbagged him. Apparently the navigator was still raw about being knocked in the head.
“Commander Spalding, report,” Admiral Montagne said looking down his flat, Royalistic nose at the old Engineer.
Spalding quickly braced to attention. “Mission accomplished, Sir. Everything’s right as rain over here,” the Chief Engineer hesitated, “except for a few minor hiccoughs along the way, of course, it’s all taken care of.”
“Minor hiccoughs? My top engineer disappears for a week and then comes limping back home in a captured cutter and you want to tell me that’s a minor hiccough? Where are my Spindles?!” the little Admiral asked sharply.
“They're right where we left them,” Spalding reassured him quickly, “all we have to do is go and get the jump fuel and power they need and they should be back in Gambit in no time.”
“Should?” Jason Montagne asked, his voice lowering dangerously. Spalding recognized the signs of a brewing explosion in the making from his time serving with Jean Luc. Now there was a captain who knew how to motivate his crew! “Am I boring you, Commander?” asked the Little Admiral.
“What? No-no-no nothing of the sort,” Spalding said gruffly, “like I said, it shouldn’t be a problem getting those Spindles back home and if there is I’m sure I can figure out what went wrong. I mean it was supposed to have enough fuel for another jump, but we only made it partway before things stopped working. But don’t worry, old Spalding’s on the case and we know right where we left them. The odds of someone finding them before we retrieve them is so low it would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”
A vein had started throbbing on the side of the Admiral’s head. “Given my luck so far, that does nothing to reassure me,” said the Admiral. “We will continue this discussion in my office. Come here directly. Do not pass 'Go,' do not collect a 100 credits. Get over here—now,” ordered Jason Montagne.
“Of course, Sir,” Spalding said loyally and then frowned, “although, everything considered, we might need a wee bit of help. Part of the reason we’re so late is the cutter’s down to only one normal space engine.”
“I’ll have one of the ships there give you a tow. Montagne out,” said the Little Admiral.
“Right, Sir,” muttered the Engineer.
Beside him, the shanghaied navigator hardly even tried to hide his snickering.
“You think this is some kind of laughing matter, eh? Do you have any idea what is at stake here?” Spalding demanded, rounding on the jubilant younger man.
“All I know is what goes around has finally come around, and it’s good to see,” Shepherd said happily.
“You know, lad, there’s a reason you were selected for this mission. If I were you I’d be doing everything I could to make sure you aren’t selected again when navigation duty comes up,” Spalding warned.
“Oh, blow it out your exhaust port; we both know it doesn’t matter what I do, you’ll do whatever you want and if that means you need a navigator again you wouldn’t hesitate to grab me off the street,” said Shepherd.
“Exhaust port? It looks like familiarity really does breed contempt!” Spalding glared.
“I do my duty. If that makes you mad then so be it,” shot back the Navigator.
“Yuck it up while you can because the worm turns, and when it does I’ll be there,” said Spalding.
Shepherd blanched. “I’m a combat veteran,” the Navigator shot back, “I’ve faced worse!” He tried to put a fierce face on it but his uncertainty was obvious.
Spalding snorted. “You did your duty, sure. But when you’ve had as much resting on your shoulders as I had then we can talk again,” he said.
Chapter 27: Bluetooth’s Momentum
“Thank you, Governor, for your kind words. Unlike that hypocrite Jason Montagne who ran and hid in the safety of his new home world, we of the Confederation Fleet and Sector 25 Sector Guard serve the new Spineward based Grand Assembly,” said Bluetooth in a serious voice. “Speaker Isaak personally dispatched us to drive out these Imperial butchers from our beloved worlds and as soon as you’ve set your world in order we’d like to invite you to send a representative to the new assembly,” he continued with a smile.
“That’s very self sacrificing of you and your Speaker, Bluetooth,” said the Governor, running a hand over his balding head with a look of relief on his face.
“Think nothing of it, Governor. The Guard and the Fleet are here to help you. Others might shirk at the task and say it’s too expensive to field a flotilla the size of ours so far from our current fleet bases, but when it comes to freeing the people of our region from the Imperial grip of the Reclamation Fleet the Speaker and I feel no expense is too high!” said Bluetooth.
“My people and I will not forget this, Rear Admiral, you have my word,” said the Governor.
“I’m glad we could be of service,” Bluetooth said magnanimously, “but if that will be all, I need to get back to the business of managing this Flotilla. Remember: if you designate a provisional representative to our new Spineward Sectors based assembly, you can either send him to the new mobile capitol by civilian freighter or, if he or she is willing to travel light, there’s room for the ambassador and a small staff of one or two people on the next courier I’m sending home.”
“I’ll be sure to take you up on that,” said the Governor.
“We’ve cleared almost three quarters of this Sector and fighting for freedom is a busy job. I need to get going, Sir,” Bluetooth said, reaching for the button to end the call.
The Governor quickly cleared his throat. “Speaking of the Reclamation Fleet and liberating worlds, it just so happens that after all the help you’ve given our world, we might just be able to help you in turn,” the balding politician spoke quickly.
Bluetooth frowned. “Not that I want to seem ungrateful for the offer but I’m afraid the Fleet is in no condition to set up any additional bases or supply dumps in your system at this time. Maybe in the future after your people have had time to speak with the armed services committee…” Bluetooth said, leaning back.
The governor pursed his lips. “While our world would certainly appreciate the creation of such facilities and be more than willing to offer you significant concessions for such a base, that wasn’t what I was referring to,” the politician denied.
“Then…?” Bluetooth was perplexed.
“I hear from my SDF Commanders that your people are already planning the campaign in Sector 27 and you’ve been asking around about any surviving warships we might have hidden or be able to spare,” said the System Governor.
“Yes, that Destroyer of yours that mutinied when we arrived would be useful in our upcoming campaign. I realize of course that as your only surviving defense you might not want to space it,” agreed Bluetooth impatiently.
“I think you misunderstand. You see, one of our surviving military officers disguised himself as a common spacer and survived the purge of her fellow officers when the Reclamation Fleet took over our SDF, small as it is and was. During her time in their service she had the chance to make a few contacts. Contacts which we have since expanded upon,” advised the Governor.
Bluetooth leaned forward, “Tell me more.”
“Using our officer as a go between, our Provincial Bureau of Intelligence, or PBI, managed a number of stealth contacts with other worlds from our sector, Sector 26, and from Sector 27. The worlds in 27 indicated to us, before you arrived, that they are ready to rise up in rebellion against the weakened Rim Fleet and that a number of worlds have already overthrown their Imperial task masters,” said the Governor. “I have a list,” he added.
“This is exceptional news! If true this could have even further ranging implications that even you know,” the Rear Admiral said, his eyes widening in surprise.
Looking like the cat that just ate the pigeon, the Governor silently preened. “PBI has managed quite a coup,” he agreed after a minute, “normally it would be our Foreign Affairs Service that manages such things but in the recent troubles the Provincial Bureau really stepped up to the plate,” he said.
The Rear Admiral could see where this was going, but with the news he was hearing he didn’t really care. “If you could share with me that list and have some of your agents brief my officers, my Flotilla would really appreciate it. And I’m sure that when I get back home I could put a good word in for you with Speaker Isaak,” said Bluetooth.
“I couldn’t ask for more,” the Governor said with relief.
Chapter 28: The Oncoming Storm
After a grueling series of rapid transits that tested the tempers of men promised months of R&R after bitter fighting on the Front, the two Imperial fleets under the command of Admiral Magnus Davenport reached the far side of the Overton Expanse.
But reaching the edge of the Expanse wasn’t the only noteworthy event that happened, because waiting for them at the edge of the Expanse was a large series of data packets.
“You’ll need to use your personal encryption keys, Sir,” reminded his Fleet Intelligence Officer.
“Thank you for the reminder but I’m already aware, Jetson,” said Magnus.
Looking over the reports, Magnus frowned and pondered his options before issuing orders for the Reclamation Fleet to stop retreating and proceed with the counterattack into Sector 26. At the same time he reaffirmed Rear Admiral Norfolk as the temporary commander of the partisan force that had previously been known as the Reclamation Fleet.
“Sir?” asked Jetson after Magnus handed him a data stick with the new orders the Admiral had prepared for Norfolk and Simper’s various operatives within the Spineward Sectors.
“Make sure that’s sent privately and with a self-deleting function if they’re read by anyone other than the intended recipients. There can’t be any chance of interception,” said Magnus.
“Will do, Sir,” said the Intelligence Officer, hurrying away.
Curious his Chief of Staff wandered over.
“Yes?” Magnus asked cocking a brow her direction.
“Just curious about what this will mean for future operations,” she said seriously.
“Still trying to manage me, Chief of Staff?” he asked with a smirk.
“It’s my job to ensure things run smoothly. We don’t want our Admiral distracted by minor matters that his staff can and should take care of, Sir,” she replied, not falling for the dig.
“You mean you just want the inside track,” he noted.
She splayed her hands. “That is one of the perks of serving a slave-driving boss at the top of the command chain isn’t it, Sir?” she asked with a sweet smile.
Magnus Davenport choked mid-snort. “You’re a bad bad woman, you know that, Commodore?” he said strictly.
“I don’t know if I would say that,” she riposted.
“Alright, I concede defeat,” he said, rolling his eyes before turning serious, “as you know I need to achieve just exactly the right tone before interjecting myself and 5th Fleet into the situation.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“As previously thought and as these reports confirm, the partisans are the perfect distraction. Which is why I’ve ordered an immediate counterattack,” said Magnus.
Despite already knowing the Admiral’s original intention, she still drew in a breath at the confirmation.
“You can’t hit them where they’re strong,” Magnus intoned, “and if one thing is clear it’s that this Montagne is uncommonly strong when it comes to fleet engagements. Cornwallis thought he held all the cards and still lost.”
“He had a reserve formation. We have a battle tested and hardened fleet—and not just any fleet, but 5th Fleet, Admiral,” she reminded him.
“The pirates had him outnumbered, the Droids had him surrounded, Arnold Janeski had a fleet of partisans, and Cornwallis a Reserve Formation. I won’t play that game. I’m here to win and the only battles I intend to fight are on the Gorgon Front—where they belong,” said Magnus.
She drew back. “You don’t mean to run from battle?” she asked, her tone making clear she expected he would say no.
He was more than happy to oblige. “If it comes to a fleet battle then so be it. We’ll crush him like we have every other threat we’ve encountered, but like I said if there’s no need to play to this enemy’s strengths then why do it?” he asked rhetorically.
“No reason at all,” she admitted.
“That’s why we’re going to crush him. He can win every battle for all I care and grind down his ships as he goes. We win the war,” said Magnus, “I will put him out of position, strip his allies away and then,” he thrust forward and open hand and then squeezed. His fingers kept closing until knuckles popped. “No one stains the honor of the Empire and gets to brag about it,” Magnus said with a sharp rap of finality.
Chapter 29: The Return of the Reclamation Fleet
“We’ve just received an urgent FTL message from 5th Fleet, Sir,” said the flag Lieutenant, running up with a slate held high.
Admiral Norfolk turned dark eyes upon the junior-most member of his command staff. “What do you have, Reginald?” he asked shortly.
The Flag Lieutenant ignored the Admiral’s ill humor and as soon as he entered range, he started waving the slate around and specifically under his Admiral’s nose.
“It’s here, Sir! What you’ve been waiting for. More orders!” he exclaimed.
“What?” Norfolk glared at the younger man, feeling just as ready to discipline the Flag Lieutenant as he was to take the orders. Lately they’d received nothing but bad news from home.
“Why exactly do you think I’m eager to receive yet another poison pill?” he demanded.
Reginald Farthing looked taken and quickly straightened trying to adopt a more serious demeanor. “If you’ll just take a look, sir, you’ll see these orders are somewhat different from our last set,” he said with a gleam in his eye.
Almost despite himself the Admiral reached for the slate and pulled it out of the Lieutenant’s hands.
He was halfway through the orders when he started laughing—and it wasn’t warm laughter.
“You were right to bring these to me so quickly,” he allowed, looking back up at the Flag Lieutenant and, for the first time in over a year—and especially after the events two months ago—Norfolk felt his mood lightening.
“Good new, Sir?” his Chief of Staff asked, sidling over curiously.
“The best, Captain Wilkins,” Norfolk said with a smile that could have bit through bulkheads, “we’ve officially been given permission to go after those murderers. The space gods decided to curse my soul for failing to keep the Task Force ready during the Battle for Easy Haven by letting these savages find our evacuation convoy. It almost broke my faith in the Empire to be forced to retreat from those blighters time and time again, but now my faith is partially restored.”
“We’ve been given permission to hunt them down and find them, Sir. The retreat’s been called off?” asked Wilkins in a cold voice.
“Even better, Captain. We’ve been given permission for a general push. The Reclamation Fleet is being ordered to crush these gods forsaken locals and drive them before us until we’re able to link up with the Imperial 5th Fleet or we’re given new orders,” said Norfolk.
“They fell on women and children like pirates and slaughtered our dependents. As far as I’m concerned, this entire region deserves to die,” said Captain Wilkins.
“Not the region, just their entire military and the government that gave them their orders,” disagreed Norfolk.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” said Wilkins.
“Send out the order to gather the fleet. Enough pulling back. It’s time to advance. We concentrate and destroy,” said Norfolk.
“And we’ll keep destroying until we find their moving capitol and finish that too,” said Wilkins.
“The Empire and Admiral Davenport willing,” agreed Norfolk.
Chapter 30: Bluetooth at Bay
“Where the black blazes did all these ships come from!” Bluetooth screamed as the Newton rocked around him. The advance guard of an enemy fleet that outnumbered his by at least two-to-one advanced on the unmoving warships of his Flotilla. In reply, New Confederation warships spun up their hyper drives as fast as they could in an attempt to flee the star system.
“Return fire off the port side. We’ve got to clear that Heavy Cruiser if we’re going to make it long enough to jump out!” shouted Captain Kermit.
“Shields compromised!” warned the Shield Warrant right before the firepower of three Cruisers punched through the Battleship’s shields and dug deep into its armor in one concentrated barrage.
“We have out-gassing,” reported Damage Control.
“Is it under control? If so then don’t bother me,” snapped Kermit.
“Can someone keep this ship still! We’re already past the point of no return and if this ship keeps moving I might not be able to recalculate the jump in time and we’re all dead,” snapped the Navigator fingers flying as he desperately tried to recalculate their new jump position.
“I’ll make sure the enemy knows my navigator would like them to stay still so the jump doesn’t kill us instead of them. I’m sure they’ll be highly interested in your opinion,” bellowed Bluetooth.
“Just recalculate the jump, Navigator. Leave the fighting to the professionals,” ordered Kermit.
Bluetooth snorted looking down at the Captain derisively and then the Newton shook again.
“Blast it!” cried Nav.
“Why does it feel like every single ship in the enemy fleet is focused on us?” Bluetooth shouted, glaring at the screen where two dozen Cruisers were facing off against his entire flotilla. Well, his entire flotilla minus the lighter ships that had already jumped out of the star system.
“Probably because they are! Tactical tells me every weapon that can be brought to bear on the Newton is firing directly at us. They’re only using any lasers they can’t shoot at us on the rest of the fleet,” Kermit said viciously, “not that I can’t figure out why they’re aiming at us now that they’ve already destroyed Piebold’s ship.”
Bluetooth glared at him. “Piebold wasn’t destroyed,” Bluetooth shot back.
“No, they just knocked out his engines, destroyed his shield generators, punched a hole in the side of his ship big enough to fly a shuttle through, and then started landing the Marines. There’s still flashes on the hull of that ship and what look like unsuited figures being expelled, along with a blast of atmosphere each time. It’s not hard to tell what’s happening over there, sir. Or what will happen to us if we don’t get out of this system before the rest of that big bloody fleet of theirs gets here.”
“No need to piss with fear, Captain. We followed the rules of war and we’ll be gone long before the enemy can get here besides,” glared Bluetooth.
“Keep telling yourself that because they clearly mean to argue every point you just brought up,” snapped back the Captain, one of his leg’s twitching until he stomped a foot on the deck to quiet it.
“Do I need to find myself a new Captain, Kermit?” demanded Bluetooth.
“Maybe what you need is to run off to another flagship, sir,” shot back the Captain.
The ship rocked again. “Blast it all!” Bluetooth swore as the movement caused him to stumble, breaking the eye lock between the two senior officers on the ship. “Tell the rest of the fleet to fire on those Cruisers,” he ordered.
“The ones that can already are, Sir,” reported the Tactical Officer as the enemy Cruisers continued to punish Bluetooth’s flagship with repeated broadsides as fast as their gun deck could fire.
“Even if we make it out of here alive this ship is going to need some serious repairs,” stated Kermit.
“Focus, Captain,” ordered Bluetooth.
“Aye-aye, sir,” Kermit bit out.
The minutes counted down as the crew of the Flotilla Flagship fought for its life.
Finally, in a flash of light, it disappeared from the star system.
Chapter 31: Bluetooth’s Bitter Pill
“How are we looking after that last battle, Captain?” asked Bluetooth as the ship’s captain strode into the Rear Admiral’s office.
Kermit came to attention and saluted eyes deliberately focusing on the wall behind the Rear Admiral.
“We’ve got one of our main engines back online. We’ll be able to move shortly, Sir,” he said.
“Yes, trying to break that last gravity sump with only one rapidly overheating secondary was more excitement than I care for,” Bluetooth said dryly. “How long until the Newton is combat ready?”
“This ship is ready to fight right now, Sir,” Kermit said with pride, “but if you ask my opinion what we need is reinforcements. We were blindsided by that fleet because it came out of nowhere and we had no idea it was there until they found us and attacked. In short: our patrols weren’t aggressive enough and I’ve added that in my report.”
Bluetooth stilled, his eyes slitting dangerously. “You’re testing my patience, Captain,” he warned.
“Sorry, Sir. I’m just giving my opinion like any captain would when asked,” Kermit said, still standing at attention.
“First, I’ve already sent word back to the Assembly begging for support. We need ships and trillium. Half of my smaller ships aren’t able to do the extreme scouting operations we need because of fuel limitations. Second, no one asked for your opinion in the first place. Please remember to hold them until asked,” replied Bluetooth.
“I’m gratified you’re taking this situation seriously, Sir,” said Kermit.
“As if I wasn’t from the beginning? Unlike you I am not filled with fear during every engagement. I can keep a level head and, more importantly, follow orders,” said Bluetooth.
“I am unaware of any legal orders which I have failed to follow to the best of my abilities, Rear Admiral,” said Kermit, meeting his eyes and holding them.
Bluetooth grudgingly nodded. “Maybe the problem here is simply that your best isn’t good enough, Captain,” he replied.
“That can be a common failing among senior officers such as myself, Sir,” replied Kermit.
Bluetooth stared at him flintily. “Frankly I’m seeing more initiative out of Costel Iorghu and the Prometheans than I am from you, Captain Kermit,” Bluetooth informed him stonily.
“His ships are slow, but he’s fighting for foreign aid credits from the Assembly to rebuild his home world, Sir,” said Kermit.
“Meaning he’s more motivated than you are, Captain?” Bluetooth said scathingly. “ You think I should bribe you to do your job too, is that it?”
“I don’t need anything from you. But my crew could at least use a kind word for all the hard work they’ve put in. For some reason after your blitzkrieg campaign through most of sector 26 they believe you’ll turn this latest setback around,” said Kermit.
“They have faith in their superiors. Just like I do. The same way you should,” said Bluetooth. “As for a kind word? They’re trained spacers; what they need is a kick in the butt not coddling. We’ll find a way out of this dilemma. All we have to do is fall back until we receive reinforcements. Grand Admiral Manning has more than enough warships to crush the Reclamation Fleet, what little remains of it.”
“They still have more than enough to defeat us. Nineteen Battleships, sir! There’s no way we can take them on and win,” argued Kermit.
“I’ve had enough of your defeatism, Captain. Shut your mouth or spend the rest of the time until we receive reinforcements mouthing off till your heart's content in the brig,” said Bluetooth.
“Aye-aye, Sir,” said the Captain snapping off a salute and then, not waiting to be dismissed, turned to the door and left the room.
Bluetooth slammed a fist down on the table. This was a terrible setback but all they needed to survive was a relief convoy filled with trillium and critically-needed replacement parts and they could fight a delaying action for months if they had to until the Grand Admiral could relieve them.
All the Grand Assembly had to do was what they’d promised and everything would be fine. It might hurt. No that was wrong. It would hurt. Bad. They’d lose all the gains they’d made in Sector 26 even but so long as they had the fuel, Bluetooth’s Flotilla could hold twice its numbers at bay for as long as it needed to.
He clenched his fists.
It was all that wretched pirate Jason Montagne’s fault. If Tracto hadn’t been so cursed greedy and simply supported the Confederation Fleet, instead of demanding an arm and two legs for their fuel, none of this would have happened.
He hated to admit it, but it was long past time the Grand Assembly caved in to the Tyrant's demands. After all, what did a little lost reputation matter now, not when they could always turn around and orbitally bombard Tracto into submission after they’d dealt with these blasted Imperials first?
Still ruminating over the greedy actions of the most vile man in the Spineward Sectors, the Rear Admiral composed yet another update and desperate request for reinforcements before filing it off.
Chapter 32: Panic in the Assembly
“Isaak, you assured us your people were up to the task of liberating Sector 26 and securing our voting base without the need to involve the most ruthless tyrant the Spine has ever seen. Your words!” shouted Anton Chat-Hammer, hammering the podium in front of him with both fists. “The fact is we threw him over the side before we’d even properly won the battle! What the blazes were you thinking? I ask you: where are your assurances now?” he demanded stridently. “First Fleet is camped outside of Aegis with no idea of when or if they’ll ever be able to take back that star system, and the Flotilla you decided to send into Sector 26 has just backfired. We can’t afford a war on two fronts—yet that’s exactly what you’ve given us!”
Isaak’s face twitched. “Tread carefully, Chat-Hammer. We still have people out in the field fighting the enemy. With Montagne in the mix anything could have happened,” he warned.
“Or what? We’ll fight a two front war with the better half of our best fleet sitting on the sidelines—where you sent them!” Chat-Hammer ignored that last part of Isaak’s warning as he continued hamming on the speaker. “Or maybe you’ll ensure I never sit on another committee in the Grand Assembly of the Spine? Oh wait, that’s already happened. Get over yourself, esteemed Speaker for the Assembly. What’s important right now isn’t my career and it certainly isn’t your future career if your Flotilla is driven all the way back to the border of 25. What we face here is nothing less than the fate of the Spineward Sectors itself.”
“Can the drama before you get someone killed. What we need here are steady, well-reasoned actions, not the angry decisions of an incensed governing body, Chat-Hammer,” warned Isaak.
“I implore you for once in your life to set aside your ego and your threats, as impossible as that may seem, and do what we should have done from the beginning,” Chat-Hammer said staunchly. “We must restore Montagne to head of the New Confederation Fleet, rescue the Flotilla lead by Bluetooth, and stomp out once and for all the remnants of the Reclamation Fleet. Do what should have been done four months ago, if only we’d still had the Tyrant at our beck and call: free the Spine from the jack boots of the Empire!”
“Montagne’s a greater threat to this Assembly than three Empires. Why can’t you see that,” demanded Isaak stridently.
“I don’t care if you have to get down on bended knee and beg. No price is too high to ensure the freedom of the people and the power of this Assembly! These partisan games must stop!” cried Chat-Hammer.
“Hear-hear!” shouted a large number of representatives.
Isaak Newton’s face turned ugly. “You would have me lick the Tyrant’s boots?” he demanded. “If it weren’t for the Tyrant refusing to sell us his wife’s fuel, my flotilla would have brought the enemy to a decisive battle and finished them before they could have concentrated!”
“Better a muzzled tyrant, a man we can control, than an unbridled force like the Reclamation Fleet that already controls more than two sectors of space! Haven’t you heard the reports of the new members of your own faction from that very Sector?” Chat-Hammer cried in disbelief. “The Empire’s done far worse than Montagne ever dreamed. Sweet Crying Murphy, all you had to do was stroke his ego and Montagne was ready to lay down his life for our people. He’s proven time and time again he’s a battle-loving freak. But instead of stroking his ego and telling him how wonderful he was so that we could develop him into a shield for this Confederation, you kicked him to the curb at the first opportunity. What kind of moron would do that, what kind of person have we put control of this Assembly, Speaker Isaak Newton? Well I ask you,” Chat-Hammer asked, turning to his fellow assemblymen with his palms up, “what have we done?”
“You!” Isaak was outraged.
“I call for a vote. Give Montagne what he wants, pay him off, and free the Spine!” shouted Chat-Hammer.
“Jason Montagne cannot be trusted. Mark my words: he is the bane on this Assembly and will be the death of us all!” yelled the Speaker. “Have any of you failed to notice how as soon as things don’t go Jason Montagne’s way he immediately takes punitive measures. He’s already cut off our trillium,” the Speaker’s face and neck turned red, “we would have already won and been in Sector 27 if it wasn’t for him!”
“The death of you possibly, Newton,” Chat-Hammer mocked, “none of the rest of us attempted to have him executed for trying to protect the Spine! I’m sure that as soon as we end this farce of an investigation into his actions against Cornwallis that the trillium will flow again and, with the proper concessions, shortly after so will the Tyrant’s warships.”
“Hear hear!” Kong Pao showed his support.
“It’s too late, I tell you! He’s a vindictive, petty tyrant just like the rest of his line!” shouted Isaak.
“I call for a vote!” urged Chat-Hammer. “We must restore Montagne to the Admiralty as this fleet’s First Admiral and get his ships back out there before it’s too late.”
“All we need to do is divert our trillium reserves to the Flotilla in 26,” Isaak snapped. “Bluetooth can delay things until we’re able to free up the necessary reinforcements from Sector 22. Then if we agree to the Little Admiral’s price the trillium will flow. There’s no need to bring him back. He and his fleet the MSP are like the plague.”
“A plague for you maybe. But the sad fact is we don’t have the trillium to both refuel the Flotilla and continue to restart commerce,” shot back Chat-Hammer.
“The War Fleet needs the fuel, not the merchants. Are you blind?” Isaak demanded furiously.
“No! If the food shipments stop then billions of credits will be lost, entire merchant fleets will go bankrupt, closing their doors permanently and millions of innocent civilians will die of starvation. Elysium’s mines on Urapente can’t come up with the load; we’ve already bought out their entire reserve supply and the Core Worlds of this Sector weren’t built to be entirely self-sufficient, they need those shipments or they’ll starve. The answer is simple. We must pay off the Tyrant,” Chat-Hammer said seriously, “give him what he wants and he’ll drive off the Empire’s forces for us. It’s the only way.”
“I can’t advise against this insanity in any stronger terms,” warned Isaak.
The vote was called despite Speaker Isaak’s furious attempt to block it, and following Chat-Hammer’s call the Grand Assembly propose to immediately reinstate Montagne as First Grand Admiral of the Fleet, placing him back in command of First Fleet and fleet Admiralty.
Chapter 33: Bluetooth in a Bind
Bluetooth looked up and down the holo-conference table before speaking, “Please be seated.”
Heads nodded around the room as holo-emitter adapted to the presence of more captains than the physical room could have held, using a trick of light and holograms to extend the table far beyond what should have been the wall of the room.
“I have brought you all here today for one reason,” Bluetooth said grimly, “the sad fact is we simply don’t have the fuel to continue full combat operations for all of our ships.”
There were intakes of breath around the table.
“As such, and in order to keep those of us at the front in the battle and give the people back home the time they need to resupply us, I have no choice but to order half the lighter units to transfer all their fuel reserves to the larger units and take up a defensive role at the main fleet base in the Sector. They will only keep the bare minimum fuel necessary to get back to Tau Ceti,” Bluetooth said imperiously. “We must hold—and we must have fuel! I will dispatch another courier to the Grand Assembly begging for fuel and relief forces to bolster this flotilla. I will also cut orders so that if any of the ships re-tasked to Tau Ceti’s defense run into a resupply convoy that they are to refuel, restock and return to the front with word so that the rest of the Flotilla can fall back, rotating as needed to continue our delaying action,” said Bluetooth.
“But, Rear Admiral, we’ve been requesting resupply and reinforcements for months now. We’ve seen nothing. What if the rest of the Fleet isn’t coming?” asked one of the junior ship commanders, looking ill.
Bluetooth glared at the other officer. “This is not the time for second thoughts and hesitation. The Grand Assembly believes in you, now you have to believe in yourself. We are the tip of the spear and we will win this war, have no doubts, any of you,” Bluetooth said sweeping the table with his gaze, “do you think the tyrant would have hesitated if he were in your place? Or would he have run like a cowardly dog? I put forth to you that immoral blighter would not do so, and if that blighter would stand and fight for our people then how can the men and women of this flotilla do any less?”
He turned and looked at one of the senior captains near his seat at the holo-table.
“Are you a lesser man than the Tyrant of Cold Space?” he demanded harshly.
The senior captain looked taken aback and then his face closed. “No, Sir,” he said firmly.
Bluetooth turned to the next captain. “Is a pirate like the Tyrant a better man than you?” he asked harshly.
“No, Rear Admiral,” that Captain replied.
“Is the Tyrant a better man than anyone in this room? Because if so, tell me now and I’ll give your second in command a chance to prove his or her mettle,” Bluetooth roared.
“No, Sir!” roared the holo-room.
“We hold the line and no one gets through. We are the stone cold defenders of the Confederated way and no one shall pass,” cried Bluetooth, throwing his arms wide.
Seconds later, he terminated the conference and stalked off to his room.
“The Speaker had better come through,” he said to no one in particular.
Glaring murder at the walls, he returned to his room to draft his next report.
Chapter 34: A Messenger Arrives
I stood with my hands clasped behind my back as I watched the fast courier transit into Gambit Star System.
“How long before the delegation arrives, Lisa?” I asked, standing in front of the holo-screen. As I watched, the courier completed its burn and slowed for close approach to Gambit Station.
“Current ETA is thirty minutes. The courier will dock before them but unless you intend to meet him at the docks it will take a while to go through all the protocols,” she said lightly.
I grunted an affirmation.
My Chief of Staff went away for several minutes before returning. She waited silently before making a small noise.
I continued looking at the screen, pondering the situation.
“Any idea why they’re here, Admiral?” asked the short, brown-skinned, pixie-faced Lieutenant Commander behind me.
“No idea on the one hand, and yet on the other hand, Commander…,” I trailed off, shaking my head.
“Sir?” she asked with concern.
I pursed my lips still turned away from her. “On the other hand I suspect I know entirely too well what this delegation is here for,” I finally replied.
“As you say, Sir,” she said, stepping back.
“As…I say?” I muttered, questioning myself more than anything.
My dark musings were interrupted when the blast doors leading into station central swept open and a larger than life figure swept into the room.
“How you doing, Sir? Looking for a little private contemplation perhaps?” asked the Chief Engineer, stomping to a halt beside me.
“How could you tell?” I asked with a slight curve to the side of my mouth.
“You sure it was a wise idea to invite that delegation over here to Gambit, Admiral?” asked Spalding, squinting at the part of the holo-screen containing the miniature image of the delegation’s courier ship.
“It won’t be a problem for long,” I replied.
“Oh, they’ll be here and gone soon enough,” agreed the old cyborg, “it’s what happens afterward that matters. I realize you sent a Navigator to meet them and purged their DI, but even so all one of them has to do is stick a passive sensor or recorder outside the hull and they’ll be able to triangulate our location.”
I looked over at Spalding with a wolfish smile. “Who says we’ll still be here when they get around to sending trouble our way?”
Spalding barked a laugh and clapped me on the shoulder. “I just wasn’t sure if you realized that,” he said happily.
“Oh, it’ll cost, but now that Commodore Druid is back with those Jump Spindles our options are back to wide open,” I said.
“Let me run a few more tests, just to be sure before we start any more wild jumps around the Sector,” advised Spalding.
“You’ve been working on those Spindles for two weeks now and nothing popped up yet has it?” I asked.
“Well now, that’s true and all but nothing was readin' wrong the last time I warmed them up and tried to jump back here,” Spalding said unhappily.
It was my turn to clout the old engineer on the shoulder. “Then this is the perfect opportunity for a test run,” I said seriously, “if there’s a problem we’ll find it and hopefully fix it, and if there isn’t then all this worrying will have been for nothing.”
“But what if we break it?” Spalding exclaimed.
“At least this way we’ll know where we’re going and can reduce the number of people aboard in the case of a completely disastrous jump,” I advised the older man, “we can have rescue ships waiting on the other side with picked crews ready for trouble.”
Spalding spluttered, looking like he didn’t know where to start.
“Better we find out there’s trouble with the Spindles now than during the middle of a battle when our surprise reinforcements surprise us and not the enemy by not showing up,” I said.
“Well, and I suppose you’re right about that,” Spalding said bleakly, “it’s a sad fact that Murphy likes to pop in to lend a hand or put a spoke in the sprocket at some of the most and least convenient times.”
“There you go,” I smirked.
“You look a bit too happy about that, Sir. If’n I may be so bold,” muttered the old Engineer.
“Did you say something, Chief?” I asked in a slightly too loud voice.
Spalding sighed. “No, Sir,” he finally replied.
“Good man,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder, “I need someone to keep this lash-up moving forward and since you’re the only man who understands those Spindles—mainly because you won’t let anyone else put their mitts on them—you’re it,” I grinned.
“It’s a joy to be volunteered each and every time, Admiral. That it is,” Spalding said, eyeing me like a cut of meat he was thinking of chopping into portions.
“I knew I could count on you after the way you left everyone hanging with your latest escapade,” I said seriously.
Commander Spalding winced. “Well...maybe I deserved that after all,” he grumbled.
Nodding contentedly, I turned to leave the bridge and set up shop in the conference room. It wouldn’t do to get there late.
First impressions were key and as I was all but certain the delegation was here to blow sunshine in my face I didn’t want to make it any easier on them. After the way the New Confederation had been jerking me and my fleet around, it wouldn’t have sat well with anyone—including me.
The station’s steward had just called up, to say the guests had arrived and would be joining us momentarily, when the door to the conference room swept open and a tall blond figure moved into the room.
“I see you decided to rock the 'sword look' this morning,” I said, taking note of the hilt of the large black sword protruding over her shoulder.
“I feel as if maybe I’ve been projecting the wrong image lately,” Akantha informed me self-consciously.
“Not happy projecting a baby-carrying mommy image?” I inquired.
“I just want to make sure people see the warrior first and the mother second,” said my wife.
“Being a Hold-Mistress doesn’t preclude beautiful or practical clothing,” I said.
“But being a battle ready warrior might,” she retorted tersely.
“Well, as you wish, my dear,” I said, smoothly recognizing a lost cause when I saw her, “I don’t have much time to chat. An important Fleet meeting coming up. But if you’d like to continue this conversation later we could plan to meet up at our quarters after eighteen hundred and call it a date?”
“That would be nice, Jason,” she said, taking a seat at the table beside me.
I suppressed a twitch. “Are you sure you want to hang around for this? I can guarantee it’s not going to be very fun,” I offered.
“I’m good,” she said.
I nodded and turned slightly to the side.
Picking up a glass of water, I took a long drink. Placing the glass back on the table, I took a moment to compose myself.
Akantha’s addition to this gathering, while in retrospect not entirely unexpected, could have serious and far reaching consequences.
“Would you like to take a moment to consult on strategy before they arrive?” asked my beloved Sword-Bearer.
“There are only two things they want from us: my fleet and your trillium. Personally I’m disinclined to provide them with either, but considering they sent a delegation all the way out here to meet with us personally they clearly seem to think they’ll prevail over our intractability,” I said after a moment of contemplation. If Akantha was here then she was right: it was important to clarify our position beforehand to keep from working at cross purposes.
“That being the case, I wouldn’t be afraid to make them bleed,” I said bleakly.
“I’d prefer to show them the door and forcefully insist when they tried to tarry,” Akantha glared icily at the door as if she could melt them before they arrived by sheer force of will.
“While I sympathize with the emotion, we don’t want to close that door prematurely. They can make all the promises they want but right now I’m interested in tangible. I can’t imagine what they think they can offer me, but I’m interested to find out,” I said.
“How you can so quickly forgive them for their treatment of you is beyond me?” Akantha said, her voice so cold frost seemed to come out of her mouth as she spoke.
“Let’s not call it forgiveness. Instead let’s think of this as our one chance to get our pound of flesh,” I replied evenly, “the sad fact is the Provisional Grand Assembly did their best to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and because of that the threat still remains. Their actions do not make this threat any less than it was before; even if the Spineward Sectors Confederation disappeared tomorrow, all that would mean was we would be left to deal with the situation alone.”
“That has several advantages, many of which I don’t think you have fully considered,” Akantha said giving me hard look.
I felt a chill go up and down my spine. “Let’s not be hasty. It does us no damage to hear them out,” I said as calmly as I was able.
“Be careful, Jason,” she warned, “if you dance too long with your enemies the odds of them slipping a knife into you when you least expect it increases.”
“I don’t necessarily disagree with you, I just don’t see a viable alternative,” I said stiffly.
“I do. But I think even now you’re not yet ready to see it,” said Akantha who, in a split second, seemed to morph into the Hold-Mistress of Messene before just as suddenly turning back into my wife.
The chill from before was nothing compared to the flash of trepidation I felt at seeing that transformation.
Uneasily pushing it aside, I sat there staring at the door. I feared I knew exactly what Akantha was suggesting and it just wasn’t in me. I’d lived too long under my ancestors shadow to willingly join them in a long unbroken chain of Montagne tyranny and oppression.
Of course…given the way things were going, I might be added to their ranks by the voting public no matter what I did.
Which raised an interesting question: had all of my ancestors deserved the bad rap they’d received and if not just how many of them had bucked the mold only to be later tarred with the anti-royalist brush?
With those thoughts weighing heavily on my mind I sat and waited for the delegation to arrive.
Minutes later a small group of assemblymen and what passed for high new Confederation officials were escorted into the room.
First in the room was a pair of Grand Assembly Guards, not a sight designed to bring back good memories, but it was the figure that followed immediately after that grabbed my attention and held it.
The robed Asian figure stepped forward and cupped his hands. “Admiral Montagne, it is gratifying to see you in such good health—especially after the latest round of terrible events,” he said.
“I wish I could share your enthusiasm, Grand Assemblyman Kong,” I said and nodded a terse greeting.
“Surely we have more in common, even now with our many disagreements, than we have differences,” the former Sector Judge said with a slight frown.
I drew back. “Our many disagreements?” I asked shortly.
“Perhaps I misspoke. As you see, I, and my fellow delegates, are representing the Grand Assembly in clearing up this terrible mess that our leaders, many of them in the very assembly itself, have placed us in, Admiral,” said Grand Assemblyman Kong Pao.
“Why does it feel like every time I see you, you are cleaning up yet another mess for the Grand Assembly, Judge Kong?” I asked with a piercing look.
The pair of Grand Assemblymen sitting beside the Sector Judge shifted in their seats but remained silent.
“We each do what we can to help keep the Spine safe in our own way, Grand Admiral,” Kong Pao sighed heavily.
“I’m a 'Grand Admiral' no longer, Representative Kong,” I said with a shrug, “and that’s a good thing. The Grand Assembly and the Spine deserve someone they can trust wholeheartedly with the position.”
There were long faces on the other side of the conference after I spoke.
One of the other delegates coughed, breaking the uncomfortable atmosphere in the room following my last statement.
“You have no reason to trust us right now. I understand that. In our defense, we heard the Confederated Fleet was defeated with Charles Cornwallis dead and were swayed by the thought of an easy victory. I disagreed but was outvoted,” Kong Pao sighed.
“I’m sure the Assembly knew what it was doing, after all you guys direct the affairs of seven Sectors of space,” I said with a shrug, “still, bygones are bygones and I no longer work for the Spineward Confederation Assembly.”
I paused just long enough to make a point, but too short for the Sector Judge to speak.
“Which brings us back to your reason for coming here. To what do I owe this visit? Here to buy some trillium perhaps?” I asked with an emotionless smile.
Judge Kong winced. “Trillium is one of the things I came here to discuss, yes,” he said, taking a breath.
“By all means,” I said, standing and gesturing toward my wife. “If that’s what you’re here for, I’ll leave you in the experienced hands of my Sword-Bearer.”
I turned to go and Kong Pao clenched his fists. “Please wait. Trillium is certainly an important part of our mission here but it is not the only thing we wish to speak on,” he said.
I paused and then with a flinty look at the Representative resumed my seat. “Let’s have it then,” I said flatly.
“I see you are still bitter from your treatment by my colleagues. Quite rightfully so, I might add,” he said when I started to bridle.
“Colleagues? Last time I checked a Grand Admiral could only be fired from his job by the Grand Assembly, of which you are a member. So stop dancing around the subject. I gave you the opportunity to let the things of the past stay there but you clearly had no interest. That’s fine. What do you want, Grand Assemblyman?” I said, locking eyes with the Sector Judge. “Just tell me so I can say no and walk away from here with both our dignities intact.”
He was the first to look away. “You feel ill done, I get that. But now is not the time for petty grievances, nor is it for fully deserved ones either. The Spineward Sectors faces a peril not seen in the entire history of this region. I am asking you to set aside your differences with us and come back. We need you. Both for your trillium, your leadership and, yes, for the very large number of warships you have at your beck and call,” said Kong Pao.
“You don’t want much do you, Judge?” I asked with a derisive sniff.
“I probably deserved that, Jason,” he allowed, “but we literally have nowhere else to turn.”
“Is that because you chopped off the hand that fed you? Or because you’re all idiots who wouldn’t know how to win a war if somebody drew you a diagram? I was out there fighting the good fight, Pao!” I said with heavy and ironic emphasis on his given name. “We were winning! Do you understand that? Winning! Cornwallis was dead and his fleet shattered; all we needed was too follow through and instead you cast me aside like yesterday’s dirty shoes.”
“I have already admitted we did you wrong but—” started the Judge.
“No! No 'buts.' You didn’t just cast me aside, you kicked this entire fleet to the curb. After that why should we trust a thing you tell us?” I asked, angry beyond measure.
He held up a pair of open hands in surrender. “No 'buts' then,” he said calmly, “what is it you want from me?”
“Me?! I don’t want anything from you. Go home, Judge,” I shot back.
“I can’t do that, Admiral.”
“And just why not? You clearly don’t need me. Otherwise the Assembly wouldn’t have cut off its nose to spite its face. So what exactly is it you want from me?” I said, leaning forward and thumping the table.
“You have already heard me, you just rightfully don’t want to listen: we need you, Jason Montagne. You are our only hope,” he said, this time refusing to look away.
I was the first one to look away this time, and it irritated me beyond measure. “No. The answer is no,” I said, a fist turning into a flat hand that I put on the table for support as I leaned forward for emphasis.
“We can make it worth your while, Grand Admiral,” he said, fully composed despite my fit of high dungeon.
“Never use that rank with me again. That Grand Admiral was fired with charges brought up against him—he won’t be coming back,” I informed the other man coldly.
Apparently this was too much for the other representatives. “What is this?” one asked, leaning forward and looking at his fellow delegates before turning back to me. “This is a good deal we’re offering, Admiral. The best deal you’re ever going to find. All charges will be dropped, you’ll be paid a significant sum, and your previous rank will be restored. Why are you fighting this so hard? Is your ego more important than the safety and security of billions of citizens?”
“Who are you?” I asked, my eyes pinning the other man to his seat like laser beams.
He puffed up slightly. “My name is Donald Christmas, Grand Assemblyman of Carlito’s Reef and Dotson’s World,” he said proudly.
I nodded and then turned back to Kong Pao, “Muzzle your dog. I don’t want to hear him speak unless it’s to say something I haven’t already heard or don’t already know.”
“Christmas, please let me do the speaking for now,” said Kong Pao placed a hand on his fellow delegate’s shoulder.
His fellow assemblyman shook him off. “Tyrant, just who do you think you are?” asked Grand Assemblyman Donald Christmas. “I’m a duly elected representative of the people!”
“When did you stand for election?” I asked, and when he went to speak I added, “And I’m asking about to the Grand Assembly, not whatever local dog catcher office you stood for back home.”
Christmas’s face reddened and his mouth snapped shut.
“There’s no need to bait my fellow representatives, Admiral,” Kong Pao said with a warning look to his fellow.
“I’m baiting him? I don’t know if you’re aware, but I am not used to being slandered and slurred to my face by those supposedly here to negotiate for my favor,” I said coldly.
“Assemblyman Christmas spoke in error and haste. I’m sure he deeply regrets his words,” the Judge turned to his fellow delegate, “don’t you, Donald?”
Representative Christmas’s face went through several different expressions, at one point even baring his teeth in anger, before his head nodded jerkily. “My apologies, Admiral,” he said bitterly.
“Perhaps the delegate would prefer to inspect the quality of trillium he is looking to purchase, while the rest of us in here continue to discuss the price,” I said, my voice still as cold as space ice.
“I most certainly would not,” Donald Christmas said with outrage.
“Donald!” Kong Pao looked at him coldly.
“What?” sneered the other representative, shooting me a bitter look.
“The fate of billions potentially rests on these negotiations. Please take a walk and cool off,” said the Judge.
The Grand Assemblyman hesitated. “Of course,” said Christmas. He then turned and stalked to the door.
Instead of moving to open it, the armsmen guarding the door looked to me first.
It was only after I gave a measured nod that they opened the door for the Grand Assemblyman.
His shoulders stiffening, the Assemblyman paused before continuing out the door with a swish.
There was a pregnant silence after he left but it didn’t affect me. Who did these people think I was? I wasn’t some dog they could kick when they felt down or throw a bone to hope I’d be grateful afterward.
“I’m sorry for my friend’s attitude. It has been a tense and trying time for all of us,” Judge Kong said with a sigh.
“Not for me. Before this no one knew where Gambit Station was, and Tracto is now heavily fortified,” I said with a shrug. “We have the forces to stand off the shattered remnants of Cornwallis’s fleet. It would take a force of similar size to the original one we defeated to cause us grief.”
Kong Pao looked at me levelly. “The fate of billions rests on our shoulders. Possibly even on what we decide here in this room. I wasn’t lying when I said that to Donald Christmas. I truly believe it or else I would not have come,” he said.
“The fate of billions,” I said my lips pressed together in a thin red line on my face, “and yet you say you were outvoted? As if it were peanuts or a small matter of procedure or protocol when you and your fellow Grand Assemblymen voted to send the only person who you now say could save those billions. Where was your concern for the little man that day?”
“I did not say you were the only person. But other than that, we may be the Grand Assembly of the Spine but we still don’t have a crystal ball to see the future with. Mistakes were made. I have no trouble admitting that. If you want apologies, I will give them again. If, on the other hand, you’re interested in more tangible benefits, we can give them to you also. I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t think I could put this right, Admiral Montagne,” Kong Pao said, cupping his hands and then standing up first so that he could take a low bow.
He held the bow for almost half a minute before straightening.
“What’s your authority?” I asked when I could once again look him in the face.
He nodded his head with a serious expression. “I have been given specific guidelines from the Grand Assembly, but I asked for plenipotentiary powers before being sent on this mission and they were granted. As long as it doesn’t cross one of the pre-set hard lines mandated by the Grand Assembly, I can consider granting anything you want,” he said.
“Good, because while I still have no plans to do anything for you guys, except sell you some trillium at a vastly inflated price,” I stopped and nodded to my wife, “assuming my Hold-Mistress agrees of course,” to which Akantha nodded back, “I have no intention of making another deal with you that your superiors have no intention of fulfilling. This is, what, the second time you came to me for help, I gave it, and then was left out in the cold?”
“While I regret beyond your ability to understand the eventual results of your faithful service to the Spineward Sectors, I have the authority you’re asking about,” said Kong Pao.
“Good, because if this turns out to be another case of over promising and under delivering I’m going to take it personally,” I said. “Is that understood?”
“On my honor,” Kong Pao said, crossing his arms and bowing again.
“I don’t care about your honor, your authority, or your elected office or your judgeship. Today we’re just two men sitting in a room trying to come to a deal. If at the end of this year I am disappointed in your actions on my behalf, I will hold you personally accountable,” I said.
“There’s no need for threats; in the past we have both always put the needs of the people first. On that basis I believe we can come to an understanding,” Kong Pao said without so much as a flinch.
It was like he was made of stone for all the impact I was having. But I was beyond caring. He could have ice water in his veins for all I cared. I was past crying foul about being taken advantage of. I was in the big leagues now and in those leagues they played for keeps.
“I can’t just give you credits for some kind of settlement. I would if I could. But what I can do is set the price we pay for your trillium. So long as you can provide enough to keep the Fleet operating, and enough for us to funnel into the civilian carrying trade running to stave off mass starvation on dozens of worlds, you can almost name your price,” said Judge Pao.
My eyes flickered when he brought up starvation. I might be a cold-hearted blighter, but even I wasn’t about to hold closed the fuel nozzle when doing so would cause people to die from lack of food. However, there was no reason to weaken Akantha’s bargaining position by admitting that.
“I’m sure we can come to an understanding that keeps people from dying before food can be sent,” Akantha said with a regal nod.
Kong Pao ran a hand over his face and nodded his thanks. “I appreciate that. However it is my understanding that several worlds are suffering and people have already died,” said Kong Pao.
“Since this is the first we’re hearing about this, I believe you should look to the Grand Assembly if you want someone to blame,” I said coolly.
The bald Assemblyman beside Kong Pao finally stirred and set the cup of water in his hands down on the table. “If you hadn’t arbitrarily cut off our fuel source none of this would have happened in the first place, Admiral,” the Assemblyman said sternly. “We were willing to pay market price. It was you who decided to start this trade war.”
I blinked. “I thought we had this covered already,” I said looking at Kong Pao.
“I’m a ranking member on the Trade and Economic committee and I also have a seat on the War Committee. You may not like what I have to say, but you’ll just have to deal. In short: I’m going nowhere, Admiral,” said the Committee Member.
Kong Pao nodded reluctantly.
“I may be the head negotiator but this is not yet a dictatorship—thankfully so. With democracy comes certain unavoidable requirements,” he said.
“Like an impartial view of these negotiations, Judge,” said the Grand Assemblyman.
“As you say,” Kong Pao murmured.
“If there even is such a thing as an impartial politician in the Grand Assembly, Mr…?” I finished questioningly.
“I don’t think name is germane to this conversation but I am the current Representative for Hart’s World. That should do for now,” he replied evenly.
I sniffed. “I have no particular grievances with Hart, but be that as it may,” I shrugged, “the sad fact is that certain promises were made when the Grand Assembly requested I take command of the New Confederation Fleet—promises which were not kept.”
“If I may,” the Hart’s World representative said stiffly, “it is my understanding that everything you asked for was given. Your Fleet requests were granted and you were given the highest office in the Region. Furthermore if you hadn’t decided to use bio-weapons without consulting the Grand Assembly, I don’t see how you can blame us for suspending you until a review has taken place. In short: a longer duration in office may have been implied, but no one promised to make your assignment a lifetime one,” said Hart’s Representative.
Akantha stirred, placing a hand on my forearm to stop me from speaking. “Just as we have filled every contracted fuel order to the ounce and cubic meter, just as with my husband’s appointment, a continuing arrangement may have been implied but Tracto made no promises to sell our precious resources at market prices in perpetuity,” she said coolly. “Perhaps when you are done reviewing my Protector’s actions—actions which led to the only victories the Spine seems to have obtained—we can see to a renewal of our previous arrangement. With a renegotiated price of course.”
“I’d like to point out your husband is not the only Admiral in our employ to have brought victories against the old Confederation Fleet to the Spine, Hold-Mistress,” Hart’s Representative said pointedly, “furthermore, holding our fuel hostage over your husband’s treatment isn’t just nepotism, it’s an injustice that has already cost this and other Sectors thousands of lives. That number could easily rise into the millions unless something is done.”
“If Grand Admiral Manning is so wonderful then why do you need my Protector?” Akantha asked sharply. “Why not stay with him for your fleet leadership needs? Or perhaps you can’t because his victories have been too costly to allow more ship movements?”
Hart’s Assemblyman ground his teeth together. “And the people who have starved because you withheld our fuel?” he demanded.
“Understand one thing: that trillium belongs to us. It was never ‘your fuel’ except where we had sold it to you,” Akantha said sharply.
“You are a member of the Spineward Sectors Assembly! Your world has a duty to the Region,” shot back Hart’s Representative, “it is a common duty shared by every world in the assembly!”
“Tracto is a provisional member without voting rights,” Akantha snapped, “it was this very issue which kept us from full membership and you would do well to remember it! Tracto will never countenance taxation without representation. We are a sovereign world that bows her head to no man! If we have no vote, fine! But never will we let others vote away our goods when we have no voice in their councils. Tracto will never recognize the tyranny of the Assembly; if you want what is ours you can ask or you can take it at the end of sword.”
The Grand Assemblyman looked like he was about to have an aneurysm, and Kong Pao took this chance to smoothly interject himself into the conversation. “Let’s set aside the rights and the wrongs of it. What we need is fuel. Fuel to keep our people from dying in their homes because there is nothing to eat,” he said.
“Then you had best talk to my Protector because he is the bleeding heart in this room. As far as Tracto is concerned, we have already done our duty to you Starborn and been spit in the face because of it. If you want more from us then you must bleed for it,” she said crossly. “Where was your government when the Bugs came to rape our world, when the pirates invaded and conquered our cities, when we sent our warships to your defense and you deprived us of full representation! Your people want to eat? My people were eaten and you never heard me complain about it.”
Leaning back in her chair, she folded her arms and glared defiance at the representatives on the other side of the table.
Everyone over there looked taken aback. Clearly the notion that the Tyrant of Cold Space was the bleeding heart liberal on our side of the table was a total shocker, as were the unanswerable questions Akantha had just shot at them like a broadside.
“I have no interest in seeing people starve when we can come to an arrangement,” I said leaning forward, “let’s put that out there as a statement of principle and agree we can talk numbers later. What more do you want from us, other than fuel to save lives?”
“Let me be blunt now that the fuel issue has been resolved. The Grand Assembly will agree to temporarily clear Grand Admiral Montagne of all charges in exchange for a return to duty,” said the Judge.
“What kind of duty?” Akantha asked sharply.
“Your new assignment will be to lead the effort to free Sector 26 from the threat of the Reclamation Fleet,” said the Sector Judge.
I looked at the delegation in surprise. “The Reclamation Fleet...not the Old Confederation remnants fleets?” I clarified.
“Grand Admiral Manning has done an admirable job of keeping the Old Confederation Fleet contained in Aegis,” the Grand Assemblyman from Hart’s World was quick to inform me.
I looked over to Kong Pao, who nodded. “Despite his fair number of critics for not already having liberated Aegis, my colleague in the Assembly is correct. Grand Admiral Manning has the support of the Grand Assembly, if not necessarily the hulls, to prosecute his campaign against Cornwallis’s remnants in a more…forceful manner. Right now they’re pinned at Aegis,” he said.
“Interesting,” I said, rubbing my chin. Manning’s successes at Hart’s World were no surprise, he’d had his face plastered all over the galactic news channels for it, but that he had successfully cooped the remainder of Cornwallis’s fleet up at Aegis was news.
Akantha chose that moment to chime in. “If the New Confederation already has its golden boy Grand Admiral, why does it feel the need to take my Protector for good measure as well?”
“The truth is we need your help. The assessment in Fleet Headquarters is that our forces might have won if we’d had enough trillium to back it. As it is the Flotilla pushed deep into Sector 26, winning several key engagements and liberating dozens of worlds before running out of fuel. The Reclamation Fleet's counterattack has been devastating. A dozen worlds already reclaimed by the Imperials and our ships unable to aggressively defend our new territory due to lack of fuel. We’ve sent what we can but...” Kong Pao shrugged helplessly, “I’m afraid the Reclamation Fleet had enough time to rally its garrison and now outnumber the Confederation Flotilla they’re facing two-to-one.”
“I don’t see how that’s any of our problem,” Akantha said callously.
“Surely you can appreciate the concerns of the citizens of Sector 26 who have only just been freed from Imperial oppression only to discover now they’ve put their necks out the Imperials are returning to power over their worlds?” asked Kong Pao.
“I feel for them, with my own world having been in a very similar place when Blood Lord Jean Luc took control of our orbitals and invaded our world…,” Akantha paused, “although I don’t recall where anyone outside of this room was when all of this was happening to Tracto?”
“Events that happened before you joined the Spineward Sectors region as a participating member, while regrettable, are not our responsibility,” said Hart’s World.
“You’ll note we are still not a fully participating member of the Spineward Sectors Confederation,” Akantha shot back, “it makes one wonder if that means we owe the same level of responsibility as suggested by the Grand Assemblyman from Hart?”
“I never suggested any such thing!” exclaimed the Grand Assemblymen.
“The events of the dark years after the Imperial Withdrawal happened before we had the capability to do anything about them. But now that we do have the capability, the Assembly begs for the loan of enough trillium to enable our fleet to resume combat operations and the assistance of the MSP in defeating the Reclamation Fleet. We do not stand idle when dark days such as those experienced by your home world are afoot.”
“Comforting words for a world that has seen no sign of help from any organization in the Spine except from my Protector and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet. Not that we need it,” Akantha said viciously, “what we object to is being treated like second class citizens even after experiencing all of this, or perhaps it is because of the treatment we received. Which makes me wonder if we should be similarly concerned for the worlds recently liberated from Reclamation rule?”
“All Sector 26 worlds have been given full membership in the Grand Assembly as their chosen representatives arrive to our body,” said Kong Pao.
Akantha sniffed loudly.
“State your terms?” asked Kong Pao, turning away from Akantha and looking at me directly.
I looked back at the Sector Judge, wondering if I should make it that easy for him. “I’m not sure,” I said finally, “it sounds like you already have the man you need at the helm of the warships. I’m worried that adding me to the mix will just cause issues and hard feelings. I mean clearly even some members of your own delegation think I’m some kind of power mad tyrant,” I stopped for a moment to look at the empty seat in the room recently vacated by Donald Christmas before continuing, “this despite the fact that, when summoned, I come and when sent, I go,” I motioned around, indicating the wider Gambit star system around us.
“And we greatly appreciate the gesture you made when you invited us to this star system. It was a show of trust that I, for one, deeply appreciate,” said Kong Pao.
I suppressed a snort. Trust? I didn’t even trust the Sector Judge, let alone the Grand Assembly behind him; they’d sell me out in a heartbeat if they thought it in their best interests. No, everything they saw here today would soon be transferred to a star system far far away.
Those Jump Spindles were a key part of my plan.
Keeping my expression clear, I nodded as if conceding something.
“So you’ll help then?” Kong Pao asked hopefully.
“I have a few conditions,” I said.
“Tell me,” the Sector Judge encouraged.
“Jason,” Akantha said warningly.
I turned to her. “The New Confederation is pressed on two sides right now by the Reclamation Fleet survivors and the Old Confederation Fleet. Right now one front is holding, Manning versus Aegis, while the other is in open retreat in Sector 26. If both those fleets combine and the Spineward Confederation falls, I don’t think they’ll just forget about us,” I advised her. “Neither of those Fleets has any reason to leave us alone, and several good ones to make us the period on the end of the sentence when they conquer the Spine.”
“So we’ll have to fight anyway,” Akantha shrugged, “who says we have to carry their water?” She thrust a finger at the delegation, “Why not wait until after their fleets have held the line and taken as much punishment as they can handle before moving out?”
Most of the people on the other side of the table began to look concerned.
“First, the region would fall into anarchy and chaos and second…I don’t think we’d have a very good chance of holding off either the Empire or the Confederation all by ourselves,” I said frankly.
“I’m surprised to hear such words of enlightened self-interest from a man with your reputation,” said the Rep. from Hart’s World.
“I see that, like most, you failed to look into just how—and who—it was exactly that gave me the reputation you speak of,” I said without looking at the Hart Worlder.
“Enough,” Kong Pao said to the Hart Assemblyman and turned to me, “you can see the issue. Whatever mistakes that were made in the past, we’re all in the same boat now. Either the Reclamation Fleet is stopped or they’ll link up with the Confederation Fleet in Aegis and this sector will be lost. It won’t just be Sector 26 that falls back under the Empire.”
I scratched my chin to relieve a sudden itch and frowned.
“It feels like we’re missing something here. Why would Imperial partisans like the Reclamationers link up with the Old Confederation in Aegis unless someone told them too?” I asked.
Kong Pao frowned. “It’s possible they have no intention of linking up. They might not even know about each other. The Reclamation Fleet remainders may just be determined to push our Flotilla back out of their Sector,” he said after a minute.
After he said that Kong Pao and the Hart’s World representative shared a telling look.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” I said with certainty, “because it still seems to me that the idea they’re trying to link up is thin unless there are other factors involved. Like, say, the Empire making another push into the Spine.”
“There’s no evidence of that,” the Hart Worlder said with certainty, “our top military experts have assured the committee that it is most likely one of two things. A natural response to our Flotilla reclaiming the majority of Sector 26...” He paused and then didn’t continue.
“Or?” I asked when it was clear he wasn’t about to say anything further.
“It appears there was an incident involving a freighter full of wounded and fleet dependents. Despite multiple warnings the freighter refused to surrender and, while fleeing, came into the line of fire with the expected results,” the Sector Judge said after a pregnant pause, “at least that’s what the report says.”
I closed my eyes. “And just which ‘hero’ commanded this particular fiasco?” I asked.
Once again the two men shared a look. “You may have heard the name before. A Rear Admiral by the name of Bluetooth is in command of the Confederation of the Spine Flotilla,” said the Grand Assemblyman from Hart, “but before that he was a Captain in the Sector Guard. Speaker Isaak’s own personal boat driver, at that.”
“You mean the Battleship Newton perhaps? That Captain Bluetooth?” I said with a frown.
“The very one,” agreed the Hart’s World representative.
I scowled. The captain of Isaak’s flagship and a Sector Guardsman as well, and now this? Nothing I’d seen or heard of the good captain, now Rear Admiral, endeared him to me. Especially not after this latest fiasco.
“So they really might be out for simple revenge and not part of a broader scheme,” I said, silently cursing the muddy waters Isaak and his bully boy had managed to stir up.
“Either way I don’t see how it matters to our discussion here,” said Kong Pao.
“I don’t see how you could think that,” I said, looking down my nose at him.
“Even if it’s all part of a larger scheme, the Imperial partisan fleet still needs to be stopped. Or would you prefer to wait until they drive into Sector 25 broadsides flaring and link up with a hypothetical third force?” asked Kong Pao.
“There is that,” I said unhappily.
“We can only plan for what we know and take what preventative measure are available to us,” said the Judge, “but the sad fact is that as things stand if we do nothing we’ll be overrun.”
“It’s that bad, is it?” I said unhappily.
“With the addition of your Fleet we should have the numbers to bring them to battle and defeat them,” said Kong Pao.
“Which would then free up your Flotilla to join forces with Manning and bring a speedy resolution to your Aegis problem,” I suggested.
“If the Assembly so wills it. I can’t see the future,” said Kong Pao.
“No, you just try to guide it, knowing all along that the man at the top has already bungled one campaign,” I said flatly.
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Kong Pao.
“No, but I would—and in fact just did,” I paused to consider things more fully. “Look, you want my fleet. I get that. And considering the situation this Sector is about to find itself in, I’m willing to oblige. But only if my terms can be met,” I said strictly.
The smiles that had started to appear on the other side of the table immediately fell.
“What is it you were thinking?” asked the lead negotiator, Judge Pao.
“Last time you got the patriotic rate. This time you’ll pay what we’re worth,” I said, looking at him calmly.
“I’m still not hearing an offer,” said Kong Pao while beside him his fellow grand assemblyman from the trade and war committees looked like was having a migraine.
“To start off, I want a full pardon for myself and the members of my fleet for our supposed use of bio-tech weapons. The Bugs. Second, your government will immediately recognize that all warships currently in our possession from the Battle of Black Purgatory belong to us and I’ll expect the deeds to them handed over before we set course for Sector 26. And that’s just getting started,” I said.
“You can’t be pardoned for something you haven’t been charged with. However, an immunity deal is possible, shielding you from prosecution,” the Sector Judge said after a moment, “although I’m not sure if such an action is within my purview.”
“It sounds like unless you were specifically ordered not to in your ‘guidelines’ that this is within your power. You’re a plenipotentiary representative after all,” I said, baring my teeth.
“Anything I did would need to be reviewed, approved and countersigned by the Speaker and Judiciary Committee before it carried the weight of law,” Kong Pao said after a moment, “immunity deals, especially a retroactive one like this, are more complicated than you might imagine.”
“Then I guess it will depend on just how badly you guys need me,” I said with a shrug, “I’m sure if you don’t and I’m just some kind of fallback position instead of the vital component you say is necessary to save the government and our beloved Spine from invasion, that you’ll find a way to make it happen. If not, then I am more than happy to spend my time here in Gambit repairing those very same warships we took from Black Purgatory.”
“I understand your position,” Kong Pao nodded.
“You really are an autocrat of the first stripe aren’t you boy?” The Hart's World representative growled. “Bad enough you stole those ships from Easy Haven, you abused your position as Grand Admiral to take the lions share from the Purgatory battle as well.”
“I’m no boy, Sir,” I said, leaning forward and giving him a look that could have sanded paint off duralloy.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” the Grand Assemblyman leaned back with a ‘harrumph.’
“No you meant it in the tyrannical monarchist manner. I read you loud and clear, Assemblyman,” I said flatly.
The other man had the grace to look half way embarrassed, at least at first, but then he rallied and looked back at me with an angry stare of righteous indignation.
“That’s 'Grand Assemblyman',” he muttered.
“So you say,” I sniffed. I dismissed the man and turned back to the Sector Judge. “Other than that I want it made clear from the beginning that if—and I want be clear it is an ‘if’—I bring the MSP to 26 then I do so as the commander of an Allied force. I am not accepting reinstatement into the Confederation Fleet, but so help me I will accept a writ of command for all forces deployed into 26 and more specifically the battle or campaign against the Reclamationists whichever it may turn out to be,” I said and then after consideration I added, “we can keep to basically the same terms as the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet had with the New Confederation Fleet as it regards captured warships with the understanding that all ships will be transferred to Tracto before being apportioned. You can send your prize court out to us and we’ll staff half the members.”
“You might as well just cut our throats now if you intend to bleed us that heavily,” the Hart’s World Rep, cried rising out of his chair in protest.
“Sit down, Mr. Haversham,” snapped Kong Pao. He turned back to me, “Is that it?”
“Every time I deal with you people I keep having to count my fingers after. So yes, there is more. On top of all that I’m going to have to insist on the first year’s estimated trillium trade placed on deposit in Tracto as a retainer. So that if for some strange reason, say the New Confederation thinks it’s found a better deal after we make possible the liberation of the rest of the Spine and decides they don’t want to pay whatever Tracto-an prices, you negotiate with Akantha later. This way we’ll be paid regardless,” I said unrelentingly.
“Why don’t you just rob us now and get the pretenses over with!” shouted the Hart’s Worlder, thumping the table angrily.
“No matter what I agree to it's not like I have those kind of funds on me. The treasury will still be required to disburse the funds. That’s the best I can do,” Kong Pao said, ignoring his fellow delegate and splaying his hands.
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t come here empty-handed. How about for starters you agree to deposit the entire amount you were sent with? After you finish negotiating a price, we’ll load up a few freighters with your fuel and take them with us to wherever it is we need to go to receive the rest of our payment. As soon as we’re paid, we’ll release the loads on those freighters and, if for some reason your government can’t cover it, we’ll just consider the funds you left here as a deposit on an order you no longer want. In which case we’ll keep them as a penalty,” I said with a shark-like expression.
“You drive a hard bargain,” said Kong Pao.
“You’re insane. You can’t possibly think we’ll pay you a full year in advance! We don’t even have a solid revenue stream set up. This is spaceway robbery!” snapped other Grand Assemblyman.
“No, this is me covering my bases. The last several times I came to an agreement with you people I’ve been left out in the cold. This time I expect to have a nice little nest egg to come home to when things go wrong and you try to toss me out the nearest airlock,” I said.
“Don’t you mean ‘if’ things go wrong?” asked Kong Pao.
I stopped to consider it. “No, I think the way I put it is best. Oh yeah, and you can tack on an immunity deal for whatever I have to do to get rid of the Reclamation Fleet too. I’m not about to do your dirty work only to be prosecuted for it later, thank you and good night,” I said.
“Okay. I’ll do what I can but no matter what I sign here it will have to be reviewed by the Grand Assembly for full implementation,” said Kong Pao.
“What?! You’re going to cave and give him everything he wants, just like that?” demanded Mr. Haversham.
“Just like that,” agreed Kong Pao, “in case you haven’t noticed, in no small part thanks to our esteemed Speaker, we’re not exactly in the position to take a hard negotiating stance.”
“I can’t believe this. We’re going to be crucified in Committee when we hand this bill of goods over for review,” said the Hart’s World representative, looking worried.
“Anyone who thinks they can do better is welcome to try. But I’ve known the Admiral for some time now,” the Judge said, nodding to me. I returned his nod before he continued, “But there’s a reason they sent me out here and it’s because no one else is likely to get a better agreement or ‘deal,’ as you call it, than what we have right now.”
“I don’t see how,” agreed the other man cynically, “as you pretty much just agreed to whatever he told you.”
I clapped my hands together, gaining both men’s attention. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll have my fleet’s legal team get with you, Judge Kong, and we’ll see about drafting an ironclad version of our agreement.”
Kong Pao nodded his agreement.
“In that case it seems like I’ll need to get my fleet ready for deployment while you wrap up your negotiations for Tracto-an trillium with Hold Mistress Akantha here,” I said, standing up and heading for the door without bothering to shake hands.
Frankly, I was more than a little put out by the Judge once again serving as the face of the Grand Assembly in its seemingly eternal attempts to take advantage of us.
I guess it really was like they said: you never can trust a politician. The Judge may have started out with the best intentions, but at this point he was compromised simply by serving the people he was.
As far as I was concerned, the New Assembly was rotten to the core. And I intended to hold onto that opinion until they proved different.
Chapter 35: Isaak’s Rage and the Sector 22 Conspiracy
“Monsignor Raipur Rajputan, where are my ships?” hissed Isaak Newton, Speaker for the Grand Assembly of the Spine and as of today and for at least two more months Governor of Sector 25.
“I’m afraid they have been delayed again, Speaker Isaak,” the Monsignor said with a stone face.
“You promised me your people would rally to the new Government. I received personal assurances that if I relied upon your Sector for support, you would provide a fleet of ships,” glared Isaak Newton.
“And we will, Speaker Newton. Just as soon as a few unexpected difficulties back home have been ironed out,” the Monsignor said coolly.
“Where is my Fleet, Monsignor?!” roared Isaak Newton.
“It is coming, Speaker Newton. Please wait for just a little longer. I am assured by the home office that our Sector Assembly will be dispatching a large fleet in support of the new Multi-Sector Government as soon as they have finished conscripting spacers and setting up the appropriate revenue stream. Even with the best will in the galaxy you can’t take an uneducated sod buster from a farm and turn him into a trained and educated operator of such a complicated thing as a starship,” the Monsignor said calmly.
“You told me your fleet was weeks away from my Sector,” Isaak Newton said with deathly calm.
“Indeed I did, Speaker,” Raipur Rajputan said with a smile.
“Well it’s been months and I still don’t have my ships,” Speaker Isaak said in a rising voice.
“Are you aware that my name Raipur Rajputan is not the name I was born with?” the Monsignor said in a seeming non-sequitur.
“I honestly could care less unless the knowing would somehow bring me the fleet you promised, but now clearly have no intention of providing any time in the near future,” Isaak Newton said bitterly.
“Raipur Rajputan is a Village in Khanna Tehsil in the Ludhiana District of Punjab State. That village provided one of our most storied and famous diplomats, and as tribute to a pinnacle of what you would call our diplomatic caste, every major Ambassador from Punjab State for the past thousand years has cast aside their old name and taken up the name Raipur Rajputan upon assuming their duties,” said Monsignor Raipur Rajputan.
“I’m going to assume there was a point in there somewhere,” sniffed Isaak.
“The point,” the Monsignor said with clear irritation in his voice for the first time in this meeting, “is that no one but our best negotiators are given the name Raipur Rajputan and sent on a mission like mine. If Monsignor Raipur Rajputan says the ships are coming then they are coming, and if he says they were delayed then they were delayed,” the Ambassador finished with exasperation.
“That and a tenth-cred will get me a cup of coffee, and right now as you can see sweet words and coffee is all that I have,” growled Isaak Newton.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” said the Ambassador.
“Not as sorry as I am that your fleets have failed to arrive as you Raipur Rajputan promised me they would,” Isaak paused and then cursed. “Sweet Crying Murphy this is a disaster. The Grand Assembly is losing confidence in my decisions. Murphy wept, but I’m now questioning my decisions too—no thanks to you! I threw Montagne over the side because you promised me a fleet the size of the one I already had, and right now...well just look at me? I made myself into a fool because I trusted you, and all you can do is assure me your people would never have sent a man with your name to give me the assurances you did unless they really and truly and honestly, and so on and so blasted forth, actually meant it,” continued the Speaker, “poppycock!”
“I can’t help you with your internal philosophical issues, Speaker Newton,” Monsignor Raipur Rajputan said stiffly.
“No, but you can help me with your fleet,” Isaak shot back.
“For the last time—” Raipur Rajputan started only to be cut off by an angrily waved hand.
“Oh, I heard you plenty fine the first time. It seems that all that’s left to me is to eat some humble pie and beg Jason Montagne for the scraps from his table,” Isaak Newton said bitterly.
“So just use the young Grand Admiral for as long as he’ll be used. Our Fleets will arrive eventually,” the Monsignor said stolidly.
“I’m hemorrhaging credits like they were grapefruit juice and I get to play the fool before the rest of the Grand Assembly. This humiliation will be all over the news outlets across the Spine as soon as they hear about it by courier ship,” Isaak said savagely.
“All of us make our own beds and then we have to lay in them. If you had perhaps been less eager to teach the young Admiral his place you would not be so forcefully reminded of your own at this time,” said the Monsignor.
Isaak stilled. “Careful, Monsignor,” he said in a low voice, “otherwise you might just convince me the reason I am forced to lick Montagne boots for the first time in five decades is because of deliberately hostile political action.”
Monsignor Raipur Rajputan drew back abruptly. “You are free to believe what you want. But the Punjab Stellar State always delivers on its promises. Always,” Raipur Rajputan said coldly.
“My main fear is that given your track record so far you’ll show up a day late and two credits short of a combo meal,” growled the Governor of Sector 25—well, former governor as soon as the new elections were finished, “say, for instance, when the Empire or the old Confederation finally get off their fundaments.”
“The Great Thousand Armed Maker will provide,” Monsignor Raipur Rajputan said complacently, “set aside your mundane squabbles and perceived grievances and focus on what is truly important and your way will be illuminated.”
“Sweet Murphy, even if we set aside the whole Montagne Issue, the billions of credits I’m paying through the nose for trillium or the immunity deals, we needed those fleets of yours to improve our bargaining position when the Empire comes rolling back in. You can tell me to set aside my earthly concerns all you like, Monsignor, but the sad fact of the matter is if we’re perceived as being in a weak position when the big interstellar powers finally get around to us we’ll all be executed. And then we really will have set aside all of our ‘mundane’ concerns,” said Isaak.
There was a short pause. “I believe I see your point. I will send another missive home urging my people to make all seemly haste,” the Monsignor said finally.
“Let us hope they send that fleet before Montagne or a greater power decides they want to rule over us all,” Isaak said unhappily.
Chapter 36: Mobilizing Against Sector 26
Negotiations were over in less than a day. Between Kong Pao’s willingness to strike a deal and Akantha’s uncommonly straightforward approach to trade and governance, they had hammered the details out before it was even time to put the children to bed.
It actually took me several days longer to round up a small fleet of cargo ships and rally the fleet than it did to strike one of the most lucrative trade deals in the Spine since the Imperial Withdrawal. It was actually nice in a way. We were making money hand over fist, or shortly would be.
After assuring the Sector Judge that despite appearances it would be a shorter trip if he returned to the Grand Assembly directly with us, instead of immediately taking flight with his courier ship as had been his original plan, the Judge agreed to join me on the Lucky Clover II.
Despite several tests where everything had come up green, a very reluctant Spalding had recently declared the Elder Spindles safe to use, at least for the moment. In reality his language had been much more colorful and strewn with multiple dire warnings of everything that could go wrong, but when pressed the old engineer admitted he couldn’t find anything wrong with the alien devices.
So immediately after assembling the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet and the requisite four trillium freighters, the Elder Tech Jump Spindles began the countdown to jump.
“I’m still not sure if I should be handing you these coordinates,” Kong Pao said with a pause after arriving on the bridge of the Lucky Clover II.
“I don’t see why not,” I said drolly, “I mean we’ve just drawn up and signed the articles of alliance. If you’re saying you don’t either trust or need me at this point then, by all means, let’s turn this ship around and go home now.”
“I dislike being leveraged. There was no need to strong-arm me, Jason,” said Judge Kong Pao.
I eyed him coolly. “Coming from a man who has leveraged me anytime he felt like it, forgive me if that particular protest fails to sway me,” I replied.
“I meant I would have agreed in time; there was no need for threats,” the Judge demurred.
“Let’s get something straight: I’m here because you asked me personally. This is the third time I am accepting your personal assurances. Common sense and the track record to date would both argue against putting my fleet to the hazard,” I said sharply.
“I understand you have good cause for reservations,” began the Judge.
“Can it,” I said shortly and then took a breath, “okay, maybe that was a little more short-tempered than I wanted.”
“We’re all under a great deal of stress right now. You no more than I,” said Kong Pao.
“My point is that this is the last time I’m going to take your good intentions on faith. Take that however you want, but there’s a reason I’m going as an ally instead of a servant of the new government,” I said.
The Sector Judge at first looked at me impassively and then concern tinged his features. “First, we both know you’ve been more than adequately compensated for your future assistance...and you do realize I don’t speak for the entire New Confederation in the Spine, do you not?” he asked carefully, but I was done being careful.
“You’ve made that very clear. Let me make something equally clear: you and the rest of the Assembly members and system governments are free to do what's right or what is politically expedient, but I’m done being nice about it,” I warned. “Now you can take this as a threat if you want, because in a way it is, but this is not me threatening violence or a military coup. There is no threat of force here. Rather, I’ll simply pull back and do nothing, and without a direct request and the sort of compensation package that would make this trillium deal look like chump change, that’s how it’ll stay. Just so that we understand each other,” I said with a sigh, “I’m no tyrant, whatever the media claims, and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet is no invasion force. But if we’re no longer the sworn defenders of the galaxy then…” I trailed off with a helpless shrug, “I know better than to go where I’m not wanted. No matter what the words that spew out of the mouths of desperate politicians say.”
“Be careful you don’t over play your hand. You’re in a strong position right now but you have many enemies in and outside the Grand Assembly,” advised Kong Pao, “but if you alienate even your natural allies there may be no one to help you when your fortunes swing the other way.”
I eyed the Sector Judge appraisingly. “Just keep this conversation in mind the next time you’re called upon to vote against me in the Grand Assembly and ask yourself: 'am I doing what’s right or just politically expedient?' In which case if it’s the first by all means do it, but if it’s the second…” I allowed the silence to extend.
“Are you saying that you are either with me or against me, Admiral Montagne?” asked the Judge, his eyes hardening. “Because if you are please think very carefully before proceeding. I have sentenced murderers to hard labor penal colonies and crossed some of the most powerful people and organizations in the galaxy. I don’t threaten easily.”
“No. What I am saying is actions have consequences, and the friend of my enemy is no friend of mine. If no one is brave enough to stand up and tell the people the truth of my actions then that’s on them. I don’t blame the people for calling me a tyrant and cheering when I’m attacked on the tarmac of the New Grand Assembly, but I will blame the men and women who knew the truth and lied about me or stood silent because it would have endangered their political careers to speak out,” I said flintily.
The silence hung for several seconds before he relented. “Here are the coordinates,” said the Judge, sending me the file.
“Thank you,” I said, and several hours later we jumped.
The gloves were off—and I liked it better this way.
“This is completely outrageous, Mr. Pao,” snapped Speaker Isaak Newton from his perch, seated on the elevated platform at one end of the room that was set aside for the Assembly Speaker on the newly repurposed giant monitor ship that was the New Confederation's mobile governmental headquarters. “Please explain your actions before we have you impeached!” he ended with a snap in his voice.
Kong Pao stiffened. “With respect to the Speaker and this fine but young institution, it is not 'mister' but 'Sector Judge' or 'Grand Assemblyman' Kong. Not 'Pao,' not 'mister,' and certainly not 'Mister Pao',” the Sector Judge said strictly.
Isaak waved away the Sector Judge’s clarifications like irritating gnats. “Judge Pao…Kong, then,” he rolled his eyes before his expression hardened again, “we can argue courtesies and semantics for as far as the day is long or we can get to the heart of the matter. Just what in Holy Hades were you thinking inviting the Tyrant here, to the seat of our very government, with his entire fleet entrain!”
Kong Pao glared at Speaker Isaak. “I was specifically mandated to secure ‘Admiral’ Montagne’s service. The words by any means necessary were used and minus a few caveats spelled out beforehand that’s exactly what it took. The former Grand Admiral was not feeling particularly well used when I came to him for help. Not that I blame him,” Kong Pao said angrily, “the actions of this Assembly regarding Admiral Montagne were disgraceful. Frankly I’m surprised that he agreed to bring his fleet to save this Sector at all. Apparently he has a deeper streak of patriotism than even I had suspected.”
“Patriotism? From the tyrant? Are you joking?” sneered one of Isaak’s key supporters in the Assembly.
“Using a media-inspired moniker like that for a man we had to beg for help does not help our case, Grand Assemblyman,” Kong Pao shot back.
“ENOUGH!” Isaak’s voice thundered out over the speaker system. He waited for silence before looking down at Kong Pao with censure in his hate filled eyes. “The Judge is right: the time for recriminations is over. Thanks to the head of our negotiating team the…Jason Montagne, Grand Admiral of the Confederation Fleet, has been given his chance to show his true colors. Will he turn on the Grand Assembly like the rabid snap weasel so many of us believe him to be, or can he set aside his false feelings of anger and frustration toward this assembly and keep to his sworn word to the people of the Spine?” the Speaker finished with righteous indignation.
“I’m glad you feel that way. Because today it isn’t just the Admiral who will have to set aside his feelings,” Kong Pao said steadily, suppressing a feeling of satisfaction as he spoke.
Speaker Isaak visibly tensed before visibly relaxing and looking down at the Judge with a steely expression. “What demands did the Tyrant make on this Grand Assembly by and of and for the people?” he asked solemnly.
“I said before: the Admiral had several requirements,” Judge Kong said with a frown as he looked at the Speaker.
Isaak motioned for him to get on with it.
With a flick of a button Kong Pao sent his agreement with the Admiral to every member in the Assembly.
There was a rustle as heads turned down and Grand Assembly members or their assistants began pulling up the data.
“If you could summarize the deal you struck for us,” Isaak said with a twist of his lips.
“The Admiral’s conditions were three fold. First, a rolling one year’s deposit on all estimated trillium purchases, paid in advance. Second, allied status as a recognized Admiral in command of all joint Tracto-an/Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet operations with the Confederation Fleet with specific orders placing him in command of the current Sector 26 campaign. Third, and finally, immunity deals for all past and present actions while serving with the New Confederation Fleet,” said the Sector Judge.
“This is completely outrageous,” snarled the Assemblyman from Aegis, “the Tyrant is a war criminal! It’s his fault that my home world suffers under the Imperial jackboot. If he hadn’t committed war crimes by using those Bugs the entire Confederation fleet would have returned to the Old Confederation by now.”
“That’s certifiably insane,” the steady voice of Anton Chat-Hammer broke through the hubbub.
The Aegis Assemblyman purpled with rage. “Who are you to mock my pain, Chat-Hammer?” he roared. “If Montagne had done a better job none of this would be happening now and we wouldn’t have to cave to his criminal demands.”
“I’m only speaking the truth. This isn’t Jason Montagne’s fault and if men like you hadn’t voted to can him, maybe your world of Aegis really would be free today,” Chat-Hammer barked.
“Each of us has our own truth and my truth is that the Tyrant of Cold Space was, is and will always be a direct threat to the survival of Aegis. As a great philosopher once said: suffer not the criminal, such as a Montagne, to live!” the Assemblyman bellowed like a stuck pig. “Now you actually expect us not to just look the other way while W-M-D is used without restraint, remorse or the capacity for the use of normal logic! But to take it a step further after the fact and provide the Tyrant of Cold Space immunity for his war crimes—even those he plans to commit in the future? You go too far, Sir!”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but the Old Confederation will never be driven out of Aegis if they’re given the chance to link up with Reclamation Fleet forces. Which is why I’m calling upon all members of this glorious assembly, not just my friend from Aegis, to put aside our differences with the Grand Admiral and agree to meet his terms,” Anton Chat-Hammer said, boldly stepping into the middle of the room for emphasis.
“This is the second time you’ve mocked my pain. Never do it again or you won’t like the consequences, Chat-Hammer” roared the Aegis Member.
“Despite Aegis’s personal threats the sad fact is that it’s not just Aegis that will be occupied by Imperial and Old Confederation forces if we fail to act. With respect, Speaker Isaak has bungled this war in just about every way possible. I won’t call for new leadership, not now, not in this time of crisis, but what I will do is ask every right thinking politician in this room to ask themselves a question: just how tolerant do you believe your voters will be when they find out we had the chance to stop cold the forces attacking our worlds and you stood by and did nothing in the name of politics?” asked Chat-Hammer his voice thundering with passion. “Give the Grand Admiral his immunity from prosecution and unleash the dogs of war!”
“Hear hear!” cried more than a third of the representatives in the grand assembly hall.
“Never,” shouted the Aegis Representative, but his voice was drowned out.
“Pay the Tyrant,” urged another member from Sector 25.
“Give Admiral Montagne whatever he wants,” opined a Grand Assemblywoman from Sector 24.
“I call for a vote!” Anton Chat-Hammer proposed, quick to ride the rising tide.
“The notarized agreement just came in by personal courier, Sir,” Lieutenant Commander Lisa Steiner said with what sounded like genuine surprise, “it looks like they agreed to everything you asked.”
“Good,” I said with a nod. It was good because if they hadn’t then I hadn’t been joking about pulling back to Gambit or Tracto. If it was just me I might have chosen differently and cast myself on the pyre for the Grand Assembly but I had people who counted on me—primarily the members of my fleet—and I couldn’t in good conscience charge headlong into danger and let Isaak get them all killed with his machinations.
If they went back on our deal and forced my hand I would have pulled back to Gambit, it would have killed me to do it but I would have, and waited until after the New Confederation Fleet was annihilated before taking action.
“The important thing here is to put aside our differences and work for the common good. But that can only be achieved if both parties are willing. Now that the New Assembly has agreed to our terms we can proceed with clear consciences,” I said with visible relief. I didn’t even try to hide it.
I knew Isaak Newton too well by now and the odds of him trying to jimmy with things at the last moment would have to have been overwhelming. That he’d put the good of the Spine over his personal feud with me and my family was a good sign.
“How soon before we begin the countdown to jump, Sir?” asked Lisa Steiner.
“Send those papers over to fleet legal and have Mr. Harpsinger look them over and confirm the deposit is in Tracto’s account first, Chief of Staff,” I instructed.
“Can do, Admiral,” Lisa Steiner said, flashing me a pixie-like smile and turning away.
“Just one less thing,” I muttered as two of our trillium tankers began peeling away.
A pair of Destroyers moved to escort each of the freighters as they moved away from the rest of the fleet and began to build up power for a point transfer.
“Lieutenant Harpsinger confirms everything looked five by five, Sir,” reported Steiner several hours later.
“And the money?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“The credits are confirmed received by Tracto’s banking agent,” she said crisply.
“Then by all means: set a course for Sector 26, Lieutenant-Commander,” I ordered.
“Aye-aye,” she said.
The better part of a day later, along with two tankers filled to the rafters with trillium, two squadrons of Battleships, two gunboat carriers and a large screen of lights including Furious Phoenix, the Lucky Clover II made the jump through hyperspace.
Chapter 37: Imperial Spies Report
The hatch chimed indicating someone was seeking admission.
With a weary rub of his temple, Admiral Magnus looked up. “What is it?” he asked irritably.
The hatch slid open and a Marine jack poked his head around the corner.
“I have the civilian intelligence officer here asking to speak with you,” said the Marine, a man assigned to the Admiral’s personal protective detail while aboard the flagship.
Magnus Davenport frowned. “Send him in immediately,” he said.
“Aye-aye, Sir,” said the Marine and moments later a man in a neutral grey jump suit and unadorned cape swept into the room.
“Report!” barked the Imperial Admiral.
“My, my, my...so impatient,” said Agent Simpers, rolling his eyes as he plopped himself down in a seat in front of the Admiral’s table.
“We’ve been sitting out here for the better part of a month while your agents have come up with nothing. You promised me results, Agent Simpers,” Magus Davenport said, bestowing a heated look upon the Imperial agent.
“Ask and ye shall receive, Admiral,” snarked Simpers without a single change on his smiling face, “for today I bring good tiding of great news.”
“If you could stop with the historical epithets and get to the point please,” Admiral Magnus said, his ears pricking up.
“But of course, sir,” Simpers said, “as promised, I always keep my bargains. I said that if you brought me with you I could provide results and now we have them.”
“We, Agent?” Magnus asked skeptically.
Simpers only appeared amused. “Imperial Agents, including informants in the Spineward Sectors Assembly itself, inform me that Admiral Montagne and the greater portion of his fleet have just jumped into Sector 26,” Simpers said, leaning forward intently.
“Finally, something of value after all this wait,” said Magnus Davenport with thinly-veiled satisfaction.
Simpers' eyes burned brightly.
“I did say I had informants in their so called Grand Assembly of the Spine, didn’t I?” Simpers smirked and the Admiral couldn’t help freezing in place momentarily.
“What of it?” he asked cautiously to hide the sudden surge of eagerness inside him.
“What would you say if I told you that a number of Spineward Sectors politicians are less than totally assured of their survival once the Empire gets around to dealing with this region of space?” offered Simpers.
“I’d say they were surprisingly realistic for a bunch of isolated politicians in a backwater region like this one,” Magnus Davenport said impatiently, “just spit it out, man.”
“I have the current location of the mobile Spineward Sectors Government,” Simpers said, dropping a proverbial bomb into the room, “I know exactly where their monitor ship is located at this very moment—and what I’ve done once I can easily do again.”
Admiral Magnus sucked air from between his teeth. “I may have misjudged you, Simpers. I think this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship after all,” said Magnus Davenport.
“I’m hurt you’re only realizing this now. I just hope you consider the information I am able to provide as worth the wait,” Simpers demurred.
“Compile everything appropriate into a report that I can share with my officers,” Magnus said, rising in dismissal.
“Will do, Admiral,” Simpers nodded.
The two men shook hands and then the Admiral returned to his desk. “Prepare the fleet to jump,” he said opening a com-channel to his Chief of Staff.
“At once, Sir,” she replied with surprise. Eagerness had just started to appear on her face when Magnus Davenport cut the channel.
Laughing for the first time in weeks, he leaned back in his perfectly upholstered chair.
With Montagne momentarily out of the way and the location of the Spineward Sectors Government in hand, everything was beginning to line up.
Chapter 38: The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet Rides Again!
With a shimmer of reality, one moment an area of cold space on the edge of the Apostate Star System was empty and the next moment it was filled with the warships of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet.
“Report!” I barked as soon as our sensors started to get good returns.
“We’re getting good feed. No sign of ships lost. The Fleet has arrived at what appears to be its target destination, Sir,” reported Navigator Shepherd.
“There’s no sump, so I’m just waiting for orders, Admiral,” said DuPont.
“Any signs we’ve caught up with Bluetooth and his fleet yet?” I demanded.
“Sensors are still picking up and deciphering signals. No hits from our friend or foe identification system,” reported Lieutenant Hart.
I swiped a finger around the side of my mouth before setting aside my tea. After wiping my hand clean on the pants of my uniform I frowned.
“This is the third jump,” I said with censure in my voice.
Navigator Shepherd stiffened. “Navigation can only go off of the information we’re given, Admiral,” he said defensively.
I bestowed a flinty look on my bridge officer. “I’m well aware of that, Nav,” I said with censure.
“Of course, Sir,” said Shepherd.
I looked up as the main plot flashed and the space immediately around us populated.
“Patrol Fleet has once again jumped in formation. No drift experienced. Previous positioning confirmed,” stated Officer Hart.
“I could get used to this new jump drive,” DuPont said happily.
Lieutenant Shepherd’s upper lip curled. “Sir, I’ve got Commander Spalding on the line,” reported Lisa Steiner.
“Put him through,” I said.
A moment later the Chief Engineer was on my screen.
“What’s cooking, Spalding?” I asked as our fleet sensor operators slowly pushed scans out away from our immediate location and started scanning deeper in the star system.
He gave me a scowl to end all scowls. “If you keep pushing these Spindles like this, something going to give! I promise you’re not going to like it not one little bit. These things are funny that way,” he said eyeing the walls of the ship, presumably in the direction of at least one of the Spindles outside, “you’ve got to watch them like a hawk. I recommend we cut down on all the usage and let the Spindles' self-repair capabilities get back to work.”
My brows furrowed.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Spalding, and you know that,” I said with a frown, “is there anything more than gut feelings of concern?”
“The power consumption’s gone up yet again and a few of the sensors I had put on the outer hull of those Spindles have disappeared. Poof! Vanished. As in 'no sign they ever existed.' One moment they were transmitting and the next they were just plain gone,” warned the old Engineer.
“It’s not like you to get superstitious…I mean overly concerned like this, Commander,” I said, quickly changing my tune when I remembered just who I was talking to.
The Chief Engineer’s mouth made a firm line as he glared at me.
“It’s like they absorbed those sensors directly into the hull. That’s some freaky nonsense going on over there, Sir. So when things go belly up, don’t say I didn’t warn you and come crying to me over spilt milk, asking old Spalding to make everything all better. Because old Spalding plum doesn’t know how. Hear me?” he barked, cutting the channel.
“I hear you,” I sighed at the blank screen where the Chief Engineer had been a moment earlier.
I looked up, a sudden flashing on the main screen capturing my attention and holding it.
“Enemy warships identified! I have positive ID on three Reclamation Fleet ships,” reported a sensor operator thrusting a hand in the air and motioning toward her supervisor.
“Warships. Multiple warships, Sir!” reported another sensor operator.
“The com-system is showing we have recognized friendlies in system, Admiral,” reported Lieutenant-Commander Steiner, “they’re using the same New Confederation encryption we just downloaded from the New Grand Assembly.”
“Tactical is now getting IFF hits. It looks like positive returns for Bluetooth’s Flotilla, Admiral,” reported Lieutenant Hart after running the sensor and com returns through his station.
I smiled. “It looks like we came to the right place after all,” I said.
Sighs of relief sounded throughout the room.
“I’m not sure if I would begin celebrating just yet, Sir,” Hart continued in a grim tone.
I gave him a sharp look.
“The flotilla is surrounded on three side and looks to be engaged in a fighting retreat toward the hyper limit,” he explained, “it looks like we’ve found the enemy’s main fleet, Sir.”
As I watched, more and more enemy contacts began to appear on the screen until it was exactly as he said: Bluetooth was surrounded and he was outnumbered by almost three to one.
I opened my mouth, ready to start spitting orders, and then paused with eyes lingering on the trillium tanker before landing on the Elder Spindles.
My gaze hardened. “First Officer, detail one squadron of Cruisers to the Spindles and another of corvettes for overwatch. They are to tow the Spindles into the deep dark and then go dark on a ballistic course as soon as they can confirm they’re not being actively pinged by the enemy. Have them take that tanker with them,” I added, “in the meantime, the rest of the fleet will follow the Lucky Clover and rendezvous with Bluetooth’s Fleet. It’s time to rain some pain,” I said fiercely.
“Aye, Sir,” said the ship’s First Officer, seemingly happy to have something to do as he turned and began to snap out orders.
There was a major battle currently underway and it was time we got into the action.
“Let’s make it snappy, Helm,” I barked leaning forward in my chair, “this right here is why the New Confederation is paying us the big bucks.”
“Aye aye, Admiral,” DuPont said fiercely.
All around me I could see the veterans, transferred over to the Lucky Clover II when I took her as my new flagship, stiffen their gazes as they readied themselves for battle.
The original greenies assigned to the Lucky Clover seemed steady enough if not quite as eager for combat as my battle hardened veterans. That said, while they looked very young to me they didn’t seem nearly as unsettled as I would have expected from a truly green bridge crew.
I probably wasn’t giving them enough credit. This wasn’t the first major battle for most of them and some had been there with Spalding at Black Purgatory and 4th Easy Haven both.
They would do.
“Oh, and Coms,” I said dryly causing the Com-Tech beside Lisa Steiner to look at me in surprise.
“What, Sir?” he asked.
“I think it’s time we let the New Confederation forces in this system know we’re here—and here to help,” I said.
Chapter 39: Bluetooth on the Rocks
Bluetooth coughed, covering his mouth with the sleeve of his uniform.
“Has someone got that fire out yet?” he demanded roughly before breaking out into another coughing fit.
“Damage Control reports a fried circuit in the flag bridge’s isolated environmental systems, Rear Admiral. They say it’s going to take them at least fifteen minutes to cut into the secure systems and get to the problem and that’s with them knowing exactly how to access the environmental systems,” reported his Flag Lieutenant.
“Maybe we should consider moving to the CIC, Sir?” suggested his Chief of Staff.
Just then a junior petty officer came running in with an armful of rebreather masks.
The ship suddenly shook and swayed, causing her to stumble spilling head bags all over the floor.
“Sorry, Sir,” she muttered, scrambling around on the floor.
Deftly, the Rear Admiral bent down and snatched one up. “We’ll maintain our position here until it gets so thick we can’t see to work or engineering gets the issue under control,” growled Bluetooth, “we don’t have time to waste moving over to the CIC and trying to set everything back up.”
As he was busy speaking, the flagship rolled and presented its broadside to the enemy and opened fire.
A pair of enemy Destroyers that had been creeping up on a wounded member of the flotilla were sent reeling away.
In response, three enemy Battleships pivoted to present their broadsides to the flagship and returned fire.
“Blast!” Bluetooth swore as one of the ship’s engines was hit and the flagship was sent into an uncontrolled spin.
“We’ve got a runaway engine. Engineering reports it’s not responding to computer commands; they’re attempting to manually shut down the engine feed,” said the staffer managing the flag bridge’s engineering station.
“Double blast,” snapped Bluetooth.
“Do you want me to coordinate with Damage Control and Engineering?” asked the same flag bridge officer.
“The last thing we need right now is a mix-up in the chain of command. Let the ship’s captain and bridge team run his ship, Johnson,” Bluetooth said shortly.
“Admiral Norfolk is once again calling upon us to surrender. He’s repeating his claims that we’ll never make it to the hyper limit, much less jump out of this star system, Sir,” said the com-tech manning flag bridge communications.
“What are your orders, Sir?” asked his Chief of Staff.
“This is our last major fleet base before New Tau Ceti. If we give it up we’ve given up the entire Sector,” Bluetooth said clenching his jaw.
“But, sir!” exclaimed his subordinate.
Bluetooth raised a hand, silencing him.
He had eyes that could see just as well as anyone else; the flotilla was done. There was still a lot of fight in it, but they were battered and now trapped against their last major fleet base in the Sector.
They could fight to the death—and make no mistake because that’s what it would be to stay and fight: death. Or the Rear Admiral could order the Flotilla to break formation and it would be every ship for itself as they tried to make it to the hyper limit.
The only problem with that scenario was that more than three quarters of his lighter units were running on proverbial fumes. They had enough trillium for maybe one jump, two point transfers if they were short-ranged, and that was it.
It made no sense to have them flee, only to die in cold space their ships trapped in whatever star system they ran out of fuel. Yet on the other hand there was almost no chance his heavier units could disengage.
He was trying to decide if he had to abandon his lighter units, ordering them to attack in some kind of forlorn hope delaying action, when the hyper footprint of the newly-arriving MSP warships reached his flag ship.
“Hyper footprint. It’s big. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” said Junior Lieutenant Chelsea Manning from her perch at the normally useless navigation station on the flag bridge right before she broke into a loud coughing fit.
“Put on one of the head bags, Manning,” snapped Bluetooth.
“I’m receiving a transmission,” reported a com-tech, head cocked to the side in a listening posture.
His eyes brightened with a sudden surge of hope.
“Sir, I have Grand Admiral Montagne on the line. He is offering his assistance if we need it. He says the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet is here to help,” reported the Tech.
There was a moment of stunned, almost appalled silence among the senior members of the bridge crew, and then the junior members of the flag bridge broke out into a spontaneous cheer.
“Look at those ships. There has to be at least two squadrons of Battleships and that big bruiser in the middle there has to be the Lucky Clover!” exclaimed a Sensor Tech.
“We’re saved!” cheered one of the Damage Control team who had been operating a portable air scrubber to try and keep the smoke levels from rising above their ability to continue operating from the flag bridge.
Bluetooth glared at the screen heedless of the rising levels of relief around him.
“Montagne!” he roared, heedless of the rising moral of the bridge crew and the veins on Bluetooth’s neck bulge like giant red worms.
There was a stunned silence on the bridge, and knowing looks were exchanged by the senior staff.
His Chief of Staff hurried over to him. “Shall we join forces, Sir?” the other officer asked urgently. “I realize it’s a hard pill to swallow but if the only alternatives are surrender or death…” he trailed off only to be interrupted by the same Com-Tech who’d reported the initial contact.
“I’m receiving a verified transmission using the latest encryption from the Grand Assembly, Admiral,” the Tech exclaimed and then reared back in surprise, “but it looks like it needs your encryption key.”
“Stand aside,” Bluetooth said abruptly, stepping over to the console and pushing the tech out of his chair.
“Of course, Sir,” stammered the tech as he hurried out of the way.
The Rear Admiral input his personal encryption key, causing the screen to flash twice before displaying the files.
He started reading and then reared back.
“What is it?” asked his Chief of Staff.
“Take a look,” Bluetooth said grimly.
The other man started to read and then he looked over at the Rear Admiral with concern, “This can’t be real.”
“What is it, sir?” asked the Fleet Operations Officer.
“They have orders from the Grand Assembly placing our entire force under ‘his’ command,” he said in disbelief before continuing, “Grand Admiral Montagne is supposed to take command of the liberation operation, except he’s no longer Grand Admiral but supposedly the commander of an allied force!”
“What is this?” asked the Operations Officer with dismay.
Bluetooth looked ready to chew duralloy. “Do it,” glared Bluetooth.
“Sir?” his Chief of Staff asked carefully.
“It’s not like there’ll be much of us left by the time they get here anyway, even if we decide to join forces. But if we tell the Tyrant to go and pound sand we’ll all die anyway,” Bluetooth said bitterly. “Blast those week-kneed politicians,” Bluetooth said, turning away with a curse. “Tell the Tyrant we will acknowledge his authority and await his instructions for future combat operations.”
“Let’s see if he can find a way out of this mess for the Flotilla,” Bluetooth snapped storming back to his seat.
His momentary fit of high dungeon was ruined by another triple broadside that forced him to miss his step, lean forward, and cling to the arm of his chair for support
Chapter 40: MSP Cleaning House
“We’re receiving a transmission from the Flotilla Commander. The Flotilla acknowledges our authority under the Unified Command provisions of our Articles of Alliance and Admiral Bluetooth is requesting instructions, Sir,” reported the Com-Tech manning the External Comm console in the Communications department designated for use with the Flotilla.
I sneered and then acknowledged the message. “It sounds like the Rear Admiral is eager to push the blame for his situation onto us, Admiral,” suggested the Lucky Clover’s First Officer, “he still has most of his fleet, even if it's battle damaged, and by acknowledging your authority and command of the unified fleet he can legitimately say that any ships lost from this point forward are not his sole responsibility because you were in command.”
“Or he could be genuinely interested in saving his fleet,” interjected Lisa Steiner.
“Anything is possible but I think you’re both right,” I said with a scoff, “the Rear Admiral knows he’s just as likely to die if they’re overrun as anyone else, and if he survives he’ll need political cover to keep his job.”
“That seems like a jaded approach to looking at things, Sir. If may be so bold,” said the former com-tech and current Chief of Staff.
“Cynicism and paranoia are what have kept me alive up to this point. Better in my mind to be pleasantly surprised than bitterly disappointed when your high-minded ideals are betrayed. Bluetooth is a veteran of the Sector Guard and, unlike our own Commodore Druid who couldn’t stand the rampant cronyism, corruption and lack of action during the early years of the withdrawal and came to join us, the good Rear Admiral here chose to stay the course,” I said with a shrug. “As such he and I are not likely to see eye to eye, especially considering he was personally selected by our esteemed former Sector Governor to be his private boat driver.”
There were chuckles around the room as the MSP veterans from the original Lucky Clover and most recently the Royal Rage shared some mirthful looks.
The First Officer of the new and improved Lucky Clover, on the other hand, couldn’t resist a frown.
“Is it wise to speak that way about a warship on our side when it’s in the middle of a battle? Calling it a boat I mean,” asked the First Officer with a hint of concern.
I looked over at him in surprise. “We’ve had a few run-ins with the Battleship Newton in the past, Number One. This was back when the Rear Admiral was still just a Captain,” I paused a beat, “you wouldn’t happen to be a particularly superstitious man, would you Joe?”
The First Officer, who had been nodding as he followed along, appeared taken aback by the question at the end. “I wouldn’t describe myself as any more superstitious than any other spacer who rides the winds of hyperspace to battle,” First Officer Joe Manblaster replied.
I looked at him skeptically, wondering if I was looking at a less competent version of Commander Spalding.
Deciding I didn’t have time to worry about the Clover’s First Officer at a time like this, I turned back to the main screen and picked up my tea cup to break the mood.
I took a sip and almost immediately spat it back out—it was cold! I turned to the yeoman standing near an emergency seat stationed against a side wall of the bridge, near where the Lancer defense quad was located, and lifted my cup.
Picking up a tea pot from a recessed storage closet, she hurried over. “More tea, Admiral Montagne?” she asked, lifting the pot and motioning to my cup with the spigot.
“Mmhmm,” I nodded moving my cup closer.
As she poured, filling the cup, I sat there looking at the updated battle plot. Besides, just with our own scans, when Bluetooth acknowledged my authority he sent along his fleet’s most recent system scan which obviously included the location of every enemy warship in the system.
“What’s the breakdown, Tactical?” I asked as I looked at the swarm of red dots surrounding the allied blue icons of the new Confederation fleet.
“The enemy has a total of 21 Battleships, 45 Cruisers split evenly between heavies and lights, as well as 39 Destroyers. They also have a large dungeon ship that may have been retrofitted as a troop transport, another dedicated transport, and a dozen freighters. The transports and freighters are stationed inside the gravity will, starward of the hyper limit, and orbiting a gas giant with seventeen moons, moonlets and an additional number of large asteroids trapped inside its orbit. They also have what appear to be a screen of Corvettes assigned to their defense. Best estimates are 13 Corvettes,” said the Tactical Officer.
“A decent sized fleet,” I opined, “do they seem a little light in the Destroyers to you, Lieutenant?”
“We have reports of numerous engagements between the New Confederation Flotilla and Reclamation Fleet lighter units,” Hart said after a beat, “it makes sense that they would have lesser light units if they were husbanding their heavies for a big push.”
“You mean if the Rear Admiral fell into their trap,” I corrected.
“It’s possible the Imperial partisans lost a number of Destroyers when they tried to take this system,” pointed out the Tactical Officer.
I decided to allow the caveat since my own view of the Sector Guardsmen could very well have tainted my perception of the situation.
“As for our own side,” continued the Tactical Lieutenant after it was clear I wasn’t going to continue speaking, “it looks like the Flotilla started out with eight Battleships but are now down to six. In addition there are three Heavy Cruisers, fourteen Light Cruisers, and an even mix of heavy and light Destroyers. In total there are still nineteen Destroyers.”
I looked at the running total of critically damaged or destroyed warships and saw the count had risen to 33 warships lost in action. This ship count included both New Confederation Fleet and Imperials our computers had tallied so far.
“It sounds like the boys and girls over in the New Confederation’s Fleet are in trouble,” I said, brow wrinkling as I ran the numbers.
“Sir, we only brought eight Battleships and they have more than twenty,” pointed out Lisa Steiner, “I’m concerned that we’re going to be heavily outnumbered, the Reclamation Fleet is 105 warships strong right now and that’s not even counting their corvettes. We brought only 59 warships total, minus our eight Battleships; that still leaves too many for us to handle. If they take out the Flotilla’s remaining ships or even just most of them we’ll be so heavily outnumbered that this could be rough.”
I looked at the Lieutenant Commander with surprise. Steiner wasn’t command or a line officer, she’d been on the Communications track before receiving her bump. I’m sure she’d been studying in the meantime but she very rarely interjected an opinion on battle tactics. Probably because she wasn’t qualified to give an informed opinion; I wondered what was different or if something changed.
“Those Corvettes are out of the equation for the moment,” I observed and paused before deciding to allay her fears instead of shutting her down. Lisa Steiner was one of my veterans and she’d gone above and beyond on several occasions. Since we weren’t engaged in active combat I could afford to take a little time with her right this moment. “Just counting totals, our 59 plus Bluetooth’s 36 puts us at 95. Easily within striking distance of their 105,” I said with assurance, “as for their heavier units, it's true we’re punching up hulls-wise but I think once you include the Clover and our gunboat carriers, things even out. If we stand them off, we win. Their only hope is to get into knife range and overwhelm us. But between our main gun, double Battleship level broadsides and Duralloy II armor, I think we’ll manage,” I finished, deliberately speaking just loud enough that others around the bridge could hear us.
“Thank you, Sir,” my Chief of Staff said, stepping back.
I nodded and deliberately failed to mention the two squadrons I was leaving behind with the Spindles and trillium tanker brought us down to just over fifty warships engaged with the enemy.
“Mr. Dupont, full speed ahead,” I ordered.
“On it, Admiral,” the Helmsman nodded seriously.
“I have a course laid and ready to go. With your permission, Sir?” said Navigator Shepherd.
“Granted, Lieutenant,” I said.
The ship began to take off, with the rest of the fleet taking up formation behind, except as already mentioned for those ships escorting the tanker and Spindles out into the deep dark.
I had just started to relax for the long haul, and was humming a popular music tune under my breath, when my Chief of Staff politely cleared her throat.
I looked over at her and cocked my head, causing her to color slightly. “Forgive me if I’m stepping out of line here and feel free to ignore the question. But didn’t the Rear Admiral request instructions?” she asked quietly.
I blinked, wondering at just how quickly it had slipped my mind and gave an upward head toss of agreement.
“You’re right,” I sighed, because I didn’t have a quick and ready answer, “Bluetooth put himself straight into the grinder and I’m not quite sure exactly how we’re going to pull his chestnuts out of the fire. Give me a moment to think,” I said with a smile and after she nodded with relief and started to pull back I added, “and thank you for the timely reminder, Lieutenant Commander. Keep it up.”
“Sure thing, Sir,” she said with a pleased, expression.
Turning back to the screen, I rubbed my chin as I thought through my potential courses of action. We were too far to get there quickly but not slow enough that there was no hope whatsoever. We were about a fifth of a rotation around the edge of the hyper limit from the closest approach to Bluetooth and his besieged fleet, which presented a few difficulties.
Ultimately I decided not to leave Bluetooth and his Fleet of Sector Guardsmen swinging in the wind. Which left me with two options: I could either try for a high speed pass with the whole fleet and hope to get there before the battle was all over and done with, or we could split up…
Given the time differential, there was no point in splitting off the Cruisers and I just didn’t see the point in sending the lighter units out by themselves.
“Instruct our lighter units to take up position to the rear of our formation. It’s going to be Cruisers and Battleships to the front for a high speed pass on that running space battle—and we’re not slowing for anything,” I finally instructed.
“What do you want our Corvettes and Destroyers to do during the attack?” asked Lisa Steiner.
“They are to hang back behind the heavies and look for targets of opportunity. They can also pull a turnaround a lot faster than our big battlewagons. If I see the chance, I’ll empty the Jumbles and unload a swarm of gunboats to accompany them,” I said.
“I’ll have a tech relay the orders at once,” said Steiner.
“As for the Rear Admiral, tell him he is to go ballistic and hang on until he reaches,” I took a look; there were two planetary bodies in front of him, the nearest one had a large asteroid that didn’t rotate masquerading as its moon. It would have to do, “Tell him he needs to get to the nearest planet and stay there. After that he’s free to maneuver locally to try and avoid them as best he can, but ultimately there’s no way his ships are running away from the Imperials,” I paused in consideration. “He is also free to allow any of his Captains, or any ship for that matter which are about to be destroyed, to surrender. Assuming he hasn’t poisoned that well as thoroughly as I fear, of course.”
As much as I disliked the Sector Guardsmen, the Imperial partisans of the Reclamation Fleet had done far more to earn my ire. The Guardsmen just wanted to kill me on the orders of the corrupt politician they helped exploit our Sector of space. The Reclamation Fleet, on the other hand, was determined to put the Imperial jackboot on every star system they could reach. At least the people had a fighting chance of changing things, assuming they ever got tired of local corruption, but the Empire was another story entirely.
As they say, 'better a tyrant two miles away than one two parsecs.' At least with the local bully you stood a fighting chance.
“I’ll relay the message,” she said.
Several minutes after the time it would have taken for a message to reach Bluetooth and a response to reach us we received a hail.
“Grand Admiral Montagne,” Bluetooth said as soon as he appeared on the screen. He paused for a moment, his mouth working as if he wanted to spit, “The Flotilla has received your orders and will carry them out to the best of our abilities. However I would like to seek clarification as to your intentions because it will be a cold day in the Demon’s Pit before we surrender to these jacks. If we are going to die around those moons—on your orders, I’ll add—then you could at least have the courtesy to tell us in person rather than through some enlisted intermediary.”
I stilled and then glowered at the still image of the man that was all that was left at the end of the message.
“Open a channel and prepare a return message for the intrepid Mr. Bluetooth,” I said coldly.
“Sir?” asked Lieutenant Commander Steiner.
“Just do it,” I instructed.
A minute later, Comm. indicated they were ready to send back an encrypted video message.
“Officer Bluetooth, in case you failed to notice you’ve already done a pretty good job of getting your flotilla killed all by yourself. If you’re determined to fight to the bitter end, feel free, but please refrain from blaming the rescue force on its way to save your arrogant backside. These are the fortunes of war we find ourselves in, not the malicious actions of people you should recognize are on your own side,” I said flatly and then straightened my back and erased the anger from my posture, “that said, if you think you can do better for your fleet than trying for those moons, feel free to exercise your judgment. You’re the commander on the scene and we’ll just adjust our course and rendezvous with you as quickly as possible, either way. Also, in case you didn’t notice, I’m no longer a Grand Admiral with the New Confederation Fleet; a simple 'Admiral' will do fine. Montagne out.”
The message raced out and then back again while the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet burned toward the action as fast as we were able, and I didn’t fail to note that the remains of the New Confederation Fleet adjusted course to make for the moons.
“I expected nothing less than this sort of scorn from a man who had an officer like Admiral Yagar killed. Beheaded like a dog on one of your space docks,” Bluetooth said tightly, fury evident on every line of his body, “you might like to blame me so that you can keep your conscience clear, but I would like to point out everything that’s happening in this star system is a direct result of your actions! If you hadn’t cut Tracto’s trillium sales to the Confederation, none of this would be happening. Instead, like a child angry at being scolded by the adults, all you could do was lash out in hatred and in anger and as a result this Flotilla couldn’t maneuver properly—so here we are!” Bluetooth bellowed. “I hope you can find it in your tyrannical heart to forgive me for the oh-so-grave injustice of getting your current blasted rank wrong! The Sweet Saint knows it seems to jump up and down without any rhyme or reason.”
“Officer Bluetooth, anytime you feel that you can’t work with me feel free to raise your voice and keep yelling at me and I will gladly stop risking the lives of my fleet for yours on a high speed pass,” I said stiffly. “If, however, you still want our assistance you would do very well to remember that I was, am, and do remain your commanding officer—and even if I wasn’t, the men and women of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet deserve your respect for risking their lives for you here today. I’ll be honest: I expect a great deal more courtesy from my subordinate officers than you have shown here. But, as they say on the border of Sector 25: perhaps being a former member of the Sector Guard, such minutia as decency and common courtesy escape you,” I took a breath and then gave the holo-pickup a hard look. “Regardless of the cheap shots and theatrics I remain your commanding officer, Admiral Jason Montagne. Hold on; we’re coming to get you,” I said, cutting the channel with an abrupt motion.
I looked up only to realize that all around me the bridge had fallen into silence. Most of the bridge crew were looking my way and hanging on my every word.
I cocked a brow. “I’m not a Confederation officer anymore,” I remarked with considerable aplomb, “as such, I don’t have to eat it any more when a bigoted individual like the Rear Admiral decides to vent his spleen.”
I waited a beat.
“Is there some reason you all are looking at me instead of attending to your tasks?” I asked mildly.
Heads jerked around back to their screens and people quickly turned back to their tasks.
After a minute or two, my First Officer approached.
“Yes?” I asked neutrally.
Joe Manblaster gave me a serious look. “Good on you, Sir,” he said with a sharp nod and I looked back at him with surprise. “No one in this fleet wants to leave that Flotilla out there to die because their Admiral’s a tool, but it was high time you gave one of those mutinous dogs what for…if you don’t mind my saying so,” he added when my lack of response seemed to drag on too long for him.
Over the course of the next hour, we burned toward the Imperial Fleet and were forced to watch as Bluetooth’s warships were blasted out of formation one by one until the Rear Admiral’s fleet finally reached the planetary body and its moon like asteroid. A little less than half of the original warships he entered the star system with survived to reach orbit.
That would have been all well and good if that were all that happened. The fortunes of war meant that sometimes you won and sometimes you were on the losing side, but the way the Imperials were refusing to accept surrender... More than half the time, and without any rhyme or reason that we could suss out, they seemed determined to blow certain warships to bits, and that caused me to set my jaw.
“There goes another one,” reported Lieutenant Hart as the main body of the Reclamation Fleet bypassed a damaged New Confederation Destroyer actively signaling its surrender, only to tear into a slow-moving Light Cruiser.
As each Reclamation Fleet warship passed, each ship fired a full broadside into the Light Cruiser and they continued firing long after it was dead in space. Even after the Cruiser broke in two with each half wracked by multiple internal explosions, they continued to pound it into space scrap.
“Any escape pods manage to clear that one?” I asked.
“Two of them,” Sensors reported in a dull voice.
“Still no response to our hails?” I asked stonily.
“We’re continuing to hail them every five minutes, Sir. No response,” reported the Com-Tech assigned that duty.
Off to the side, my Chief of Staff nodded in agreement. She’d personally checked over his work to ensure there were no mistakes.
“I do believe Rear Admiral Bluetooth’s reports back home left something significant out,” I remarked coolly. I was already determined to do what I could to launch a full investigation into the matter.
“We’re receiving a hail, Admiral,” reported the com-tech manning the Ex-Comm. console as the New Confederation Ships attempted an erratic slingshot maneuver to temporarily break contact with the Imperial partisans.
“Is it the good Rear Admiral?” I asked with forced lightness.
“No, Sir,” the Tech shook his head sharply, “a Reclamation Officer who says his name is Rear Admiral Norfolk is demanding to speak with you.”
The hand holding my tea cup stilled. “If you would please take this, yeoman,” I said, reaching out with my tea cup.
“Of course, Sir,” the yeoman hurried over from his post at the wall to relieve me of the small bit of porcelain.
For a moment I contemplated not replying, and then I considered telling Norfolk to go howl, but more than anything I wanted to get to the bottom of this nasty business. In the mood I was in, I was more than ready to return the favor.
“Put him through,” I abruptly decided, turning to peer at the screen, more than ready to see the face of our enemy. We were close enough now for only a small barely noticeable lag in communications.
“Jason Montagne. Why am I not surprised?” asked the craggy-faced Admiral on the other end.
“I don’t know. Why aren’t you?” I asked, curiosity momentarily getting the better of my anger.
I took the moment to silently take in the other man’s tanned white skin, grey streaked hair, iron blue eyes and in a uniform very similar in cut and color but not quite the same as a standard Imperial officer’s standard outfit.
In short, he was clearly one of the senior surviving Imperial officers of the Reclamation Fleet.
My eyes narrowed.
“You can’t win. You have to know that,” Norfolk said frankly, “we’re well aware of what that beast you’re in can do and we’ve taken appropriate countermeasures. So why not make this easy on everyone and just leave? I promise not to pursue the matter.”
“I like my odds,” I pursed my lips. “I think I’ll stay,” I said, meeting his iron blue eyes and refusing to look away.
“We’re not here for you, Admiral. All we want are those war criminals in Confederation uniforms who decided it was a sweet idea to attack a transport freighter carrying wounded spacers and their families. Stand aside and let us do this; you know it’s the right thing to do,” Norfolk said sternly.
“I ‘know’ nothing of the sort. All I can see right now is an Imperial fleet that seems bent on refusing surrenders and blowing certain ships to space dust before they have a chance to launch any escape pods. But if it’s any consolation I promise if you start accepting surrenders I’ll look into the matter,” I said replied, splaying my hands.
Norfolk’s mouth twisted. “Forgive me if I find that promise hard to believe, especially coming from a man wearing the same uniform as those butchers we’re currently pursuing,” Norfolk said dismissing my offer.
“Just so you know, I am no longer a New Confederation officer—and if it helps I’ll further point out we never actually wore the same uniform assigned to the fleet stationed here in Sector 26. I know it’s hard to see here because we kept the same basic uniform, which is based off an older Confederation cut, but the insignia and shoulder flashes have all been modified to reflect our new reality as a Confederation allied power,” I pointed out.
“If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck. There’s no need to insult my intelligence, Montagne,” Norfolk said with disgust, “we all know who you are and who you aren’t.”
“In that case I’m sure you’re more than willing to admit, in the spirit of reciprocity, that you actually are members of a covert Imperial fleet, Norfolk,” I waited a beat looking at him challengingly before continuing. “One that everyone knows receives its maneuvering orders directly from Imperial Command. You’re not trying to sell me some bill of goods about how you’re actually some kind of wishy-washy group of ‘concerned Imperial citizens’ who are only out here to help their poor benighted neighbors in the Spine, and of course have never…ever…had anything resembling direct contact with Imperial high command?” I shot back, feeling ever so slightly insulted that I, who actually had left Confederation service, the New and Old versions, was being accused of lying by a man who everyone and their brother knew were an Imperial stalking horse.
Norfolk gave me a hard look. “The last thing this fleet is, is 'wishy-washy',” Norfolk said flatly, “but I realize I shouldn’t have expected anything more from a man like yourself, Montagne.”
“Oh, and what kind of man is that, Admiral Norfolk, Sir? You’ll note I’ve given you the courtesy of your rank,” I retorted.
“First, you deliberately use anti-matter against Admiral Janeski in Easy Haven and then you turned a swarm of Bugs rarely seen in human space on Praetor Cornwallis! That’s two war crimes violations right there! Despite myself, I had still hoped you had some shred of honor or even simple human decency. Instead you appear as determined as ever to cover for your fellow war criminals, Sir. Well blast you to flaming atoms, ‘Admiral’ Montagne,” Admiral Norfolk said grimly.
“All my actions were entirely legal,” I said in immediate rejection. When accused of serious crimes, you had to get out in front of it and deny immediately whether you were innocent or guilty. Perhaps especially when you were guilty? I was just glad that neither Tracto nor the New Confederation had signed any of the galactic war conventions. “And your accusations are particularly rich coming from a man who’s landed more Imperial pacification brigades on helpless worlds than I have fingers and toes, Admiral,” I finished angrily.
Norfolk slammed a hand on the arm of his chair. “I have nothing to prove to a man like you! What happens on the ground stays on the ground. I’m a spacer, not a grounder. My concern ends where the atmosphere begins. So long as Imperial law is not violated, I couldn't care less how the Marines carry out their duties in bringing law and order back to civilians planet side,” Norfolk said with iron in his voice.
I openly sneered at this. “Imperial Law? This is the Spineward Sectors, Norfolk. In case you forgot, or never bothered to learn, local and Confederation laws are rule of the day. This is not the Empire and here we require a whole blasted lot more from hypocrites like yourself and Senator Cornwallis—whose fleet orbitally bombarded my home world fifty years ago,” I shot back with ire.
“The two acts aren’t even comparable! And the very reason we’re here is because your law broke down. If you didn’t need a guiding hand we wouldn’t have been here in the first place,” snapped Norfolk.
“I see. Your type only cries foul when the tables are turned; you don't care what happens so long as you’re the ones winning,” I scoffed loudly. “For your information, everyone over here is well aware that it was the Empire, not me, who seeded the Bugs Cornwallis encountered at Black Purgatory outside Tracto and then sat back and waited for genocide to sweep my wife’s world clean!”
“Outrageous!” Norfolk exclaimed angrily.
“So you can pee and moan all you like when the truth is all we did was return to sender. The same for your results when Arnold Janeski ignored a legitimate engineering emergency, given with sufficient notice, just so he could drive home an attack but I’ll have none of it,” I ended harshly, “he took the risk and suffered accordingly.”
Norfolk’s forehead had turned red with rage. “We have nothing else to talk about. The next time you see me I’ll be staring back at you from the other end of a broadside,” Norfolk said furiously.
“So I should take it you have no intention of allowing surrendering warships the time they need to get their crews to the escape pods?” I asked, my face hardening.
“I’ll see you in Hades,” snapped Norfolk, reaching for the disconnect button on his console, causing the screen to blank out.
Staring at a blank screen, and realizing I was breathing hard enough you would have thought I’d just ran an endurance lap around the ship’s main gym, I took a moment to gather myself.
“That went well,” I said.
First Officer Manblaster gave me an appalled look.
“What? It did,” I said defensively.
I could tell no one on the bridge believed me, or at least no one in my line of sight. I couldn’t speak for anyone I could see behind me.
Deciding it didn’t really matter what they thought, even if they were right, I put my attention back on the battle plot where it rightfully belonged.
It appeared while I had been bandying words around with Norfolk the Imperials had caught up with and destroyed another six new Confederation warships.
“I think it’s past time we taught the Imperial Navy a little respect,” I said flatly.
“What are your orders, Sir?” First Officer Manblaster asked quickly.
“We’ll proceed as planned,” I said, because really there was nothing to be done until we were closer. When we were, though…. “But once we close into range it’s going to be a different story. As they appear to have no interest in concerning themselves with taking surrenders….well.”
I allowed myself to be deliberately vague, mainly because I was already on the hook for two potential war crimes violations myself. There was need to just hand any future prosecutors more ammunition.
“Sir?” Steiner asked with concern.
“Nothing doing, LC,” I said confidently, “I just meant I doubt they’ll be very interested in surrender themselves, considering their actions here today as well as how they think of me.”
“Of course, Sir,” Lisa said still looking concerned.
“You think the odds of that are very likely?” asked First Officer Manblaster.
I looked at him and then it came to me: he was uncertain if we would be ever be in a position to request a surrender. The enemy did outnumber us pretty heavily. In heavy units alone they had an edge of 21 to 8 or 9, if you counted the Lucky Clover, or 11 when the Jumbles were added.
For a moment, I considered whether a rational person would count the gunboat carriers, and then decided against it. No. They wouldn’t.
I gave a silent, toothy smile. There was more than one reason I’d encouraged…well, alright, ordered Bluetooth to move toward that planetary body and its asteroid moon—and it wasn’t because it would help his little fleet survive.
I paused. Well, alright, it wasn’t ‘just’ because it would help him because it would. More importantly for us right now was that it gave my fleet the best chance to even the odds.
But, speaking of evening the odds, it was time to speak with my secret weapon. We really were moving too fast for a proper engagement, after all.
Activating my com-system, I called Spalding.
“What’s the good word, Sir?” asked the Chief Engineer.
“Things are heating up around the planet just ahead, and while we may be late I would hate to miss the party entirely, Commander,” I said.
Spalding nodded seriously.
“Going a mite fast for that, aren’t we, Admiral?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
I was about to speak when I discovered that unobserved by either of the two of us my wife had entered the bridge and snuck up behind me.
I paused to give her a questioning look but she motioned for me to continue speaking and ignore her.
I shrugged and turned back to the commander.
“That was exactly what I was thinking, Commander. You wouldn’t happen to have any way of slowing us down would you?” I said, returning to my conversation with the old engineer without missing a beat now that I knew it wasn’t some kind of emergency situation that had brought my wife up onto the bridge.
More than once I’d broken out into a cold sweat thinking someone had stepped into a meeting to report another mutiny in the works. It was nice that I wasn’t expected to deal with something like that at the same time I was juggling fleets.
“You thinking about using the maneuver, Sir?” asked Spalding.
“The cat’s already out of the bag, Chief Engineer,” I shrugged, “I don’t see the point of holding back and it’s not like it’s a vanishing act. I say we use it while we can.”
“You’re the Captain…I mean, Admiral,” Spalding colored with embarrassment before shrugging helplessly. He cleared his throat and immediately got a faraway look in his eyes.
“Is there a problem?” I asked, really and seriously hoping there wasn’t. Its not that I placed all my eggs in one basket. We could do a high speed pass and then slow down to return to the battle but I didn’t want the Reclamation Fleet to have all that time to get ready for us. Not only would it give them more time to whittle Bluetooth down even further, but I wanted to get right in there and brawl.
Fancy footwork was for lighter warships, and even more so than a standard Battleship a Super Battleship was built to slug it out.
“Well I retrofitted those Battleships as best I could, but not every ship in the Spine was built to Caprian standards,” Spalding said, scorn in his voice as he compared the ship building standards of our home against its competitors.
“I’m aware of that,” I said.
“I just want to be clear. Without an experienced hand at the till and using sub-standard Battleships, there’s always going to be a risk. In this case, though, if the grav-plates overload and fail you could splat an entire crew against the front wall of every room that has a man or woman in it,” Spalding warned like he was the trumpet of doom.
“This isn’t the first time we’ve had a non-Caprian Battleship carry out the maneuver,” I reminded him.
“And we were lucky!” Spalding immediately groused. “And despite doing everything we could beforehand we still had things go wrong!”
“You’re starting to sound cautious in your old age, Chief Engineer,” I said with a challenging expression, “first about using the Spindles and now the Maneuver. Is there something you’re not telling the rest of us?”
Spalding’s brows beetled as he glared at me from under bushy brows. “Don’t you start that with me! You want a job done and done right, you come to old Spalding. There’s not a man in this fleet who can call this old cyborg a coward and I stand by what I’ve said,” Spalding said in a snappish voice, “is there anything I’m not telling you about the maneuver you don’t already know? No,” he added sourly, “to be clear: I’m not saying 'do it' and I’m not saying 'don’t.' What I’m saying is to go into this with your eyes wide open because if you crash and burn here there might not be a next time to learn from your mistake, and thousands of spacers will die.”
“I get that,” I said dropping all levity, “and I don’t like playing roulette with the lives of my people any more than you do, but it’s a choice between risking losing some to an overstressed ship or losing even more to a prepared enemy. This is just a numbers game.”
“That’s fine but if something goes wrong with this, I guarantee it’s not going to be a pretty sight!” Spalding said angrily. “Your ship will be ready to go before we reach the moon, I can’t promise that an incompetent Chief Engineer on another ship will be able to say the same,” he added and then cut the channel.
I released a sigh, pausing a moment to consider if I’d just made a mistake. Normally I wouldn’t be as concerned as I suddenly was, but if anyone could change my calculations with nothing more than dire warnings and a decided lack of facts it had to be my Chief Engineer.
On the one hand, this was Spalding warning me. On the other hand, there was nothing definitive in what he had said, and from the outside it looked a lot like my Chief Engineer had come back from his latest Spindles misadventure uncharacteristically gun shy.
No, I couldn’t afford to think like that. I either trusted my officers, especially Spalding, or I didn’t. With that decided, I took a moment to seriously consider what I would do if we lost a Battleship or even two to this Maneuver and if losing those ships would make me abort the order and come in slower if I knew about it beforehand.
I took a few long moments to work it through, and though it pained me to admit it, so long as we wouldn’t lose our Super Battleship, I would still give the order. Did that make me an uncaring despot? I wasn’t sure.
“Is this really a risk worth taking?” I muttered.
“Why would you ask that?” Akantha said, startling me at just how close she’d snuck up on me while I was ruminating.
“I’m just wondering if I’m playing too fast and loose with people’s lives,” I said in a quiet voice.
“Will you win the battle if you don’t do this?” she asked.
I hesitated. Nine against twenty one was rough odds, no matter how you sliced it. We needed to get in fast and hit hard before they could compensate for it.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“Then you already have your answer. Unless you think this battle is lost no matter what actions you take? If so, I advise you to turn around now,” said Akantha.
“No, we have a real chance if we use the Montagne Maneuver,” I replied firmly.
“Then do it,” she said with total certainty in my proposed course of action—certainty that I wished I shared.
“Why are you so gung ho?” I asked lightly, trying for a touch of levity to reduce the tension.
Akantha looked back at me seriously. “This is our moment. We must break them here and establish your legacy, Jason,” said Akantha.
“What?” I asked with a blink, all the humor draining out of me.
“It is the only way to ensure the heritage of our children and our own personal power in the days ahead,” Akantha said flatly.
I took time to give that little statement the respect it deserved before replying. “I’m not in this for my own personal power. I mean, that’s nice and all, but if that were it I would have retired to some other corner of the galaxy a long time before now, Akantha,” I replied firmly.
“And I love you for it. This is also one of the main attributes that makes you an infinitely superior Protector than my mother’s Nykator,” Akantha said affectionately. Then her expression cleared and she looked at me sternly, no more the loving partner but suddenly the Hold Mistress of Messene.
“It’s nice to be appreciated,” I said, trying to break the tension but she was having none of it.
“The truth. I supported your actions then and I still do today, but our every action has consequences. You withdrew from the New Confederation because you had to withdraw from the New Confederation, and Tracto had to go with you. But in doing so we isolated ourselves not just from their greedy grasping claws, we also isolated ourselves from our allies who we encouraged to join it,” she continued. “As such, we are now alone and without those same allies to guard us,” she finished with a grim look, “right now we are balanced on the knife’s edge. You have to win. Keep winning. And do so without major setbacks or crippling losses. Right now it’s not just this invasion we have to deal with; we have to worry about how we look. Look weak and we’re carrion for the crows. Look strong and a Stone Rhino will run away, and certainly none of our former allies in the New Confederation will dare to touch us.”
“I appreciate the advice,” I said, and this time I really meant it.
“You’re the father of my children and the Warlord of this fleet. It’s up to you to win this war; I’ll worry about winning the peace and, of course, I will help where I can here,” she said, flashing me what she must have thought was a supportive look.
I tried to give back a confident expression but the reminder of just how much rested on my shoulders was humbling. That last little bit she’d tacked on the end wasn’t that inspiring either. I mean I’d been her husband for a while now, and it was obvious she hoped to get some more up close and personal combat in before all the fighting was over.
“Then let’s do this,” I said, squeezing her arm before turning to my crew, “pass the order to the rest of the fleet. Battleships and larger are to prepare for the Montagne Maneuver while Cruiser and smaller, but including the Jumble Carriers, are to begin slowing for a least time effective intercept with the battle taking place at that planet.”
“Relaying instructions now, Sir,” said Lisa.
“Good,” I said. Now that the orders had been given, all that was left to do was sit back and wait.
By the time we arrived at the site of the running battle, the Newton was a floating wreck streaming air, flames and bodies into cold space while two squadrons of Reclamation Battleships continued to pound heavy laser strikes into it.
As I watched, an escape pod blasted away from the nearly wrecked Battleship only to cross into the path of turbo-laser aimed at its mothership. Bursting like a bubble, one moment it was an escape pod carrying the hopes and dreams of Confederation fleet survivors, the next it was a small burst of air and flame and moments later all that remained were floating debris.
Beside me, Commander Manblaster sucked in a breath.
“Not as easy to take at close range where you can see what’s actually happening compared to long range where you can’t, is it Joe?” I asked.
“No, it's not, Sir,” Manblaster said, looking over at the icons depicting the Imperial fleet with hooded eyes.
“This right here is why I couldn't care less what the Imperials think of me, Number One,” I told the other man. “My own conscience and those around me from the Patrol Fleet certainly but the Imperials can go howl. Each and every hypocritical one of them,” I ended flatly.
“I understand,” said my First Officer.
“Good enough,” I turned to the com-section, “tell the captains of the Battleship squadrons they are to prepare for combat and no mercy. As the Demon is my witness, they’ve taken justice into their own hands today and deserve none from us.”
“Prepare for combat and no mercy, aye-aye, Sir,” replied the com-tech sounding slightly jittery but still game turning to his console to carry out my orders.
“Do you want to initiate the Maneuver, Sir?” prompted Navigator Shepherd.
“Not yet, Nav...let’s wait,” I said, once again happy to have the man returned to us after his sting in medical post 5th Battle for Easy Haven.
“Yes, Sir,” replied Shepherd.
Wait for it…
Waiting for it….
And finally we had line of sight on the Reclamation warships.
“Now, Mr. Shepherd!” I barked, and in the background I could hear the com-tech relaying my orders to the rest of the battle captains.
“Hold onto your butts,” warned Shepherd, and I had a long enough moment to frown at him before a shudder very similar to the one we normally experienced while firing the main cannon shook the ship. This time it seemed to come from all around us rather than from the keel-mounted main gun.
Like the vengeance of angels, the Multi-Sector Patrol fleet swung around the planetoid’s asteroid like moon and, just like that, ranged on the two squadrons that still swarmed around the Newton.
For several seconds it looked like we were about to slam into the planet and then we slowed to an abrupt stop. Our ships had come out all over the place and in no particular formation, but we were here.
Half the ships with us stopped behind or beside us while the other half continued to advance past the enemy before coming to a relative stop with their engines facing the Reclamation Battleships.
I suppressed a wince when I saw that.
“Good. We made it,” I said even at the same time First Officer Manblaster demanded a report.
Looking at the Battleships still pummeling the helpless Newton, I began to issue orders.
“All heavies except the Clover are to present broadsides and fire as they bear. I want those two squadrons taken out of my sky,” I instructed before prompting, “Joe.”
“Main gun!” barked the First Officer.
“I’ve got red lights on my panel,” reported the engineering watch-stander, Adrienne Blythe in a tense voice, “one of the grav-panels have failed in Engineering and the 1st backup is fluctuating.”
“What’s—” started Manblaster.
“Selecting target now,” the Weaponeer said crisply.
“You heard the Admiral. Fire as she bears,” said Manblaster before turning back to the Engineering console on the bridge.
“It’s the anti-matter generators! The Chief Engineer is declaring an emergency,” reported Blythe in a tense voice.
I instantly felt a chill. “Belay the main gun!” I said, jumping out of my chair.
“Too late,” the Weaponeer said with regret. There was the vibration and deep thrum that signaled the hyper plasma cannon was back in action, and it reverberated through the warship right before we fired.
“Movement! Enemy Battleships are breaking formation,” reported Hart.
I frowned. I didn’t have time to focus on the bigger picture but I had to. Someone had to pay attention, through force of will I lifted my eyes to take in the main battle plot.
Are we all about to die? I couldn't help thinking that as the warning of dire emergency kept coming.
“It’s Anti-matter 5! They had to shut down that faulty grave-plate and with only one plate operational means the bottle is becoming unstable. The tolerances are too fine for this,” Blythe said in a rising voice.
“Warn the other ships to steer clear: we’re having a reactor emergency,” barked the First Officer, not waiting around for my permission.
“Good catch,” I said, even as the officers and crew around the bridge sprang into action.
“What the blazes is going on?” demanded DuPont. “I thought they had backups for this. We were all told using anti-matter generators was safe!”
“We have three backup systems and one of them is still working, or we’d all be dead by now. As far as I know no one ever said flying around with those generators was safe!” Adrienne Blythe snapped, furiously working her console.
“Belay that nonsense, Helmsman,” I snapped.
DuPont gave a mutinous look before rounding back on his console with a rebellious cast to his shoulders.
“Enemy Battleships are attempting evasive maneuvers,” Lieutenant Hart said in a tense voice, and I didn’t have time for any more bridge crew dramatics.
“They must have moved as soon as they spotted us coming around the moon,” Manblaster muttered, tearing his eyes away from the ongoing engineering emergency long enough to take in the action.
“Norfolk did advise us he was attempting countermeasures,” I said, wishing I had time to care.
“Engineering is preparing to flush the bottle out the side of the ship,” warned Blythe.
I started to turn by eyes but the shield operator jumped into before I could say a word.
“Modulating shields now,” reported the Operator, “I’m preparing to drop shields on that side of the ship as soon as the bottle clears the hull.”
I opened my mouth to ask a question.
“Good thinking; we don’t want something as dumb as an ionization charge to set off the bottle ‘before’ it clears the shields,” approved Manblaster, and I closed my mouth.
I would have figured that out eventually, but it was better all around if my people took care of it without my jumping in.
On screen, as I watched the high velocity ball of plasma just barely scraped the bottom of a Reclamation Fleet hull, sending the warship into a violent spin spewing atmosphere from its still mostly intact hull. Maneuvering thrusters had the Battleship trying to stabilizing itself, but it looked like the maneuver had given us just enough of an edge that it hadn’t been able to avoid enough of the attack.
“We must have taken down a trunk line and sent a surge through a major grav-plate power nexus before it shut down...because that ship may look intact but she’s crippled,” reported Lieutenant Hart moments before the Battleship we’d just hit started spewing fusion cores.
“She’s striking her generators and signaling surrender,” reported my Chief of Staff.
“Close and engage,” I said, not at all disappointed with the results of our first shot.
“What’s the status on that generator?” snapped the First Officer.
“I don’t have anything, Sir,” reported the Watch Stander.
“Well bloody well find out! That bottle should have cleared the hull by now.”
Blythe shot him a level look. “Everyone down there’s too busy right now dealing with a real crisis to spend a lot of time holding my hand, Sir,” she replied.
“Listen, I’m not some rube; I spent two years in engineering. At least find out if the ejection sequence malfunctioned and we need to start abandoning ship,” growled Joe Manblaster.
Blythe nodded and turned back to her console with renewed purpose. “Will do,” she said, but the idea that my worst fear, the loss of my Super Battleship, to a Maneuver Spalding himself had warned me about, sent me into immediate action.
I opened a priority override channel and an upside down image of the Chief Engineer appeared but, before I could speak, he was already shouting
“Parkiney, I need you to get your ass over to Fusion 3, I’ve already got that moron Tucker stationed at Fusion 6. He may not be good for much but at least he knows his grav-plates,” Spalding shouted, the sound of metal clanking as the old engineer kicked something hard enough to dent duralloy.
“Spalding,” I said.
“Parkiney? Who the blazes is this? You’re not Parkiney!” Spalding roared, and then the screen righted as his furious mug appeared in the screen.
“I need a report. Do we need to abandon ship, Commander?” I barked.
“Abandon ship? What kind of sweet idea is it to interrupt the man keeping us from blowing to kingdom come?” Spalding appeared incensed. “Get off the channel!”
“I just need to know—” I started.
“I know what you need: to focus on fighting this ship,” Spalding thrust a finger at me so hard it cracked the screen of the console he was working on. “Look, the feed was cut to starve the bottle as soon a pair of monitors saw the first plate go down. There’s nothing you can do at this point. Just leave this job to the professionals, Admiral.”
“But if it could save even one life with an early warning—” I started.
“The fly is in the ointment. I warned you but no one wanted to listen to old Spalding. They think he’s past his prime, ready to be put out to pasture, well here we are again!” he said with a withering and truly disappointed look.
I couldn’t help a pang.
“Either we’ll have that thing fixed before the crew could get to the pod or we’re all destined to die anyway because there’s no way the crew could get off the ship before we went critical,” Spalding roared, “so get off this channel—and stay off!”
A moment later the screen blanked as the channel was cut on the other end.
I didn’t have time to reflect on the good and proper scolding I’d just received, because on the outside of the ship we were still engaged in a serious battle.
While I had been talking with the Chief Engineer, the enemy had already reacted. As if stung by hornets the two squadrons of Reclamation Fleet Battleships flared engines and began to run. Unfortunately for them, except for the Lucky Clover, a full squadron worth of our Battleships had overshot.
We had them bracketed, and now they had to run the gauntlet.
“I can see what they meant about taking measures but it did them no good in the end,” I reflected aloud as the Battleship we’d hit continued to drift rolling in space.
Then my face hardened.
“Tell those Battleships they are to open fire and engage the enemy,” I said.
“Aye aye, Sir,” said Hart echoed by the com-tech managing inter-fleet communications.
First, two MSP Battleships beside us turned to present their broadsides and opened fire, each laser firing as quickly as its gunner could aim.
“The Chief Engineer reports their efforts were successful. Anti-Matter 5 has been bled dry and shut down,” reported Blythe, breaking into the tense situation on the bridge.
There was a cheer as everyone began to realize they were going to stay alive.
Three more warships, this time in front of the Reclamation Battleships, added to the mix with full-fledged thundering broadsides as they opened fire.
One of the ships ahead of us failed to turn and open fire. A closer look showed its main engines inactive while its maneuvering thrusters flared full force.
“Damage report! What’s going on with our ships?” I demanded.
“The New Messene’s Shield reports that several grav-plates failed. They have casualties and their power system overloaded immediately after the Maneuver. Right now they’re trying to reroute using tertiary networks to power up their engines while damage control replaces critical relays and sections of burnt out lines.”
After the original Messene’s Shield was sent to the scrapyard, a newly-captured Battleship had been repaired and eventually renamed to replace her. But apparently her new name had done her just as much good as the last ship to bear it.
“Reclamation Battleships appear to be on a course set to avoid our squadron blocking the way,” reported Sensors.
“Instruct our forward squadron to continue to focus all their efforts on just that one ship,” I said.
“Relaying now,” replied my Chief of Staff.
“How’s that recharge coming, Weapons?” asked Manblaster.
“Two minutes to full recharge,” reported the Weaponeer.
“Will we have time to fire again before they round the horizon?” I asked.
“We’ll get off another shot with time to spare, Sir,” said Lieutenant Hart as MSP Battleships both in front of and behind hammered away at the seven remaining ships of the two enemy squadrons.
As the Reclamation Warships passed our forward squadron, they each rolled to present a broadside and all seven ships took aim at our crippled and nearly powerless Battleship and opened fire.
“Blighters!” swore the ship’s First Officer.
“Steady on, Joe. This is just the beginning,” I observed, eyes narrowing.
“Main cannon is charged and ready to fire,” Weapons reported with anticipation, “the helm has been keeping us lined up for the next shot using micro-adjustments.”
“Then by all means, Mr. Smith,” said Joe Manblaster after looking over and receiving a nod from me.
“Take them out as fast as you can, people. I’ll tell you if I have any specific targets in mind. In the meantime, feel free to use your discretion,” I said, looking first at the Weaponeer and then our Tactical Officer.
“Aye aye!” exclaimed the Weaponeer, slapping his hand on the console with a loud crack and the Clover fired a deep thrum once again starting up.
“Sir,” Hart said with a gleam in his eye.
“Messene’s Shield just suffered critical damage. Her engines aren’t just down any longer, they’ve been holed. Engineering is taking a look but Captain Eastwood has just ordered all non-essential personnel to the shuttles and escape pods,” reported Blythe.
“If he’s doing that already the Captain must not be very confident of his chances,” advised the First Officer.
I eyed him and then decided he was just trying to be helpful.
“If there’s one thing Captain Eastwood lacks, it’s not confidence. But I take your meaning, Joe. Things must be rough over there if he’s already shipping out the crew,” I said seriously and then shot a look over at the weapon’s console, wondering what was taking so long.
“An engine-down ship, no idea when exactly they’ll get it back into operation, and now taking major damage from two squadrons of other Battleships all at the same time? You’re darned skippy he’s in it tough,” said Manblaster also eyeing the weaponeer..
There was a thrum as the main gun fired again.
A round shot from the front of the Super Battleship, and in a streak of light, the formerly solid slug turned into a stream of plasma.
Once again the enemy Battleships attempted to maneuver, but we were too close and this time a Battleship right in the middle of the enemy formation took a shot right up the stern.
“That’ll show them,” Hart said with savage triumph.
“Sweet Murphy avert,” swore Manblaster as the back end of the Reclamation Battleship spewed one long line of plasma and fire as multiple explosions rocked the ship. Then, in one gigantic blast, the front half of the Battleship was sent flying toward the planetoid while the back end disintegrated. Only a few ragged pieces of duralloy remained to show it had once existed.
I winced as the six remaining Battleships continued to burn away from us as fast as they possibly could while the front half of the wrecked ship started its fall into orbit.
“Well hopefully any survivors can make it to an escape pod in time,” I said.
“After a hit like that? I doubt anyone who's still alive over there is conscious,” Joe Manblaster said looking over at me with disbelief. “Except for maybe a few Marines in power armor, I suppose. After a hit like that…” he shook his head.
I suppressed a wince. It was far too easy imagining what had happened to the crew of that ship happening to the Royal Rage. I was in a Super Battleship now but I’d been a Battleship Admiral for too long.
The MSP Battleships went full power to their engines but still weren’t able to catch up before the Reclamation Battleships rounded the curvature of the planet.
“Do you want to pursue the enemy, Admiral?” asked DuPont.
I looked at him like he was stupid and DuPont flushed.
“We can still move at 5% our normal speed just using the gravity-plate system; we can get up to 10% if we use the maneuvering thrusters as well,” the Helmsman protested.
I kept looking at him causing the Helmsman to flush.
“Oh, alright,” he said shoulders slumping.
DuPont turned back to his console muttering about making a very big mistake when he accepted a transfer to the Lucky Clover and proceeded to sulk.
“Reverse course and turn the flagship away from the direction those Battleships retreated to and prepare for anything,” I instructed, issuing coordinates via my slate, “in the meantime we’re going to assume battle formation and make a nice, easy orbit.”
“You think they’re going to come at us from another direction?” asked Manblaster.
“Oh, they’re coming all right. From where exactly is anyone’s guess,” I said, unable to calculate when or where they would come, “the Reclamation Fleet is involved in some larger campaign that doesn’t include turning away without a fight. Plus I’m pretty sure they’ve got blood in their eye for Bluetooth’s Flotilla. They’re not going to stop until we make them or every single warship involved in the ‘atrocity’ they’re accusing the New Confederation of is hunted down and destroyed.”
“Revenge,” Manblaster agreed heavily.
“You know what they say back on Capria?” I asked.
“No. What?” asked the First Officer.
“Well they say a lot of things actually. The most common is 'never go up against a Montagne when death is on the line',” I started with a smirk only to be interrupted by a loud snort.
“Pull the other leg,” said Manblaster.
“Alright, but slightly less well known,” I admitted with a flip of the fingers, “is 'if you go out to kill someone for revenge, prepare to dig two graves: one for the person you’re killing and one for yourself'.”
“Are you saying you’ve never gone out for revenge?” asked Manblaster.
My eyes hooded as I recalled the past.
“Family brings out the worst in a person,” I said in a quiet voice as I recalled my Uncle Jean Luc Montagne.
“Let’s just say I prefer justice over vengeance and vengeance over revenge whenever I could get it,” I said looking back up and giving him a penetrating glance, “whenever possible I prefer to practice mercy.”
“You are aware of your reputation among the spaceways, Sir?” asked Manblaster.
“I didn’t say I was very good at it or that I’m not even worse at winning the PR front. Fool that I was I believed that actions spoke louder than words. But as they say, if a pirate is killed in the spaceways and no one was around to see a Montagne do it, that’s almost the same as if it didn’t happen,” I admitted with a pained expression.
“That’s bunk. Your crew’s been with you for a while now and they’ve been there since the beginning. At least some of them,” Manblaster corrected himself, “a few of us joined up later. But my point stands: you’re not the only one out here.”
“No, but other than in Tracto and the Border Alliance worlds no one in Sector 25 sees what we do. That’s been partly my fault but,” I trailed off sourly, “anyway, I’ve put my Chief of Staff on an awareness and PR improvement campaign. Time will only tell if it’s too little too late, though.”
“The people will know the truth. You just have to get it out there for them to see,” advised Manblaster.
“Good advice, Joe,” I said, dismissing him.
As soon as he’d turned back to his other duties I motioned Lisa Steiner over for. “Sir?” she asked.
“Your PR videos are a good start but I think we need to expand on it. As you can, pull those members of your PR team that aren’t busy fighting the ship and have them start editing footage from our arrival in system to Bluetooth’s maneuvers and my conversation with Norfolk. If the media aren’t interested in doing the job for us, and since we’re no longer members of the Confederation Fleet with all the security restrictions that entails…” I trailed off suggestively.
Lieutenant Commander Steiner got a considering look on her face. “I can at least have tech start pulling the relevant data feeds and audio-video files for consumption. We can edit later,” she said, “but if we have it all in one place to start that’ll make it easier later on.”
“I’ll want to go over anything you release for public consumption, but I think this is a great start. In fact,” I said with narrowed eyes, “now that I’m thinking about it, we might want to start making and releasing a highlights reel of our top battles. We can start with Black Purgatory as the most recent and thus relevant and work our way back. First Officer Manblaster has a point. The public will support us but we have to do our job first and I can’t see anything better to start off with than making these press releases and dropping them off at every inhabited star system we enter.”
“Will do, Sir,” she said happily.
When I looked back up I could see DuPont had re-positioned the Lucky Clover and our accompanying Battleships had taken up position around us. All except for the hapless Messene’s Shield.
Curious about the rest of the fleet, I zoomed out minimizing local space until our Corvettes, Cruisers and Destroyers were once again visible on my screen.
Unfortunately they were still a good hour out. Which meant we were going to have to weather the storm ourselves first.
Projecting total confidence, no matter my private concerns, I assumed what I thought of as the confident Admiral’s expression and demeanor the bridge crew had come to expect from me and waited.
Over the course of the next half hour as we sat there and basically waited, in a stable orbit around the planetoid, ships started trickling in.
First a battered Destroyer, then a pair of Cruisers and two more Destroyers appeared over the horizon and, like little lost lambs seeing a shepherd, they ran for cover.
After that a small flood of ships saw us on sensors and came to the space-based equivalent of a screeching halt, rushing over to join us as fast as they could.
Occasionally a warship we couldn’t identify would round the horizon and then, just as quickly, it would turn away before we could get a good read on them.
When the remains of Rear Admiral Bluetooth’s Flotilla, including three surviving Battleships, finally limped into range of the Clover I figured we were close to getting most of the survivors. Less than twenty ships had survived the pitched battle, flight to the moon, and sprawling melee around the planetoid and not one of them was undamaged. Most of the survivors had functional engines but that’s only because those that didn’t had already been run to ground.
Sadly, at least to my mind the architect of the current disaster, Rear Admiral Bluetooth had survived. Transferring his flag twice after his flagship had been taken out, he’d escaped in the captain’s cutter, eventually taking up residence on a nearby Destroyer.
“Admiral Montagne,” started one of the com-tech, “I have a Rear Admiral Bluetooth for you. He’s calling from the sickbay of a Destroyer, the New Confederation Blaster, Sir,” he reported.
“Inform the Rear Admiral I have things well in hand, and unless he has mission-critical information about the enemy he should look after his own health first and foremost,” I said, having less than no interest in hearing from the irate Sector Guardsman.
The com-tech relayed my instructions and then winced as he proceeded to reply in one and two word syllables.
For a moment I considered taking over the conversation and sparing the spacer from the situation, but ultimately decided I really and truly didn’t have time to bandy words around with a man bad enough off that he needed to be in sickbay. Silently making a note to do something nice for the com-tech, I turned back to the main screen.
When they finally came it was only after a rapid series of half a dozen flickering contacts over a two minute period. But after those tentative scouting contacts, when they came it was clear Admiral Norfolk was here in force.
“I read nineteen Battleships broken up into two forces, one of nine and the other consisting of ten Battleships,” reported Lieutenant Hart as sensor operators continued to call out new contacts as they arrived.
As the Tactical Officer had said, the enemy split their Battleships into two groups. And although they were spread out in a slightly staggered line so that one shot from the HPC couldn’t possibly hit more than one of them, even if it punched right through a hull, what was more interesting to my mind was the screen they’d put out front.
Contrary to normal logic, while the Battleships were spread out in a line facing away from us and on either side of their fleet, the Cruisers and Destroyers were bunched up in two groups and each group was positioned to block our line of fire.
Now that I watched, although they were close together, Norfolk had clearly split his fleet into two groups and put his lighter ships out front to soak up fire.
“He’s a wily one,” I said grimly.
“What do you want us to do, Sir? Should we hold our fire?” asked Manblaster.
“Don’t wait for orders; line up your best shot and fire,” I instructed.
“Aye aye, Sir,” said the First Officer.
With a rumble, the main cannon fired and we all watched with eager anticipation as the high speed projectile turned to plasma, slammed into a Destroyer, turning it into two separate pieces, and then splattered all over the shields of the Battleship behind it.
“Reclamation Battleship is falling out of formation with heavy damage,” Hart reported in a rising voice.
There was a momentary pause, and then when a flashing red circle appeared around the Battleship on the main screen the bridge broke out into cheers.
“They can hide but it won’t do them any good, right, Weapons?” I asked with a tight smile.
“Aye aye, Admiral!” the Weaponeer said smiling with relief and a rising elation of his own.
“Don’t celebrate yet,” warned Manblaster and as we watched either a medium or Light Cruiser moved directly in front of each of the 18 remaining enemy Battleships.
“Enemy is advancing,” warned Sensors.
The Weaponeer checked his console.
“Don’t worry; we’ll get another shot in for sure, Sirs,” he said confidently.
Manblaster gave him a strict look for speaking out of turn, but I motioned with my hand for the First Officer to let it go.
Things were about to get tight and we were going to need all the enthusiasm we could muster up.
“Any orders, Sir?” asked DuPont eagerly.
“We’re going to let them come to us, Helm,” I said confidently as the main capacitor for the HPC continued to build up a full charge.
“Enemy is closing to firing range. They’re still not turning,” advised Hart.
I turned my head. “Tell our Battleship captains they can fire at will,” I said.
“Aye aye!” the tech said eagerly.
For a moment, watching the hustle and bustle on the bridge, I was taken by nostalgia all the way back to my first days running the original Lucky Clover.
Admiral Norfolk appeared to have every intention of coming straight at us. It was almost as if we’d returned to the days of infantry attacks before man had achieved star flight and, just like one of Napoleon’s columns facing a line formation, the Reclamation Fleet pressed the attack.
“If this keeps up they won’t be crossing our T, they’ll interpenetrate our lines and make an actual T-shaped battle,” warned Hart, “and then we’ll really be in it.”
“Approaching this Super Battleship is suicide,” scoffed Manblaster.
“Not if you get in close and stay there,” I said grimly.
“Your orders, Sir?” asked the First Officer.
“Stay where we are and make our next shot count,” I replied, and at the surreptitiously uncertain looks flying around the bridge exchanged by the younger crew, I added, “we’ve got twice the armor of a traditional Battleship and Duralloy II is almost twice as strong. We can shrug of the same sort of damage that would put any two Battleships out of action and continue offensive operations.”
Eyes brightened with relief.
“Don’t forget,” Lieutenant Hart reminded, “we’ve also got the laser mounts of any two Battleships…” he paused a beat, “anything other than a Caprian Battleship, that is.”
This time there were chuckles all around the bridge. If the senior crew sounded hearty and the green add-on’s who’d been on this ship from the beginning more high pitched and irregular, no one made anything of it.
Like a sledgehammer, the Reclamation Fleet under Admiral Norfolk barreled forward. Unlike the SDF Fleets of the Spine, the Imperials eschewed any of the older and much slower forward facing models like the Hammerhead class Cruisers and right now it cost them.
Other than a handful of Heavy Destroyers with a bank of forward-facing medium lasers, the best the Reclaimers could do was respond with a few light lasers originally intended for point defense.
Broadside after broadside shot out from our Battleship squadrons smashing into the Imperial screen with the sort of force that only turbo-lasers and full banks of heavy lasers could do. Destroyers were shot to pieces. Cruisers were left drifting in space and still they advanced.
The light forces—originally intended as screening force used to escort freighters, hunt down pirates and for use in fleet battles as scouting elements—were torn to pieces.
Showing the measure of their resolve, when a Light Cruiser was left drifting powerless, blocking the advance of the main body, the Battleships of the opposite column opened fire on their own Cruiser. The force of the attack and multiple hull ruptures that resulted proved just enough to push the beleaguered Cruiser out of the way.
“And so we see the measure of their resolve,” I said, my face deliberately blank. For the first time today the Reclamation Fleet was getting a taste of its own medicine, and it left a sour taste in my mouth.
“It was their choice to come at you like this, putting their weakest and most defenseless ship right in the path of your strongest warships,” Akantha placed a hand on my shoulder and reminded me.
“This is going to get interesting,” I said, looking over my shoulder and giving her a tight smile.
“It's enemies like these that give you battles you’ll never forget,” Akantha said with a glow in her eyes.
I pinched the bridge of my nose for strength and then looked back up at her. “You’re right,” I said, even though I was pretty sure we were talking about two not quite but almost separate things right now.
“Main gun is ready for action, Admiral!” reported Weapons.
“If you and the Helmsman are confident in your solution, feel free to take the shot,” I said.
“Aye, Sir,” the Weaponeer said holding a hand to his ear and speaking to someone, probably DuPont before nodding sharply. After several seconds leaning over his console the Lucky Clover the specialist thrust a finger onto his console with sudden force and once again the Super Battleship began to thrum.
There was a faint vibration and then a ball of death shot out the nose of the Lucky Clover, at first it had an angry red color and then it struck a Light Cruiser and flared into a expanding ball of fiery death.
Superheated metal shot out the side of the Cruiser and the back of the ship broke as the remainder of the plasma ball splattered against the shields of the Battleship hidden behind it. At first it looked like nothing had happened, and then as the sensors cleared I could make out more than a few places where hyper-velocity duralloy shards from the Cruiser had peppered the hull of the Battleship. I could tell because they were still sticking out of broken sections of the other ship’s armor.
“Too bad,” said Manblaster when it became clear the Battleship was going to survive the HPC round with nothing more than a few scratches and metal splinters in its side.
Then the still-spinning forward section of the Light Cruiser moved dangerously in the Battleship’s direction.
“Imperial Battleships is taking evasive maneuvers,” reported Hart in a rising voice.
“Oh, sure, they’ll destroy one of their Cruisers but when one of the important ships is in danger, then they’ll move out of the way,” Lisa Steiner huffed.
“Let’s not be hasty. We’d probably do the same if it was what was required for victory,” I warned in a quiet voice.
“We’ve never fired on our own ships just because they were in the way,” argued my Chief of Staff.
“Let’s hope the Sweet Saint keeps it that way,” I said, wondering what I would do in a similar situation. I knew I would never sacrifice civilians, but fleet personnel were a different story altogether—and forget my own crew for a minute. Would I be willing to sacrifice Bluetooth and a few of his Sector Guardsmen if that was what it took to win?
Risk them? Certainly and without hesitation. But to fire on them with my own ships? That took a whole other level of cold which I wasn’t sure I wanted to know I was capable of. I preferred to let chance and heavy lasers do the deciding for me. A man deserved a fighting chance.
The Battleship looked like it was going to clear the large former hull section of its escort Cruiser when one of our Battleships took that moment to target every one of its still visible maneuvering thrusters. They didn’t get them all, we didn't even get half, but the loss of half a dozen thrusters—all on the side facing the Cruiser section at the same time—was just enough to start that Battleship back around toward the Cruiser.
Her helmsman corrected within seconds and by the time they were once again turning back away it was too late and the spinning clump of metal that used to be the front section of the Light Cruiser smashed into the nose of the Battleship.
Clearly damaged, the Reclamation Battleship staggered back into formation moments before they hit our lines and, while it might have survived the HPC and a clash with its own Cruiser, our Battleship captains seemed determined to put an end to it.
With eight Battleships peppering its damaged front end, sinking lasers through its broken nose section and deeper into the ship it wasn’t long before the first escape pods started ejecting.
But whatever the crew might think, the captain of that ship and its gunnery department didn’t appear to be done yet, and more than thirty lasers on each side of the crippled warships fired right back into our teeth.
“Here they come,” reported Tactical Officer Hart as the Destroyers and Cruisers turned away from our line and, like a flock of birds, began to spread out.
“Tell our wallers to turn nose on to the enemy and prepare to return fire!” I ordered.
“What are they thinking?” cried my Chief of Staff.
“They want to get in close to the Clover where we can’t hit them with our main gun,” I said, thinking we’d already gone over this.
“But we’ll tear them apart. Even if they get in close,” she protested.
“It’s a numbers game,” I replied.
The double line of MSP Battleships turned just in time to meet the advancing line of Imperial Battleships and, as the first enemy waller moved to slide past them, fire and fury erupted from both sides.
The Reclamation Fleet had been forced to stay silent due to the nature of their approach but they were anything but silent now. Spitting more than forty lasers out each side of their first ship Admiral’s Norfolk’s Fleet had just given the MSP its first strong reply.
As each Imperial Battleship advanced through the sides of our Battleship squadrons, a fresh firestorm broke out.
“Commodore Druid is ordering his squadron to roll and present a new facing to the enemy,” reported Coms, “Captain Jackson is instructing his squadron to do the same.”
“Good old Rampage,” I said, recalling how the Captain had insisted on renaming the Pyramid his new command and, unlike Eastwood whose ship had been given the ‘II’ desigation, Quentin Jackson had declared he would only go into battle on a ship with the same name as his original command. “How is the new Metal Titan doing?” I asked, looking over at Officer Hart.
“Five by Five, Sir,” reported the Tactical Officer.
I nodded, “Tell the gun deck it’s about to get busy down there.”
“Will do, Admiral.”
Akantha pulled up beside me, looking like a horse too long in the stall the way she was shifting from side to side and eyeing the screen.
“Is there anything I can help you with, Protector?” she prompted.
I ran a hand over my face. My first reaction was to tell not just ‘no’ but Sweet Murphy, no. Unfortunately there was something she could do.
“If you could relay to the General that things are about to get dicey and I may have reason to call upon him later, I’d appreciate it,” I said, imagining the good a well-placed brigade of power-armored Marines could do at just the right moment.
Her eyes lit up.
“I’ll go tell him personally,” she said, pulling out a handheld comm. device and starting for the blast doors.
I shook my head wearily. Some battles just weren’t worth fighting.
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” I said as the lead Reclamation Battleships pulled even with the 1800 meter monster that was my flagship and opened fire.
“Port side shields down to 85% and holding,” reported the Shield Operator after the first enemy broadside slammed home, “no spotting or bleed-through, Sirs.”
“Good man,” said Manblaster as the shield regen brought the port side back up to 86% while he was talking, and then the lead ship on the starboard side pulled even and unloaded.
“Starboard shields at 83%% and holding. No bleed-through and no spotting, Admiral,” exclaimed the same Operator.
“Next one’s coming up!” shouted Hart as the next two Battleships in line on either side pulled even.
Roughly half the enemy warships had decided to target us, a full squadron of four to either side of the Clover. Meanwhile the remainder had turned and engaged my Battleships.
It looked like the enemy was gambling it all on overpowering the Super Battleship Lucky Clover and neutralizing her before our reinforcements could arrive.
“Eight on one without being able to bring the HPC into play, Sir. That’s long odds,” First Officer Manning said with concern.
“We’ll make it. The flagship will hold, Number One. It’s the meanest, toughest warship in the galaxy,” I said as the second pair of 500 meter Battleships opened fire, bringing our shields down into the thirty-to-forty percent range on both sides.
“Of course, Sir,” Joe Manblaster said his face assuming a stoic mask.
Hear me, baby? Hold together, I silently urged. At that moment everything was up to our Shields and Gunnery departments.
“I told you pack of whiny, overgrown, overly stout greasy, miserable excuses for grease monkey’s that the main gun of this ship didn’t matter two figs!” screamed Chief Gunner Lesner, his voice echoing over the headsets of every gunner and assistant gunner on the gun deck, “well now the enemy’s here and I was proven right—yet again.”
“It always comes down to the lasers boys and girls. Always! Now by the Sweet Saint’s wretched focusing crystal of carnage and destruction, man those lasers like you’re gunners and the not ham-handed wrench pullers you showed yourselves to be during that last volley,” Lesner declared, pausing to hawk and spit on the floor in disgust after that last declaration.
There was a growl of protest up and down the deck, causing the Chief Gunner to sneer openly.
“Oh you don’t like that? You think your tender feelings are hurt because I called an 80% hit rate at close range the work of a bunch of ham-handed wrench pullers? My fine darlings, I couldn't care less what you think,” snarled Lesner, building up a good head of outrage. “I wipe my backside with 80%! You want me to hold your hands and praise you for a miserable, no good 4 in 5 hit rate at point blank range? Well kiss my posterior! The next gunner who misses a shot can blasted well turn his or her gun over to their assistant—and you can consider that an order,” barked Lesner. “I don’t care if you’re operating a little pea shooter like a chain-gun or one of the bloody turbo’s; The next one that misses is demoted back to grease monkey until their assistant misses a shot. You’re out and everyone else moves up in rank.”
Men and women up and down the deck started taking his name in vain while their assistants immediately perked up at the chance to ride the top slot in every gun crew and get their hands on the controls.
Which only caused the Chief Gunner to smile beatifically in response. This crew was sloppy and it was divided between his old hands and the newer gunners who’d been here from the start, most of whom frankly speaking wouldn’t have been fit to work an assistant gunner position back when the Rage had been the flagship.
But the worst of it, as far as he was concerned, was the way they were turned against each other more than the idiots in Engineering or those meatheads over in Lancer country. That last he could not abide.
His veterans from the original Clover and Furious Phoenix crews were spoiled. He saw that now. They were used to working with men and women the same skill level as them, and over the years they’d gone from green freshies so ham-handed they couldn’t hit the broadside of an asteroid, to the top gun crew in the fleet. Most of the replacements since then had been the top gunners of their previous assignments, the cream of the crop. Being thrown back in with a more normal, mixed-skill group had thrown them all off-stride.
Including a certain Chief Lesner, if he was being honest, but he’d been a gunner for more years than he could easily count. He’d adjusted and now playtime was over.
The next broadside went out on time, in one solid volley—and more importantly, as far as he was concerned, with a better than 90% hit rate.
Calling it point blank range was technically true but it was also fair to point out the enemy wasn’t just sitting there for a slugfest—at least not yet, as they were still busy moving into position. But as they say: war wasn’t fair. This battle certainly wasn’t fair, and as far as the Chief Gunner was concerned Lesner had no idea why his gunners would expect him to be fair, either.
Turbo-lasers thundered like titans while the heavy-lasers' high pitched whines filled the gun deck in one righteous broadside as the Lucky Clover returned fire.
While two squadrons of Reclamation warships paired off against a similar number of MSP and Confederation Flotilla ships, the Lucky Clover was surrounded.
With four Battleships to port, running the length of the ship, and another full squadron on the starboard, Admiral Norfolk took a safe position away from the firing arc of the Clover's main cannon and opened fire.
The Chief Gunner’s console beeped at him.
“New orders from Tactical,” Lesner said, glancing down at his screen before continuing. “Alright then: all gunners target the lead enemy warship to port and starboard and concentrate your fire on those Battleships,” he roared into his microphone as he forwarded the designated targets to the rest of his gun teams. “Don’t stop until they move out of range, break in half or you’re given new marching orders—you hear me!? We’ve got to keep those blighters off our stern.”
A wordless growl echoed up and down the gun deck, and right on the heels of that another unified broadside slammed into the Battleship nearest the stern of the Lucky Clover.
“Take that—courtesy of the Spine, Sector 25 and MSP!” shouted Lesner.
Chapter 41: Reclaiming the Battle
“Man’s Domination reports their shields just dropped another 32%, Sir,” said Lieutenant Commander Xipper from his position in the Comm. department where he was coordinating the data and incoming transmissions from the rest of the fleet and the Battleship squadrons in particular.
“Flaming atoms, that’s the second time they’ve been hit that hard in as many minutes,” swore Rear Admiral Norfolk, “what’s that bring the Domination down to, 40%?”
“Thirty six percent, Sir,” reported Lieutenant Commander Xipper.
“One more hit like that and it won’t matter if their shields are technically still functional. Man’s Domination is going to start taking some serious damage,” added Norfolk’s Chief of Staff, Senior Captain Nikolai Wilkins.
“Those double weight broadsides and that crazy rate of fire are daunting,” agreed the Flag Captain in charge of Norfolk’s current flagship the RSS Manchester, “anyone who thought 'if we could just get inside the range of that main cannon we’d be fine and dandy' was clearly dreaming.”
“Watch yourself, Captain,” warned Senior Captain Wilkins warned, “this fleet is daunted by nothing. Not even the so-called Tyrant of Cold Space himself. A poncy name typical of the up-jumped provincials if ever I heard one,” he scoffed, “we’ve been dealing with the likes of this ‘Grand Admiral’ Montagne from the day we began liberating the Spine. He’s a war criminal who uses anti-matter and biological weapons to compensate for his lack of tactical ability and small reproductive organs, nothing more.”
“Enough!” Norfolk snapped as the Manchester began to ready itself for another broadside.
An immediate and respectful silence fell across the bridge.
“There’s no use fighting amongst ourselves over trifles and word choices. It doesn’t matter what Admiral Montagne is called or what he calls himself. The enemy is in front of us, gentlemen, and he requires our full attention,” Norfolk said glaring at his top officer.
“Aye, Sir,” muttered his Chief of Staff, quickly followed by the remainder of his senior officers including those who had yet to even sound off or weigh into the situation.
“Now their throw weight and recharge cycle, surprising as it is, is still hardly critical. The key right now is lowering their shields—and that we’re about to do. After that we can take our time cutting this Clover apart piece by piece,” said the Admiral.
One by one, in an almost ripple fire set roughly a half a minute apart, the Battleships surrounding the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet flagship slammed broadsides into their target.
“Enemy Super Battleship’s shields have fallen, Sir!” reported Fleet Tactical as the Lucky Clover’s shields fluctuated and then fell on both sides of the ship.
“Yes! Target those shield generators, Flag Captain,” Norfolk’s eyes narrowed before turning to communications, “my compliments to General McKraken, gentlemen, and tell him he is to prepare his people for action. It’s time to see just how lucky this Clover is,” he said with satisfaction.
“Shuttle bay doors are opening and Marines equipped with gravity harnesses are deploying from airlocks onto the hulls of the Manchester, Man’s Domination and the other Battleships of both squadrons surrounding the Lucky Clover, Admiral,” the Fleet Operation’s Officer reported looking over at Norfolk, “they await your order, Sir.”
“The order is given, Operations. Deploy our—” Norfolk started.
“Shields back up! The enemy have just raised shields!” snapped Fleet Tactical.
“What!? Belay that last order,” Norfolk barked in surprise.
“Abort! I say again: abort! Enemy shields are back up. I say again: enemy shields have not yet fallen. All Marines back to starting positions,” Operations ordered rapidly. “Operation Pile Driver is on hold. I say again Pile Driver is back on hold. Confirm receipt of this order.”
While Fleet Operations was scrambling to keep their people and Marine assault shuttles from committing suicide by driving directly into the Lucky Clover’s shields, the Reclamation Admiral stood up.
“I thought those shields were down?” Norfolk asked with a growl in his voice as he looked over at his tactical section.
“They were, Sir! But they came back up,” the Commander in charge of Fleet Tactical reported blank faced.
“Sensors?” the Admiral barked.
“It’s confusing, but…” the top Sensor Officer hesitated still staring at his screen instead of the Admiral before straightening triumphantly and finally returning eye contact, “they have a backup, Sir. Two independent sets of shield generators and, considering what just happened, a second power bank to supply it as well.”
For a moment Norfolk’s cheeks puffed out red and clearly irritated. But then he nodded and turned around.
Returning to his seat when he looked back up at his flag bridge, the irritation was gone and the Imperial Admiral was back. He’d gone from irritated to calculating and intrigued in less than half a dozen footsteps.
“He’s wilier than even I’d expected, but it won’t matter in the end. We’ll just keep hitting them; it doesn’t matter if they have three redundant shield systems, we’ll still pin this Grand Admiral’s ears back behind his head and haul him back before an Imperial tribunal. No one stands in the way of Man,” said Norfolk.
Wilkins eyed the main screen uneasily.
“The battle plot shows the rest of Montagne’s Fleet will be here in less than fifteen minutes. If we’re going to do this it needs to be now, Sir, or this is going to hurt a lot worse than we’d prepared for,” Norfolk’s Chief of Staff said urgently.
“We knew there would be losses before going into this,” Norfolk dismissed, “all we have to do is get those Marines onto the hull of that ship.”
“What if we knock one down, launch our Marines, and another one jumps back up just in time to meet our people, Sir?” asked Wilkins wiping his forehead.
“A good point. New orders to the fleet,” said Rear Admiral Norfolk, “we continue with full broadsides to knock down those shields and then deploy bucking cables, but this time I want every ship in both squadrons to fire at the same time. Let’s see just how strong that Super Battleship really is. I can’t imagine it can raise another set of shields after eight full simultaneous broadsides and with two squadrons worth of bucking cables deployed. No ship, not even that one, is that lucky.”
“It will be as you say, Sir,” replied Commander Xipper.
“I’m going to squeeze this ship like an orange and see what comes out,” Norfolk said tensely.
“Sir what about the rest of their fleet?” Wilkins asked again.
“Deploy the Rat Pack and the rest of the screen to slow them down, Commodore Serge to take temporary command. All I need is a little more time,” Norfolk said dismissively.
Chapter 42: On the Gun Deck
“Enemy is preparing to roll,” Tactical Officer Hart’s voice echoed in the Chief Gunner's ears.
Lesner stared down the sights of his targeting computer, letting everything roll off him like water off the back of a duck.
Nothing mattered but the shot.
Just then, his sights settled over a well-lit opening in the hull of the enemy Battleship and he squeezed the double handle trigger of his old style, tried-and-true turbo-laser.
“Yes,” he hissed as his laser punched through the Battleship’s shields and into the hull. An explosion immediately rocked the hull of the ship where he’d been targeting, and from the glints of light mixed in with the explosion of air and atmosphere it was almost as if he could see space-suited figures floating out into the dark maw of the void.
He started to pull his focus away when he froze. It wasn’t almost as if he could see figures. He’d been a chief gunner for a long time, those glints were the bodies of people thrown out into the void. Only no space suit he knew of would have been visible to the targeting sensors of his laser mount, not at this range, not for a metallic return like this.
There was only one kind of suit he knew that could explain what he was seeing. And if he was seeing these, how many more wasn’t he seeing?
In a flash, he released his targeting grips and grabbed the handheld receiver attached to his targeting computer.
“Mr. Hart, we may have a problem,” the Chief Gunner reported grimly.
Chapter 43: The Lucky Clover in the Thick of It
I was sitting on my throne, trying to appear cool and collected and not at all concerned with the two squadrons of Battleships so close to our hull they were practically limpet mines.
All we had to do was hold out until reinforcements in the form of the rest of the fleet arrived.
“The HPC is ready to fire,” said the Weaponeer.
“They’re hiding on the other side of our Battleships; we’ll let you know as soon as we have a target,” Manblaster said shortly.
“If you give me firing authority I can line up with the helmsman and hit one of theirs when they come out from behind one of ours,” said the Weaponeer.
“I’ll keep that under advisement,” said the First Officer.
Seeing he was getting nowhere fast the weaponeer sat back down unhappily.
I could see he was itching to put his weapon into action but for right now there was nothing that could be done.
“How are our shields doing?” I asked the shield operator.
“Not bad, Sir,” said a familiar voice, and I looked over in time to see that Junior Lieutenant Longbottom had slid into the hot seat and had taken over the shield station, “the reserve system is working as well as could be expected. The secondary bank is only able to hold 30% as much as the primary shields but they’re able to draw from the main banks which we’ve been charging.”
“Excellent,” I said brightly.
“I’m just concerned that we haven’t had a single laser on us from any of the Battleships. Oh, sure, the Cruisers and Destroyers are giving us what for, but several of their Battleships should have fired by now given their previous cycle rate,” continued the recently promoted Junior Lieutenant.
“Is that true?” I demanded.
Lieutenant Hart placed a hand to his ear and made a motion for me to wait. I stared at him, and eventually Hart looked back up.
“Sorry, Sir. An urgent message from the gun deck,” he said with concern, “the Chief Gunner reports what looked like a fair number of battle-suited figures were blasted free of the enemy flanker's hull after his last shot and he wondered if he’s seeing them how many others are out there he hasn’t seen, and wished to report it up the chain of command.”
I paused, my eyes hardening as the implications of a delayed firing rate combined with battle-suited figures penetrated.
“Ask the Chief Gunner to ready the plasma guns and prepare for point defense duty, and somebody get the General on the horn. Tell him he needs to get his people out of our shuttles and redeployed to repel boarders,” I snapped.
I just hoped that they weren’t too little too late.
“All ships report ready to fire, Admiral,” reported Operations.
“Tell them all ships are to fire in five seconds beginning on my mark,” Norfolk paused while the com-system relayed the message. “Mark.”
Almost as one, eight Battleships opened fire and broke the Lucky Clover’s shields like an egg shell. More than half the lasers slammed into the hull of the Super Battleship which, despite the incredible coordinated attack, still managed to shrug most of it off without any signs of major damage.
“Bucking cables away!” reported Engineering.
Seconds later the engineer looked back and gave the thumbs up sign.
“We have good lock,” reported the petty officer manning the bucking cables.
“Launch Marines and tell Gunnery to target those shield generators—both sets,” growled Norfolk, “this ends here. Our losses at Easy Haven will be avenged and this region of space brought into the Empire. We’ve bled too much to give up now.”
Within minutes, more than eight hundred Marines, either by shuttle or via grav-harness, launched themselves into the void from each of the eight Battleships surrounding the Lucky Clover.
“I’m going to peel you out of your shell like a crab,” muttered Norfolk, “and then we’ll see what you have to say for yourself then.”
There were going to be losses, and they were bound to be heavy getting those Marines over there but he was ready to see just how the ‘Grand Admiral’ dealt with more than six thousand Marines, all equipped with Predator Armor.
“Shields down! Automatic shutdown and reboot sequence initiated,” reported Longbottom as the Lucky Clover rocked from side to side from the fury of the enemy’s latest attack.
“Get those shields back up. If the secondary system’s rebooting, use the primary,” snapped First Officer Manblaster.
“I’m trying!” snapped Longbottom as the ship rocked again.
“We’ve just been grappled!” reported Adrienne Blythe.
“I’m reading multiple shuttles approaching at close range,” reported Sensors.
“Chain guns!” roared Manblaster, marching over to the Tactical station to help out.
“Plasma turrets and chain guns: stop those shuttles and Marines. I say again: we have Marines inbound via shuttle and grav-boards,” Hart said urgently.
“Prepare to repel boarders,” I ordered feeling a chill.
“Aye aye, Sir,” said Steiner, heading over to the Comm. section.
A red klaxon went off overhead.
“Marines are to prepare to repel boarders. All non-essential crew are to report to the Armory or your nearest weapons locker for small arms. All essential crew: stay at your post and don head-bags, attach oxygen lines, and check for good seal between your skin suit and rebreather units. I say again: prepare to repel boarders,” Lisa Steiner’s calm voice instructed via the overhead system.
While she was speaking, the blast doors leading into the flag bridge opened and an additional squad of Lancers came in to take up position on the bridge.
“What’s the ETA on our reinforcements?” I asked.
“The boats were sent ahead as you previously ordered; they’re still five minutes out. The rest of the fleet is between five and ten minutes behind them,” reported First Officer Manblaster.
“Thank you, Joe,” I said.
Now it was all up to Gunnery and the Lancer departments.
“All point defense lasers, plasma and kinetics are to stop those shuttles and battle-suits,” shouted Lesner, abandoning his turbo-laser to his assistant gunner and hurrying down the gun deck to ensure his orders were being carried out.
There was no room for mistakes here.
“Everything relies on us, people, and by the Sweet Saint I’m not going be the man to tell the Little Admiral we let him down,” barked Lesner as his short-ranged gun teams opened fire.
Metal, plasma and light laser beams swept the sky between the Lucky Clover. Shuttles exploded and large swaths of battle-suited figures disappeared, never to be seen again as they were engulfed in plasma.
Thousands died—and thousands more cleared the gauntlet for final approach.
“Chain guns!” roared Lesner, calling on the only weapons that could fire until it was aimed almost directly at the hull of the Super Battleship. In reply, the chain guns went into emergency firing mode.
Behind him, counter-fire knocked out a battery of fire-linked heavy lasers and three light laser mounts. But the Chief Gunner didn’t have time to worry about men screaming as they were bathed in super-heated hydraulic fluid.
All that mattered was defending the ship, and then the last shuttle was gone and there were no more power-armored Marines in their targeting lasers.
“Sir, what do we do?” asked an assistant gunner, leaving her mount to consult the chief gunner.
“Tell your people to put their eyes back on those Reclamation Battleships. We’ve done our part in stopping those Marines; the rest is up to the Lancer department,” Lesner shook his head.
“Aye aye, Chief,” said the assistant gunner.
“And some fool had better start getting rid of those bucking cables before I come over there and shove my foot where the sun don’t shine,” yelled Lesner.
Norfolk stared at the screen. “How many do we estimate got in to the hull?” he asked calmly.
“Of the six thousand four hundred Marines we sent over, fewer than half made it,” started the Fleet Tactical Officer who then paused and looked back up at the Admiral bleakly. “Belay that, Sir,” he said taking a breath, “two shuttles and an estimated fifteen hundred gravity-harnessed Marines made it to the hull.
“Eighteen hundred men...that’s less than a third,” Chief of Staff Wilkins said, closing his eyes reverently. “It was a massacre.”
“At least they’ll have a few boarding tubes with them,” said the Flag Captain.
“It was also far less than even our best case estimates say would be needed to take that Super Battleship. We have no choice but to send in the second wave. It’s time to call in the reserves,” Norfolk said grimly.
“But sir, if we send in the second wave we’ll have entirely stripped our Battleships of any defense force. If they counter board we won’t be able to stop them,” warned the Captain of the Flagship.
“We don’t have a choice,” Norfolk said steadily.
“Aye aye, Sir,” said Commander Xipper as he turned to pass along the orders to the rest of the fleet.
Within minutes, an additional four hundred Marines threw themselves off the ship and into the gap between the Lucky Clover and the Reclamation Battleships.
Even as they were passing in between ships, the first of the bucking cables lashing the vessels together was targeted and destroyed by MSP guns.
“Here they come again! Up the Gun Deck, down the Empire,” shouted Lesner right before every light weapon in the broadside once again opened fire.
Once again it was a slaughter, and once again several hundred Marines, in this case less than a thousand, made it across.
While their lighter brethren had been fighting to defend the Clover, the larger lasers hadn’t been silent and yet another broadside slammed into the lead enemy Battleships. Only this time the port side Battleship didn’t just soak up the damage, it rocked with secondary explosions and fell out of formation.
For a long moment, the Chief Gunner stared at the big gaping hole in the side of the ship where one of its fusion generators used to be housed—and he grinned like the Demon himself.
Then, wiping his face free of expression, he rounded on the gun deck with a scowl.
“Only one ship?” he demanded, striding over to the nearest heavy laser mount, “only one? We can do better than that!”
“There she goes, Sir,” reported Lieutenant Hart as the first enemy Battleship was taken out of action and the second lead ship on the starboard side released its bucking cables and belatedly began to roll.
“Good. What’s the status of the Lancers and Marines?” I asked intently.
“General Wainwright reports they’re holding the enemy on the hull of the ship, so far at least,” said Steiner from her position in Communications.
Over the next several minutes, the first company of enemy Marines cut their way into the hull—where they were promptly slaughtered by a defense company headed with Devastator class battle-suits—and were promptly forced back onto the hull.
The fighting was going back and forth out there as the enemy tried to force a breach and then began advancing on the front and rear of the ship.
“They intend to target the HPC and our engines,” advised Manblaster.
“This isn’t my first rodeo. But thanks for the advisement,” I said, more worried about the exact location of my wife right then than I was the condition and safety of the main gun.
All around the Lucky Clover, the battle whirled as the Reclamation Fleet’s lighter units devastated the remaining Flotilla warships, taking out everything larger than a Destroyer—and half the Destroyers as well.
For their part, our Battleships were giving almost as good as they were getting and when you added in the damaged Flotilla Battleships, we were actually holding our own.
For what seemed like forever, but must have been less than five minutes, the battle raged both inside, outside and on the hull of the ship, and then Steiner made a shocking announcement.
“I just picked up a message: Rear Admiral Bluetooth is ordering his surviving warships to withdraw if they can do so safely. He says they’ve done their job and it's time to let the MSP do the rest of the dying here today,” she said.
“That blighter,” said Manblaster, turning red in the face.
“It almost doesn’t matter anymore,” I dismissed. The leading edge of the rest of our fleet was almost here and I wasn’t convinced the Reclamation warships would let the rest of them go anyway even if they wanted to turn tail and run like cowards, “order them to stay if they want to live since their best chance is with us, and then let them do whatever they want.”
I turned back to the main screen, where the leading formation of more than two hundred and fifty boat-class gunships was just about ready to slam into the rear of the enemy formation like Saint Murphy’s Hammer.
Within seconds the boats once again proved hundreds of light lasers, when all applied on the same target, could cut a hole in the enemy’s screening units—even if they were Cruisers—pretty quickly. Minutes later, the gunboats had carved up three larger warships and were nearing the battle taking place around the Lucky Clover.
“Let’s see if they want to hold still for this,” I said, eyeing Norfolk’s Battleships as the gunboats reached us and the first of our Destroyers, Cruisers and Corvettes arrived, forcing the enemy’s screening units to give up the chase on the boats and turn at bay or risk up-the-kilt shots on their engines.
“Turnabout is definitely fair play,” I said coldly.
“Blast,” Norfolk cursed. The reports from the Marines hadn’t been encouraging, they’d probably be able to block that big cannon in the front of the ship but the attack on the rear engines had stalled out and they weren’t getting anywhere on the inside. Montagne must have been a paranoid bugger because even with three thousand Marines on their hull his onboard defense force hadn’t been close to outnumbered.
On top of that, more than two hundred gunboats were threatening his rear and his screen was engaged with a fresh force of enemy units.
This was rapidly turning from a knockout punch to a battle to the death...and one he wasn’t certain he could win. Either way, the Reclamation Fleet, win or lose, would be finished as a Sector-conquering force.
“What are your orders, Sir?” asked Senior Captain Wilkins.
For several hot moments, Rear Admiral Norfolk considered ordering his Battleships to ram the Lucky Clover after telling the rest of his forces to fight to the death. But then the moment passed and he took a deep, steadying breath. He could still win this if he played it right' there was no need for a suicidal charge guns blazing.
That said, a good ramming event might sacrifice one or two ships but it would put this beast in front of him out of commission for a while…
He gave himself a shake. “If we wait here those boats are going to tear our engines out of their housings and a lot of good men are going to die for nothing. Prepare to cut us loose,” he ordered.
“But if we let go our grapples we’ll be at the mercy of that monster over there,” pointed out the captain of the flagship.
“Release them anyway, and tell General McKraken everything rests on the actions of our Marines forces now,” Norfolk said bleakly, his mind already racing with calculations. “Our mission orders, recently updated by Admiral Davenport, are to conquer the Spine or withdraw if our forces prove insufficient. We are not to get ourselves killed for no reason.”
“But,” protested Wilkins, “we can still win this!”
“I don’t doubt that,” Norfolk said as the lead Battleship on the starboard side took heavy damage and was rocked by internal explosions. That hurt. He could have ordered all hands to abandon ship and sent it straight at that big titan.
“But we have our orders. The regular navy is here and the Admiral will take care of things. We are to hold as much of this Sector as we can but we are not to get ourselves destroyed doing it,” Norfolk said slowly. “Cheer up. At least we got the blighters who got our dependents. I doubt one in ten will walk away from this battle. That Confederation Fleet is finished as a fighting force,” he added, still intent on destroying the Lucky Clover no matter what words his mouth was spewing for public consumption.
One of the first rules you learned in the Imperial Navy: never telegraph your moves, especially when you intended to ask forgiveness later on. Well, he’d ask forgiveness if he had to. He had no intention of getting a lot of good men killed for nothing. On the other hand, if it was for a worthy cause, then that’s just what he, they, and the rest of the Reclamation Fleet had signed up for.
“Aye, Sir,” said Wilkins.
“Now cut those bucking cables and pull back. We’ve got to defend our engines,” said Norfolk, “if we stay put we’re going to lose our engines for sure, then all that big bruiser has to do is pull away and take us out one by one. So get moving and do it—now!”
“Aye aye, Sir,” said Xipper.
I watched with satisfaction as the six remaining Battleships released their bucking cables and pulled away from us to face the gunboats.
“Turn and pivot the ship. I want a target,” I ordered.
“Sir, the General reports the enemy on the hull are outside the firing port for the HPC!” reported Steiner.
I started. “Acquire a target and fire. Now! Before we lose the main gun,” I ordered quickly.
“But, Sir!” protested Manblaster.
“With pleasure,” said the Weaponeer, slapping a hand on the firing button, obviously not interested in waiting to hear the order a second time.
There was a deep thrum followed by the deck plates vibrating, and the temporarily unignited plasma ball shot out the front of our ship at a fraction of C. Due to the extremely close range, my eyes hadn’t had time to properly focus or really register the movement when a massive explosion rocked the screen.
“E = mc^2,” breathed the Weaponeer as an enemy Heavy Cruiser exploded. When the sensors cleared, a good third of the center of the ship had just disintegrated, leaving the front and back third still attached by a thin line of metal.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Longbottom cheered.
I shot him a sideways look. “Steady as she goes, Shields,” I said tartly.
“Aye, Sir,” he replied, giving me a look and then ducking his head
An alarm started going off on the weapon’s console. “Something’s jammed the HPC!” reported the Weaponeer, looking like someone had just killed his baby as he mashed buttons on his console.
“It looks like they must have used some kind of explosive charges to weld the retractable hatch open,” Adrienne Blythe chimed in, “the starboard side isn’t responding to my override.”
The First Officer and I eyed each other.
“Let’s try to keep those hatches shut then,” I said crisply, “the last thing we need is enemy Marines crawling into the ship and tearing up the internal working of the HPC.”
Adrienne Blythe’s brows rose sharply. “I can see how that would be important,” she said, turning back to her console, “override locks engaged and, just for good measure, I’m powering down the launch system.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” I agreed as the gunboats reached the first of the reclamation Battleships.
“Four Battleships to port and starboard have turned away but the rear ships on either side have turned.
“Mr. Hart,” I said with alacrity, “why don’t you help those boats find the best targets?”
“On it, Sir,” he replied as our gun deck once again cut loose.
“Mr. DuPont, why don’t you see what you can do to help out?” I said.
“I thought you’d never ask,” DuPont said with a grin, “they may have borked the bow but there’s no reason we can’t reverse polarity and see about getting our broadside into a better position.”
As the capacitors continued to charge and the gunboats moved en masse to target the first Battleship on Hart’s list, I sat back and steepled my fingers.
All that was left was to wait as my bridge crew and Marines fought for our lives.
Oh, and to keep my eyes open for opportunities.
“Go around the side,” ordered Akantha as the commando company accompanying her reached her position.
“My Lady, you need to slow down so that your guards can catch up with you,” the Company Commander panted as he threw himself behind the same antenna array as Akantha.
“No time for that, Captain,” Akantha said distantly as she extended a portable sensor around the edge of the array and spotted a war band set up near the firing port for the HPC. They had at least six crew-served portable cannons and what looked like some kind of explosives they were setting up around the firing port, “we’re going to have to move. Now!”
“But Lady Akantha, our Devastator suits are still trying to catch up!” protested the Captain as Akantha picked up a giant tower shield she’d had crafted specifically for these sorts of circumstance. Holding it up so her head and just about everything except her feet were covered, she advanced on the enemy.
“Blasted royalty think they can control everything including the enemy,” snapped the Captain, “Lieutenant Palmer, Sergeant McClary: after her!”
“Sar!” shouted McClary, rushing forward with a quad of black space commandos and the Lieutenant in tow.
A hailstorm of blaster fire rained down on the Sergeant and his team. A lucky shot to the face plate knocked the Lieutenant spinning off the hull as blood spewed out from his ruined helmet.
Meanwhile, Akantha continued to charge in that loping stride required for external hull walks.
“Messene and the Lucky Clover!” she cried, ignoring several kinetic strikes against the tower shield that tried to push her backwards.
Reaching the enemy, she threw the tower shield forward and released the magnetic lock holding fast her Dark Blade.
“MEN!” she cried, slashing deep into the arm of an Imperial Marine.
A shoulder-charge knocked another free from the hull and, using the flat of her blade, she smacked him toward a crew-served ion cannon swinging her way. The Imperial battle-suit jerked spasmodically before locking solid as it was hit with repeated ion blasts.
“Take this,” Akantha snarled, pulling free a string of four plasma grenades and tossing them at the crew served weapon.
The explosion that followed vaporized half the cannon and sent the entire team flying.
“Forward!” she cried, pointing to where a team of four quads were still placing explosive charges when there was a flash of light, “don’t stop- (Cough)” she blinked in surprise at the sight of blood spots splattered over the lower half of her visor.
She tried to raise her blade and her suit locked up.
“What?” she asked, surprised by a flash of pain in her lower back that followed. It was almost as bad as when she had gone into labor.
“Hold still, my Lady,” the Captain’s voice came distantly, as if through a tunnel even though on some conscious level she could tell he was shouting over the com-link.
“Emergency patch applied,” reported the Sergeant.
“She’s still leaking air, McClary,” shouted the Captain of the Black Space Commandos as flashes blinked all around them. “Somebody get a hold of that hatch she was using as a shield!”
“Roger,” replied a commando she didn’t recognize.
“I can’t get good seal around this sword, Sir,” reported the Sergeant in a tense voice.
“Don’t tell me what you can’t do, Sergeant,” barked the Captain, “don’t you dare—and don’t even think about pulling that blade out. Patch that hole so we can get her inside or I won’t be alone when I march up to the Admiral to tell him what happened to his blasted wife! Do you read me, McClary?”
“I’ve got a can of space foam for emergency hull patches. It’ll stop the pressure leak, be a job and half to scrape off later but it’ll work,” the Sergeant said after a moment.
Akantha realized they were talking about her and looked down to see the tip of a sword sticking out of her midsection.
“A platoon has reached the edge of the firing port. We need backup, Captain,” reported someone over the coms, “one more push and we’ve got them.”
“By all that’s unholy, where is her Life Guard unit!” the Captain said with palpable frustration. “All units except the headquarters fire team: advance in support of A platoon. I say again: all units advance!”
“Charlie Alpha this is Charlie Horse. I say again Alpha this is Horse. Where are my Devastators? They were rerouted to support a battalion level push but I’m already at the port and we’re taking heavy casualties. Give me back my heavy platoon!” barked the Captain as everything around Akantha faded away.
“More Jacks are reinforcing this group from the other port side of the hull, Captain. We’re being pushed backkkk…!” cried a voice that ended in a gurgle.
“The Diatribe just lost her starboard shields,” reported Fleet Operations.
“Order the Humbolt and Man’s Regret to fall back and address the engines on that beast. We need to take the pressure off the rest of Vorpal Force. The rest of our units—including your ship, Captain—are to pull away and rejoin the screen,” ordered Norfolk barking out orders to try and salvage something from this mess and regain the initiative. “Those boats are getting too frisky by half!”
“Captain Tuvok reports the Diatribe is now taking engine damage, Admiral,” reported Commander Xipper from communications, “he says if he doesn’t get some kind of support he won’t be able to maneuver inside two minutes.”
Norfolk’s eyes burned as he turned to glare at the image of the Super Battleship that still dominated his screen.
“Tell Tuvok if he can’t report better news inside of thirty seconds he is to set the Diatribe on a collision course with the CSS Lucky Clover II and abandon ship,” the Rear Admiral said finally.
“Sir?” Senior Captain Wilkins asked with alarm.
“Mark my words: Montagne will bathe in the fires of his own anti-matter before this day is out, but Sweet Man I’ll be good and blasted if I’ll ask a full crew of our own to go out with him!” Norfolk snapped. “We’ll just have to take our chances with the autopilot.”
“I don’t think that’s what your Chief of Staff was asking when he—” started the flagship captain.
“I know what he meant and I mean what I said. Relay the order, Commander,” Norfolk growled looking over at Commander Xipper.
“A-aye aye, Rear Admiral,” said Xipper.
“Look at them run!” chortled DuPont, fist pumping as the Lucky Clover slid back from the force of firing the main cannon and four of the six enemy Battleships turned to run bucking cables streaming behind them.
One of them in particular was now being swarmed by our gunboats, and despite our guys taking several dozen losses they soon had the Battleship’s shields down. Then they moved onto its engines.
“Tell the boats as soon as they’ve reduced her engines to 10% or less they are to move onto the next ship. If we can catch those Reclamation Battleships with their shields still low from their encounter with us, we can knock the stuffing out of these Imperials,” I ordered with satisfaction. “And let’s see if we can’t give those ships a scare. Line us up for another shot from the HPC, Mr. DuPont.”
“We can’t actually fire, Sir,” DuPont replied, though already working his console.
“They don’t know that,” I said with a confident expression.
“Gunboat Leaders report message received and acknowledged,” Lieutenant Commander Steiner reported as the boats continued to blast the rear end of their target.
“Enemy Battleship is coming about,” reported Hart, highlighting the ship the boats were tearing apart. But as I looked at the screen I saw the two stern-most Battleships were maneuvering in a different direction from the others.
“Tactical, why do I have two Battleships advancing to my rear considering the rest of them at least tried to run away?” I asked sharply.
“Most likely they’re making a play for our engines, Sir,” reported the Tactical Officer.
“Then take care of it, Lieutenant,” I ordered.
“Shields,” barked Hart, reaching for his microphone to Gunnery.
“On it,” said Junior Lieutenant Longbottom.
“That Battleship is adjusting its trajectory…it looks like it’s on a collision course!” course reported Shepherd.
“Mr. DuPont!” I snapped.
“Our secondaries barely move us,” the Helmsman said with frustration even as he activated them.
Like a group of geese, the three Battleships still moving away from us scattered by adjusting course to stay outside our line of fire.
“Weapons, how long before we can engage the main engine?” I asked calmly.
“Another two minutes thirteen seconds until capacitor charged, Admiral,” reported the Weaponeer.
“That ship is adjusting course to match. Even with their engines damaged, they’re still too fast for this slug,” DuPont reported mashing the console buttons to push in reverse as he struggled to get every erg of speed out of the ponderous leviathan that was the new and improved Lucky Clover.
“Steady on, Helm,” Manblaster said smartly.
“Tell the gunboats to redouble their efforts,” I ordered. I didn’t think that a five hundred meter plus Battleship slamming into our eighteen hundred meter Super Battleship was going to do them any favors, but I just as certainly didn’t want to see what we’d look like afterwards.
Far better for all concerned if we just avoided the entire situation.
The Reclamation Battleship continued to approach from the starboard side while the other two advanced to our rear and opened fire.
“Shields dropping. We are taking fire,” reported Longbottom.
“Should I have gunnery focus everything to starboard or do you want us to target one of the ships to our rear, Sir?” asked Lieutenant Hart.
I hesitated for a moment and then stiffened. “I believe in excess of two hundred boats can handle any difficulties to starboard, and if they cannot then our broadside isn’t going to make a difference. Tell the Chief Gunner to pick a target and get ready to tear into one of those ships behind us, Tactical,” I said.
“Aye aye,” said Hart.
The Battleship on a collision course continued to take fire to the point it looked like only her maneuvering jets and thrusters were still operational.
I started to breathe a sigh of relief when I realized the ship was still coming toward us—fast.
“Lieutenant Hart!” I said.
“Sorry, Sir. The boat wings report they’ve knocked out her engines but she’s already built up a good head of steam. Forward momentum is carrying her toward us now just as much as her maneuvering jets,” said the Tactical Officer.
“Can we increase the speed or our advance to the rear, Mr. DuPont?” I asked tensely as the Battleship inched closer on the screen, seeming almost close enough to touch.
I tensed even further when a swarm of escape pods and shuttles began abandoning ship, but the Battleship on a collision course continued to advance with no sign it intended to stop.
My eyes rolled around the battle plot to where the Furious Phoenix was leading the charge into the advance guard of Reclamation light warships. The Phoenix was currently exchanging blows with a Heavy Cruiser so it didn’t look like she or any of her companions were going to make it over here in time.
My eyes swept over local battlespace again and then snagged on the main battle line between our Battleship squadrons and theirs. One of our ships had abandoned the line, leaving his comrade to take on two of theirs and was rapidly advancing in our direction. It also didn’t look like it was about to slow down any time soon.
******************************************************************************
	“Quick, get her out of that battlesuit,” barked the Doctor as soon as Lady Akantha was rushed into Medical on a hover cart.
	“The sword, Doctor!” cried the Sergeant who’d escorted the Lady back into the ship.
	“Pull it out on my mark and get that suit off ASAP,” ordered the Doctor.
Akantha’s body arched and she cried out in agony as the sword was withdrawn in one swift, power-assisted motion and the battlesuit’s emergency release was activated, causing it to fall to pieces around her.
“Cut off her clothes,” snapped the Doctor to one of his medical assistants as he ran a sensor wand over her.
Leaping into action, the assistant went to work with a knife and a pair of scissors as blood started to pour out of a hole in the Hold-Mistress.
“Tank!” ordered the medical officer.
“Is she going to be okay, Doc?” pleaded the Sergeant.
“That vibro-blade halfway severed her descending aorta when it was pulled out. It’s a miracle she’s still alive. If you’d tried to remove it in the field I guarantee you she wouldn’t be,” the Doctor said, typing frantically into his medical interface before leaning down and stabbing a six inch needle into Akantha’s open sword wound.
“Ready, Sir,” said the Medical assistant, maneuvering a tank next to the hover-pallet.
“Prepare for transfer! One-two-three,” ordered the Doctor, and in one coordinated movement the Hold-Mistress of Messene was transferred into the tank.
	“Is she going to make it, Doctor?” repeated the Sergeant.
“The surgical heal will close up the aorta and that tank will pump her so full of oxygen, nutrients and new blood there’s no way she’ll experience death, paralysis or even significant necrosis so long as someone trained is able to program the tank,” the Doctor said grimly, “you’re fortunate you got her to me when you did. As it is, she’ll be out of the tank and back on her feet inside of three days. Maybe two.”
“Thanks, Doc!” the Sergeant said with relief. He didn’t know what he would have told the Admiral if his wife died on the Commandos' watch.
Chapter 44: Desperate Measures
“I don’t know why you should get all the fun, Commodore,” sneered the ship captain on his screen, “you’ve got command of the squadron. Your place is here. Far better to cut me and my ship loose while you hold things together here.”
“Do you understand my orders, Captain Jackson?” he asked frostily.
“I don’t see what my understanding has to do with you hogging all the glory, Druid,” Captain Rampage snapped, “my crew’s been in tighter situations than this and pulled through before. We’ve got a proven track record. Just give us the order and we’ll seal up those Imperials and wrap them in a bow for you and the Little Admiral.”
“Time is of the essence,” Commodore Druid of the MSP said firmly and then at Captain Quentin ‘Rampage’ Jackson’s mutinous look added, “I’ve got this, Captain. You just hold the line here.”
“Not a problem. Even if I have to wreck this ship, too, not a one of those enemies will get past the Metal Titan,” Captain Rampage said seriously. “Good luck, Commodore.”
“We’ve got something better than luck. As we’re about to prove, the old crew of the Parliamentary Power has got skill—something we weren’t able to showcase when the old Invictus Rising got the jump on us. But we’ll showcase it now,” he said with finality.
This was his shot. His one opportunity to set the record right and wipe free the stain of the Parliamentary Power’s loss from his record and from the legacy of the crew. It was 'do or die,' and by all the demons of the netherworld they were ready.
“We are Murphy’s fly and it’s time to spill some ointment,” ordered Druid, snapping orders as his ship pulled free from the battle line and engaged its engines. “Tell the Chief I need one hundred and ten percent on the engines, Mr. Shapiro,” instructed the Commodore.
“Aye, Sir,” agreed the stout little man before passing the orders.
“And stay frosty with those bucking cables, Benjamin,” he said flatly, “there’s no way that Battleship rams the Little Admiral’s flagship on my watch. No way in all the blazes.”
“I’ll handle it personally, Sir!” said the Engineering Watch Stander on the Bridge.
“See that you do,” instructed Commodore Druid, turning eyes of iron on the enemy ship in his targeting reticule.
Some men might think he was after, glory but the Commodore knew something most of those would forget. This battle hinged on the Super Battleship Lucky Clover II and it would be won or lost on whether or not it could survive the next few minutes.
“Oh, and somebody inform the Admiral that we’re coming. But if he asks, I’m unavailable,” said Druid because no one, not the little Admiral of the MSP himself, was going to stop them now.
Chapter 45: End Maneuvers
“Gunboats report total engine annihilation. It’s down to maneuvering thrusters over there,” reported Lieutenant Commander Steiner.
“Annihilation, my hairy left foot! They may be shut down but there have been no explosions in the stern of that ship,” growled the First Officer.
“I’m just relaying their message to the Admiral,” Lisa snapped back.
I opened my mouth to calm the situation, but before I could speak I was interrupted by Lieutenant Shepherd’s dire interjection.
“They may have taken out its engines but that Battleship is still on ramming course. Given our current speed and those maneuvering thrusters, it’s going to be tight—real tight. I’m not sure if we’re going to escape,” said the Navigator.
“Belay that sort of defeatist talk, Nav,” ordered Manblaster, “with Mr. DuPont at the helm we’re going to slide past that enemy Battleship easier than a greased pig in a hog-catching contest.”
“That’s the ticket,” I said, clouting Joe Manblaster on the shoulder. This guy was proving to be a much better First Officer than Tremblay had been even on his best day...and that man hadn’t had a lot of good days.
DuPont looked over and visibly pasted a weak smile in our direction, silently giving his own opinion on the likelihood of our great escape, and quickly turned back to his console.
Like a linebacker who’d cleared the O-line, the Reclamation warship continued its slow and ponderous charge. If there had been any notion before this that they intended to veer off at the last moment, it was now gone as far as I was concerned. These people were committed and worse, at this point there were only a trickle of escape pods leaving her.
Contrasting that, Commodore Druid’s ship was doing the Battleship equivalent of a bat out of Hades—and it hadn’t slowed down a wink.
“Is the Commodore still refusing hails?” I asked my Chief of Staff.
She put a hand to her ear, spoke, and then turned to me.
“His staff says he’s still too busy to come to the vid-link,” she reported.
I shook my head as our gunnery department continued to slam broadside after broadside into the enemies to our rear, and our Shield Operator continued to call out an ever-decreasing shield percentage.
If we could pull through this then we could blast free the front firing port of the Clover and lay waste to the battlefield. If we couldn’t stop the ram attack, or if those ships to our rear shot down our shields and crippled our engines, everything would still be in doubt if not lost entirely.
It looked like we were about to see the measure of the MSP’s resolve pitted against that of the Norfolk’s Reclamation Fleet. Tensing up despite myself, I wondered just who was going to win this battle of wills.
Chapter 46: The Final Confrontation
“Hold steady, men,” I said gripping the arms of my throne with white knuckled fingers.
Like watching a train wreck there was nothing I could do as DuPont worked the helm and the enemy Battleship entered danger-close range.
“This is going to be tight,” I said, and then feeling the ever green eye in the room on me forced myself to visibly relax and present an image of total confidence.
Silently chastising myself for the lapse, I reminded myself that I wasn’t surrounded only by the veteran crew on my flag bridge, I was once again running a command bridge and half my crew weren’t hardened veterans.
Like an angel of doom, all I could do was watch as our gun deck switched targets and half our lasers, all of the ones on the side of the ship facing the ram attack, opened fire in one last ditched attempt to ward off the inevitable.
The Commodore’ s ship was rushing forward with all its might, but was simply too far to come. 'Nearly there' wasn’t 'actually there,' after all.
“I just ran the numbers again and I don’t think they’re going to make it in time, Sir,” said Shepherd heavily, “that slight downward jog they did so they can come up slightly underneath the enemy cost them too much time.”
“The Commodore did his best,” I said steadily, “there was no point in getting here only to drive their ship into us too.”
“That was never an issue,” muttered the Navigator.
Apparently as able to run the numbers as we were, Druid’s flagship suddenly put on a burst of speed as its main and secondary engines flared even brighter and its maneuvering thrusters flared to sudden life.
“They’re moving too fast. I don’t see what they’re trying to do. There’s no way they’ll survive a counter ram at that speed and they haven’t launched a single escape pod,” observed First Officer Manblaster, “if this was an attempt to scare them off, I don’t think it’s going to work.”
“Steady on, Joe. I expect Druid is about to give us all a surprise,” I said. He’d better be, I silently added. I was not at all liking the feeling that the battle space I was operating in was out of my control. The new and improved Lucky Clover was proving to be even more of a slug than a regular Battleship, and I wasn’t liking it at all. The otherwise overwhelming main armament was proving to have several decided drawbacks.
“Not a problem, Admiral,” said Manblaster.
“Enemy Battleship will impact the ship in 10-9-8…” Shepherd started to call out.
“How long until our main engine fires, Weapons?” I asked quickly.
“Twenty seconds, Sir,” Weapons said in a high-pitched voice.
I looked over to make one last fatalistic comment, only to see an otherwise calm First Officer facing the main-screen with his eyes closed.
Shaking my head, I decided to dispense with the witty repartee and turned back to face the screen. If I was about to die or be knocked unconscious, I intended to face it with my eyes fully open.
Then, like an avenging angel of mercy, Druid’s ship shot past with bucking cables launching out from the spine of his ship. For a moment they hung in space, looking like a clean miss, before snagging on the nose of enemy Battleship.
“That won’t do any—” Shepherd started pessimistically right before the cables snapped with a violent jerk that sent Druid’s Battleship shooting sideways and off-course for any kind of intercept. However, not before the movement revealed a half dozen shuttles hidden behind the body of Druid’s Battleship—shuttles that were not moved off-course and which slammed into the Reclamation Battleship at high speed.
As Druid’s ship barreled right over the top of our rear end, close enough to scrape a good five percent on our shields, a massive explosion rocked the screen and the enemy ship was forced into a twisting, end-over-end roll that took out the rest of our shields on the starboard side and then just barely cleared the top of our hull.
“Starboard shields are gone,” Longbottom yelped.
“We’re alive!” Manblaster shouted in what sounded like disbelief.
“We’re also taking fire,” snapped Petty Officer Blythe, “the Battleship to our starboard stern is continuing to press the attack.”
“No rest for the weary,” I said with a hungry expression. “Tell Spalding to blast free our forward facing firing port and you’d better start charging that capacitor, Weapons.”
“The capacitor is fully charged, Sir,” replied the Weaponeer.
“Mr. DuPont!” I said, looking at the Helmsman sharply.
“On it, Sir,” he said, every thruster on the ship suddenly flaring.
“Let’s see if we can’t take some of the pressure off the Metal Titan,” I bared my teeth.
“I’m closing the main engine port before we lose it,” reported Blythe.
“Good call,” I nodded.
“Target acquired,” reported Weapons.
“Fire!” I shouted, pounding the arms of my throne.
There was a deep thrum, and moments later a fiery ball of death shot forward, striking an enemy Battleship in the stern.
She wasn’t totally destroyed, but that was one ship that was going nowhere fast.
“Scratch one Battleship, Admiral,” DuPont said gladly as the force of the blast, assisted by his control over our grav-based secondary engines, slid us abruptly backwards in space and not-coincidentally brought both of the ships to our stern within our firing arc.
“The Commodore reports he’s coming around but it’s going to take him a couple minutes to get back in the fight,” my Chief of Staff reported from her position in the com-department.
“Stay focused, people. This battle isn’t over til it’s over, and we don’t stop until the fat lady starts her singing,” I said, slapping the side of my throne happily.
“I suggest we send in the gunboats to help relieve the difficulty to our stern,” advised First Officer Manblaster.
“Make it so, Joe,” I said.
The enemy ships to our front hurriedly activated their engines, maneuvering fast to get away from our main gun and back to our rear.
Despite the best efforts of the boats, they were successful in returning to our blind spot. And this time both of them did their best to harry us and destroy our engines from the starboard side.
Unfortunately for them, the Clover wasn’t just built tough, she was built to last in exactly this sort of engagement. They took out our starboard shield generators and damaged the blast doors covering our main engine’s exhaust port, but five minutes after our previous shot the gunboats, with the help of our starboard broadside, were through their shields and the main gun was once again ready to fire.
“Gunboats report it’ll take ’em a little awhile to reduce this pair to the scrap metal they’re supposed to be, but they say they’re still game, Sir,” Lisa Steiner reported steadily.
“Fire when ready,” I commanded, and I’d barely finished speaking when the main gun spoke again.
Apparently a couple of people are eager, I thought, glancing at the Weaponeer and our Helmsman before looking back over at the gunboat force on our main-screen. It had thinned out considerably, by at least another fifty boats if I was any judge, and I did my best to hide a wince.
“Thank you for the update, Lisa,” I said gravely as I pulled up a count on my computer showing there were only 156 still active gunboats remaining, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take our boat commanders up on that offer. Tell them as soon as they finish taking the engines of these two out of the picture, they’re free to return to their carrier to rest up and rearm.
“I will tell them that, Sir,” said my Chief of Staff. I hated to ask it, but the fact was as soon as their engines were down we could get out of range and this battle would be close to in the bag.
“A hit!” declared Weapons as another enemy Battleship fell out of formation and broke in half.
“I told you: all you needed was someone who can work the helm properly,” DuPont puffed up as another Battleship fell out of formation. “Let’s focus on the next target.”
Looking at the screen, I saw the three Battleships that had pulled away were now pointed at us and advancing rapidly.
“Tell the Metal Titan and the other three members of their squadron we could use some assistance. Have them disengage and return to help us out with the remnants of that bucking cable force. We can handle the ships in front of us while they deal with the remnants,” I said.
They could stand off those ships to our rear which meant that unless Norfolk sent another ship to ram us, we had this battle in the bag.
Chapter 47: Norfolk in Fury
“Admiral, we must withdraw, Sir!” advised Senior Captain Wilkins in a rising voice.
“Never! Montagne dies today,” roared Norfolk, “the blood of our spacers cries out for vengeance. Captain,” he said turning to the flag captain in command of his flagship, “set a course for that Super Battleship. Ramming speed!”
The Flag Captain blinked.
“Sir! That’s a direct violation of our orders. You yourself said if the battle was lost we were to withdraw,” protested Wilkins.
The Rear Admiral pulled out his sidearm and held it with the muzzle facing the floor.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve had someone question my orders in the middle of a fleet battle,” he coldly reminded his Chief of Staff.
“But High Command…,” Wilkins paled, trailing off as Norfolk raised his weapon.
“My order stands.”
The Flag Captain cleared his throat. “I’m afraid this ship will not be engaging in any suicide mission today, Sir. As your Chief of Staff said, we have orders to withdraw. This ship will not be ramming anyone,” said the Flag Captain.
Norfolk whirled. “Either he dies or I die,” said Norfolk, leveling his weapon.
There was a flash as a weapon discharged. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” sighed the Flag Captain.
“You just shot the Admiral,” gaped Wilkins as Norfolk collapsed to the floor.
“I’m acting on the personal orders of Admiral Davenport and Imperial High Command, and so are these Marines. After his last episode of shooting down his own captain at Easy Haven, contingency orders were issued,” the Flag Captain said stone-faced, and then turned to the Marine jacks on the bridge, “take the Admiral down to Medical immediately. If he is stabilized, escort him to the brig. He can explain himself to a military tribunal…if he survives.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” said the Marine.
“General order to the fleet: all ships are to withdraw from this star system by order of the Empire. Acknowledge or be classified as a mutineer,” said the Flag Captain.
Wilkins gaped at the Flag Captain as the Marines put the Admiral on a stretcher and hurried him to a turbo-lift.
Chapter 48: Victory and Sweeping Up
I stared at the screen in surprise as every ship in the Imperial fleet began to move away from us, in a chain reaction that started with the three warships from the original two squadron bucking cable party which were first to turn and began blasting for the hyper limit.
“Did we win?” asked Manblaster.
“It appears so,” I said, watching as the enemy continued to fleet in all directions.
“Huh. Normally it takes a little longer for them to realize they’re beat,” I said, thinking back to the long and protracted battles leading up to and culminating in Easy Haven.
“Shall I order a pursuit?” prompted Lisa Steiner.
I frowned. “Order the screen under Laurent to initiate a pursuit,” I said finally, “but if it looks too tough to handle, bypass it.”
“Do you want us to continue firing, Sir?” asked DuPont.
I looked at him like he was stupid. “I haven’t heard a surrender request, Helmsman. We keep going until they’re out of range,” I said.
“Of course, Sir,” the Helmsman seemed more than happy with the rebuke.
We got off three more shots before the last warships got out of range.
The Imperials kept running until they hit the hyper limit and left, and it was a very much reduced fleet that did so.
“I think it’s time the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet once again finish something the New Confederation has already attempted and failed at. Anyone up for liberating the Sector?” I asked drolly.
Chapter 49: The Storm is Here
“We received the signal, Sir,” reported Magnus' Chief of Staff.
“No changes, emergency updates, or notifications from the Reclamation Initiative?” Magnus asked her.
“Everything is exactly as expected. Montagne and the MSP are now officially occupied in Sector 26. They should find themselves engaged with the remaining forces of the Reclamation Initiative any day now. That is if they haven’t already met for battle. The broken ComStat network and replacement courier system in this region of space leave much to be desired,” she replied with a sniff.
“All glory to Man’s Empire, but you just can’t expect the Confederation to maintain and keep things running to Imperial standards,” said Admiral Davenport. “Especially a broken and isolated region of the Confederation such as this. Issue the order: we proceed at once.”
“Fifth Fleet has been itching for a chance to give the Confederation a proper rebuke for the killing of Praetor Cornwallis. Having a Senator of the Empire eaten by a horde of Bugs has set any number of jaws,” she said.
“The Confederation locals of this region will soon realize the error of their ways, CoS,” the Imperial Admiral said with certainty, “unlike our various Imperial predecessors in this region, we know what we’re up against; we have infiltrated the enemy and, more importantly, we have something they all lacked: a proper Imperial battle fleet.”
“Aye aye, Admiral,” his Chief of Staff replied smartly.
Using a series of quick jumps, now that they knew the defenders of the Spine’s were gone off to deal with the remnants of the Reclamation, Fleet Imperial Admiral Magnus Davenport broke his fleet into task forces and sent them off in a series of deep insertion and intimidation raids.
Taking advantage of his orders to end the insurgency in the Spine and bring the region back into the welcoming arms of known space by any means necessary, he set out to do just exactly that as quickly and efficiently as possible.
Half a dozen second tier worlds were hit in rapid succession, as were two important Core World: Hart’s World and the Kingdom of Capria.
Tracto and Gambit Star system would have to wait for the moment. They were just too far out of the way to justify an attack.
Plus there was the alien technology issue to take into consideration. After all, everyone knew there was no such thing as an instantaneous communication system but then everyone knew you couldn’t just jump a whole fleet in tandem in well past the officially accepted hyperspace limit either. Yet Grand Admiral Jason Montagne of the New Confederation Fleet was able to do both of those things.
Who was to say that he didn’t have access to some sort of instant communication system or that, upon being attacked at home, he couldn’t just jump there in force? No one knew the jump range limits on those alien jump engines he’d purloined, after all.
Half a dozen worlds were attacked and half a dozen worlds were reduced to a pre-industrial state with their entire orbital industries smashed and the largest concentrations of industry on the planet destroyed.
As for the Core Worlds, Hart’s World fell within eight hours of its attack. The Caprian Star System repulsed its attack after heavy losses to its lighter forces, however a surprise reveal by the Royal SDF of eight newly constructed Battleships and twice as many in new construction Heavy Cruisers unexpectedly turned the tide of battle, and Davenport had to settle for heavily damaging its orbital industry.
Then word came from Mr. Simpers that, for a few promises and a measly ten million Imperial credits, the information they’d been waiting for had arrived.
Within two days every Imperial task force in the Sector was converging on one uninteresting, uninhabited, unexploited and unnamed star system.
Chapter 50: The Assembly Must Recall the MSP!
“The Empire has returned to the Spine and is smashing everything in sight! We must recall Grand Admiral Jason Montagne and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet to defend this Sector at once,” urged Anton Chat-Hammer, having temporarily regained his standing as a temporary Faction Leader after Isaak was publicly forced to recant his treatment of the former Grand Admiral and welcome him back into New Confederation space as an official Confederation ally.
“Someone has to fight this new Imperial fleet, and despite the Grand Speaker’s repeated assurances we still do not have the forces at hand to fight off a simple pirate raid let alone the 5th Fleet of the Imperial Navy,” Chat-Hammer said, throwing his hands in the air.
“Hear hear,” rumbled the Mutual Defense League faction members standing behind him.
“My esteemed colleague, the Minority Leader’s hyperbolic assertions about pirates aside—pirates which, for the record, we’d crush without breaking a sweat—let me remind you that Admiral Manning has a sizable fleet at his beck and call. Let me also say that the situation in this Sector is not nearly as desperate as my colleague the Minority Leader would have you believe,” Isaak said, steeling himself to stand up before the Grand Assembly. He had a losing hand and he knew it, but if certain defeat was enough to keep a man off the playing field he wouldn’t go very far in galactic politics.
“What are you playing at, Newton?” the Grand Assembly member from Aegis demanded, purpling with anger. “This whole bloody business has been a disaster from the moment you sacked the Grand Admiral! This is all your fault.”
“My fault?” Isaak Newton retorted sharply. “As I recall, it was only at the urging of any number of Assembly representatives that I took the action I did. Among them the representative from Aegis, you, if I recall correctly, and please let’s not forget that there is more than one Grand Admiral out there when speaking.”
“Yes, under your tenure the position of Grand Admiral has been handed out like it wasn’t worth the ink used to print the commission on paper,” sneered the Aegis Rep, “of course I called for his ouster! Are you a fool? I just never expected you to sack him mid-campaign.”
“Yes of course you wanted me to fire him, called for it loudly, and now are so upset you’re frothing at the mouth that I did it. Very consistent, Grand Assemblyman,” sniffed the Speaker.
“You can’t change horses mid-stream,” the Aegis Members all but screamed, “before or after, but not in the middle of a battle. You’ve killed millions with your bungling, Speaker Newton. My own home world is currently occupied by invaders from the Old Confederation. For all I know, Imperial Marines are rounding up my family even as we speak in order for them to be executed!”
“No one is being executed. First, the regrettable occupation of Aegis is being carried out by entirely civilized Confederation Marines; and second, Grand Admiral Manning will liberate your home world any time,” Isaak soothed.
“Do you take me for a fool? Unless he runs, Manning will be crushed between the combined forces of the Old Confederation Forces at Aegis and the newly-arrived Imperial 5th Fleet,” the Aegis Representative stood there breathing heavily. “We’re doomed,” he said finally and then fell back into his chair in defeat.
“As my colleague from Aegis seems to endorse, there is no way Admiral Manning can handle both of these forces at once. Which is why I move that we summon Admiral Montagne back to this Sector immediately, if not sooner,” urged Anton Chat-Hammer.
Isaak rolled his eyes. “Are we certain the Imperials cannot be negotiated with? We’re all reasonable men here,” Isaak spoke to the elected and appointed body of the Grand Assembly firmly. “I’m sure the Empire would much rather cut a deal than be forced to reduce every one of our home world’s in turn and then leave a giant garrison force to suppress region-wide insurgency efforts.”
“You want to negotiate a surrender?” Chat-Hammer howled with disbelief.
“No, you’ve got me all wrong. A temporary armistice until we can gather our strength. We negotiate for time, that’s all,” Isaak said with desperate passion.
“I move a courier is sent to recall the MSP immediately. We must defend this Assembly,” Chat-Hammer said, pounding the podium in front of him, “who votes with me?”
“Aye!” shouted a majority of the delegates.
“Do the ayes have it or will you require an electronic vote count, Mr. Speaker?” Chat-Hammer asked with relief-tinged triumph.
“The ayes have it,” Isaak said, tasting ashes as he spoke.
Within the hour a message was sent via the ComStat network and shortly after that a courier was winging its way deep into Sector 26 with an urgent message for one Admiral Montagne.
Chapter 51: The Old Confederation Returns to the Spine
Somewhere in the Overton Expanse
Officially it wasn’t a fleet. Massed on the border of Sector 25, the 4th Customs and Border Guard Flotilla had a name that only a Confederation bureaucrat could love, but it had a ship count on par with most full fleets.
Despite both these things, it was still technically only a flotilla. That was because the Confederation’s Grand Assembly as a body retained control over fleet movements, but had delegated authority over sub-fleet flotillas to the Confederation Speaker since the Speaker was also tasked with ensuring adequate supply and reinforcements reached the Glorious Fleet of Liberation survivors holed up in Aegis Star System. The fact that it was only a Flotilla helped cut through a lot of red tape.
Unofficially, everyone in the Grand Assembly would far rather prefer the Speaker just make sure the relief effort got where they needed to go with a minimum of fuss and without making the Grand Assembly go through all the work required to authorize another fleet. The fact they were also sticking it to old orange hair by making him divert funds from his wall initiative was just icing on the cake to a lot of politicians on all sides of the aisle.
Many of those politicians would have been less than enthused to find out that Grand Assemblyman Charles Thomas, the Border Integrity Movement Leader and temporary Fleet Admiral, had been personally charged with ensuring that relief force made it to Aegis by no lesser personage than The Ronald, Majority Leader and Speaker of the Grand Assembly.
“How are we looking?” asked the temporarily reactivated Admiral Charles Thomas, striding onto the bridge of his flagship.
The Blunderbuss was an Old Confederation Battleship that had been placed on the reserve list, along with most of the rest of the fleet, when the military industrial complex had been disassembled and the Confederation Fleet stood down.
“The hover bus is doing good, Sir,” Commodore Harkness said, stiffening to attention and visibly working to suck in his paunch.
Charles Thomas ignored the paunch and focused on his top subordinate. “Hover bus…?” he asked with a hint of disapproval.
The Commodore colored. Like a lot of people in the Fleet, he’d accepted—practically begged is more like it—to be reactivated. The fact there hadn’t been a Commodore’s slot open hadn’t deterred Harkness in the slightest, who’d openly campaigned for a ship command slot after learning all the top squadron slots had already been filled by reservist Admirals chomping at the bit to get back into space.
Much as he hated to admit it, more than one Commodore had called in a favor and was even now commanding a warship in his fleet. Well, the fleet that was still called a flotilla anyway. Most of them were listed as second in command in their squadrons, although in one embarrassing case he had two Commodores and an Admiral.
“This has to be the most top-heavy flotilla in the history of the Confederation,” he muttered.
“Sorry, Sir?” asked Harkness, relaxing slightly and starting to wander away to check on one of his grey haired bridge crew.
“Don’t run off,” Admiral Thomas said sharply, “you were about to explain yourself.”
Harkness immediately re-sucked in his gut. “What can I say, Admiral? We have a few members of the original crew who followed the old girl into the yard-monitoring crew. Apparently back before the fleet was mostly stood down, they got to saying how hover buses were allowed to kill more people than the old Blunderbuss. Then someone pointed out how ‘bus’ was part of the old girls name, and they took it on for themselves as a point of pride,” the Commodore said helplessly.
“Cruisers were no longer allowed to cruise. Destroyers couldn’t destroy. Even top named ships like Fighting Monarch or Pride of Battle might not be allowed out of the yard for fear she might actually hurt someone but, as they say, every day there’s another news story about how some hover-bus somewhere was still running someone over. What can I say? The name stuck,” Harkness shrugged.
Charles Thomas felt a pain in his head and began to rub his temples. “Next time just remind me I told you to tell me not to ask,” he said wearily.
“Outstanding, Sir,” Commodore Harkness said, visibly swelling until his gut once again popped out and he had to quickly release a breath in order to suck it back in.
Thomas' headache began to grow more acute.
There was a loud beeping noise and a stir in the Comm. pit.
“What have you got, Senior Commander Noel?” Harkness asked, immediately waddling over.
Against his better judgment, Charles Thomas followed.
“We just got a report via ComStat, Captain…I mean Commodore,” realizing there was another, higher ranked officer standing behind his ship commander the Senior Commander nodded in acknowledgment, “Admiral.”
“Senior Commander,” said Admiral Thomas, “what have you got?
“We’re receiving reports from the Spine that an Imperial Fleet is on the move,” said the Senior Commander.
“Really?” Charles Thomas perked up, “I thought we lost all our information assets. Did a reservist or former military man report in?”
Senior Commander Noel shook his head and pressed a button. A news segment straight off of the Cosmic News Network affiliates in the Spine began to play.
Some news anchor named Mathilda May gloated that the Empire had come to restore order while simultaneously berating the reporter on the ground.
Charles Thomas drooped slightly.
“So literally a report, just in this case an actual news report,” Charles Thomas temporized.
“You got it in one,” said the Senior Commander.
“Well that’s good,” said the Admiral, turning away.
“Of course there’s also this,” added Noel.
“What have you got?” the Grand Assemblyman asked, turning back despite himself.
“Just some yahoo claiming to be a member of the Rebel Assembly asking for witness protection for himself and his family, resettlement in the Sector 18, and five million credits hard currency in exchange for the current location of the Monitor the Rebels are using as a mobile government headquarters for the region,” said the Senior Commander.
“How would such an individual even know where we are or how to contact us?” Charles Thomas scoffed.
“No idea. However, the moron failed to strip out the header files showing where the message was sent from,” said the Senior Commander.
“And just where is that?” asked the Admiral.
“Some place out in the middle of nowhere with an alphanumeric designation,” the Commander replied promptly.
“Just the kind of place you’d park a mobile governmental headquarters,” observed Charles Thomas.
“Are you thinking we should swing by and take a look on our way over to Aegis?” asked Harkness.
“It’s out of the way if you’re going to Aegis. Past it a bit actually; you’d have to track back,” observed Noel.
“We’ve got over three hundred ships, and more than one hundred of them part of the supply convoy. There’s no reason we couldn’t drop off the convoy and then swing on over to take a look,” Charles Thomas said, rubbing his chin.
“Your orders, Sir?” asked the Commodore.
“We’re strong enough to go out into the Spine. There really is no reason to keep hanging around out here,” observed Charles Thomas.
“Half our warships are customs Corvettes...we’re a little light in the capital ship department,” pointed out Harkness.
“I have the authority to issue orders to the Glorious Fleet of Liberation,” pointed out Charles Thomas, “more importantly, I have local assets available. Have Navigation plot a course and then update the rest of the fleet. We jump as one. Then, while the Commodore does that, I’d like to speak with Commodore McCruise. I need to pick her brain,” said Charles Thomas.
Interlude: Movement on Many Fronts
Less than a week and several jumps later, the message from the Grand Assembly was still on its way deep into Sector 26 when jump emergence alarms started going off all throughout the mobile government headquarters.
In an uninhabited star system with no name, only an alphanumeric designation, the Grand Assembly of the New Confederation was caught flat-footed as an Imperial Fleet jumped into the same system as the New Confederation Government.
While the Monitor’s Captain desperately tried to charge his jump engines faster than physically possible and the small defense force assigned to the New Confederation’s Grand Assembly assumed a defensive formation, an emergency meeting was called.
“Brothers and sisters, there is a traitor in our midst. Someone has sold our jump route to the highest bidder or to cut a deal for their own little special interests and the Empire has just picked up their tab,” Isaak Newton said grimly. “We are betrayed by one of our own.”
“Is it all over?” Kong Pao paled as he turned to another member of the MDL Faction, a woman on the War Committee, “I’m not a military expert but we seem to be heavily outnumbered.”
She shook her head.
“Can we flee before they get here?” Minority Leader Anton Chat-Hammer asked, stepping up to his podium. He looked exactly like what he was: a man grasping at straws.
“Montagne is our only hope now. If the Empire captures us Manning won’t be able to set us free, it's only the Little Admiral that…” he trailed off incoherently as the enormity of what each and every man, woman and herm in the room was facing. They were beyond collaborators against the Empire; as far as the Empire was concerned they were an illegal rebel government. Everyone knew how the Empire responded to people they called rebels.
The death penalty had never been outlawed in the Empire of Man for one very good reason: they believed that traitors to humanity must die.
“Once again, and as usual, my young colleague is wrong. Montagne is not the only man who can save us here today. There is another,” Isaak said. “I ask the Grand Assembly to empower me to negotiate with the Empire. For all of our sakes,” he said, bowing his head.
Without a choice, the Grand Assembly empowered the Speaker of the Grand Assembly to negotiate with the Imperial Admiral in order to save their lives.
Chapter 52: Laying Down the Law
Admiral Magnus Davenport walked into the Rebellion Assembly escorted by a platoon of Marine jacks.
“Now wait just a cotton-picking second,” blustered an Assembly security guard, stepping forward and placing a hand on one of the Imperial Marines to stop the entourage, “no weapons in th- EEiieee!” he squealed as he was kneed in the groin and dropped to the ground.
“Now see here!” exclaimed a Committee head, standing from his seat.
“Sit down,” barked Admiral Davenport.
The Committee Head stared at the Imperial Admiral wide-eyed and then immediately sat down with a plop.
“Let’s be clear: my Fleet stands off this governmental monitor, your handful of guard ships can do nothing to protect you,” said Magnus Davenport, his white cape with a purple stripe around the edges flaring for effect as he came to a foot-stomping halt in the middle of the room. “With a snap of my fingers I can reduce the seat of your Government, your rebellion and all of you along with it, into flaming atoms anytime I desire. So I urge to not test my patience,” said Magnus Davenport in a dire tone.
When no one spoke, the Imperial Admiral sneered around the room.
“Who speaks for this rabble of rebels?” he asked impatiently.
Eyes all around the room turned to look at Isaak, the Speaker and designated Imperial negotiator.
“Why are you here…I mean what do you want from us, Admiral?” Isaak said, stepping up to his podium and asking without a quaver in his voice.
“Want? That implies I’m asking something from you. Which couldn’t be further from the truth,” Magnus chuckled, “no, I’m not here because I want something. In truth I want nothing to do with your little squeak ant rebellion or this humble region you have here,” the Imperial Admiral mocked.
“What do you want to do?” asked Isaak.
“I’m not here to ask; I’m here to lay down terms,” Admiral Magnus said flatly, “your little rebellion against Imperial authority has cost the Empire, and that means it’s going to cost you—personally, as a group, and as a region—until you pay your debt.”
Total and fearful silence in the room as the Grand Assembly of the Spine shivered in the face of naked, bare-faced Imperial aggression.
Admiral Magnus Davenport seeing, he had these weak willed, soft, Confederation fools in the palm of his hand, opened his mouth to lay down a harsh set of terms when an alarm went off in the room. This was followed by the chime of his personal communicator sounding off.
“What?” he asked, reaching down for his communicator and opening a channel back to his flagship.
“Sorry to bother you, Sir. But I thought you would want to be informed that a Confederation Fleet has just jumped into the star system. Old Confederation and under the command of an Admiral Charles Thomas,” his Chief of Staff reported tension in her voice.
Magnus Davenport paused. “This meeting is temporarily in recess.”
With blank-faced Imperial stoicism, he marched out of the room. But on the inside, silent fury ignited in his belly.
He had yet to meet a Confederation individual that didn’t seem bound and determined to screw up each and every thing they encountered.
Due to its very arrival here, he now had no choice but to meet with his nominal ally in suppressing this rebellion.
“Admiral Davenport, so nice of you to come,” said Charles Thomas, stepping into the briefing room aboard Admiral Magnus Davenport's flagship without a visible qualm.
“What are you doing here, Admiral Thomas…or should I call you Minority Leader Thomas?” the normally unflappable Davenport looked levelly at the Grand Assemblyman, but was unable to hide the trace of venom in his voice.
Charles Thomas looked at him quizzically. “You have your Imperial Senators running around commanding fleets. I fail to see why you’re acting surprised when we have our own versions of the same thing,” Charles Thomas dismissed.
“You are not the Empire,” Davenport said evenly.
“And thank the space gods for that,” Charles Thomas barked a laugh, “but despite the fact you got here first, you look like I just pissed in your soup. What is it…can’t stand the light of day?”
“Insulting me won’t get you any mileage, Grand Assemblyman,” Admiral Magnus said flatly.
“Look, I’m not here to rain on your parade. I know the Empire’s in a tough spot right now and as far as I’m concerned I can help with that,” said the Leader of the Border Integrity Movement.
“I doubt we would want your help, even if you offered it,” Admiral Magnus dismissed.
“Don’t be so sure. Imperial honor and prestige are on the line, after all,” said the Confederation Admiral.
“Is that a threat?” Magnus Davenport stilled, the sense of danger in the room growing by the second.
For his part, Charles Thomas appeared completely oblivious with the same half-smile still fixed on his face.
“Don’t be so sure. I happen to know for a fact the Empire is in desperate need of more hulls. Especially after losing so many of them here,” Charles Thomas said with a sly expression on his face.
“The Empire of Man is never desperate,” the Imperial Admiral said coldly.
Charles Thomas made a sweeping motion with his hands. “Change the word then and substitute it with a better one, there’s no need to get hung up over it.”
“We might just need to agree to disagree,” said Magnus.
“Disagree that you need more ships to prosecute your war—a conflict you’re currently losing?,” riposted the Minority Leader.
The Imperial Admiral remained silent.
“Look, you have a region of space that doesn’t want you, has no real value and you can’t use. I, on the other hand, have five fleets laid up in mothballs that my friends on the other side of the aisle are just dying to send to the breakers and get rid of. I’m sure we could work something out…for an appropriate price, of course,” replied the Confederation Politician.
The Imperial Officer froze as he considered. The Spineward Sectors was a nice future investment in the growth and power of the Empire...on the other hand it required a significant investment. On another hand, the Empire needed more ships.
“Somehow I doubt your ‘friends’ in the Assembly will agree to any such transaction. Especially considering they wanted to get rid of the Spine in the first place,” said the Imperial Admiral.
It was Minority Leader’s turn to stiffen. “You just let me deal with my colleagues,” he said eventually.
“Somehow that doesn’t fill me with confidence in your ability to deliver on any price we agree upon,” Magus Davenport openly sneered.
Charles Thomas slapped a writ down on the table.
“What’s that supposed to be?” mocked the Imperial.
“Careful, pup. I’ve been a spacer since before you were born, and I was commanding fleets while you were still in diapers,” warned Charles Thomas.
“I highly doubt that last,” said Davenport, ignoring the writ.
“You’re right. I might not have much pull in the Grand Assembly at the moment, but I know someone who does,” he thumped a finger down on the writ, “the Speaker for the Grand Assembly.”
“The Majority Leader, your political mortal enemy, trusts you with the authority to speak in his name? I don’t think so,” smirked Davenport.
“Take a look,” laughed Charles Thomas, tossing him the writ.
Magnus Davenport unfurled it and read. He looked back up.
“I’m here to make a deal,” said the Grand Assemblyman, “you can get confirmation straight from the top before we proceed further.”
“What's your price?” Magus asked finally.
Charles Thomas smiled tightly. “The same price it’s always been,” he said honestly, “you can keep the 28th provisional, make it the first new province in a century, and bring home a fleet of warships to make your bones with. Take the win. Declare victory. You’ll be a Senator in no time and since the place is mostly full of Imperials anyway, it’s no big loss for us.”
His eyes drilled into the Imperial Admiral’s, and he let the pointed silence hang before drawing a breath and finishing.
“I want the Spineward Sectors,” Thomas said.
It was the same man, but a very different Imperial Admiral that strode back into the halls of the New Confederation Assembly.
“Admiral, have you settled your disagreements with the Old Confederation?” Speaker Isaak asked as soon as Magnus Davenport, once again escorted by a platoon of Marine jacks strode back into the Grand Assembly Hall like he owned it.
Magnus Davenport looked at him like he was a bug and didn’t reply.
Isaak Newton’s smile turned brittle but he also remained silent.
The room breathed a sigh of relief when Admiral Magnus broke eye contact and the moment finally passed.
“An Imperial Senator has been slain in your region of space while trying to save you from the sort of marauders that have turned your Sectors into a cesspit,” Magnus Davenport said coldly. “And yet despite this and your open rebellion against the Empire, I am prepared to be lenient. Some would say too lenient.”
“What can we do to show our loyalty to the Empire?” Isaak Newton asked smoothly.
Magnus Davenport looked at him and spat on the floor.
“You’re a dog, and putting dogs like you in charge of your little rebellion…it’s no wonder you lost,” he mocked.
“As they say, every dog has his day, Admiral. As a public servant I can only hope that today is my day and offer my services as I strive to become Man’s best and most loyal friend in the Spineward Sectors,” Isaak said unflappably.
“As if we would ever need or want friends like you,” Magnus Davenport shook his head derisively.
The Speaker’s eyes widened and he looked closely at the Imperial Admiral. “Tell us your terms, Admiral. I think you’ll find us quite motivated to reach a deal,” said the Governor of Sector 25.
“After consulting with the Minority Leader of the Confederation, I am prepared to be generous with the terms,” said Magnus Davenport.
Every politician in the New Confederation hung on his every word almost as if their lives depended on it. Which, as far as most of them were concerned, they very much did.
“It is the determination of the Empire, after all due consultation with our Confederation Allies, that it is in the best interests of your Sectors that the Spine determine its own fate. As such it is agreed the Spine will be granted autonomous home rule after a plebiscite to determine if each individual Sector wishes to remain with the Empire or return to the Old Confederation,” said the Admiral.
“I don’t understand,” said Isaak, looking like a man desperately searching for the catch.
“Whether you remain with us or return to Confederation fold will be up the Sectors individually,” declared the Admiral.
Everyone looked at him, stunned at the revelation and a hopeful feeling began to swell in the room.
“However, before that can be achieved there are several requirements,” Admiral Magnus said stoically. “In exchange for home rule and local regional autonomy, the Spineward Sectors Rebellion must officially disband in favor of a new regional authority elected by the people.”
“That seems more than reasonable,” Speaker Isaak quickly agreed, even though in agreeing he was basically agreeing to give up all his power. Political power could come and go, but he had only one life.
“Before its dissolution, this body must agree to take certain actions,” continued the Admiral, “the individual known as Admiral Jason Montagne of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, the Governor of Harpoon, so-called Ruler of Gambit and Protector of Messene of Tracto, is to be declared a war criminal. He is to be stripped of his rank by this body and exiled from the Spine on pain of death.”
“You don’t want us to hand him over to you directly?” asked Isaak.
“As if you have that capability,” the Imperial Admiral mocked.
Isaak stiffened.
“Jason Montagne’s citizenship in the Spine is to be formally revoked by this body, and by his home world of Capria, and you will recognize the Empire’s authority to deal with this war criminal however we see fit,” said Admiral Magnus before pointedly adding, “there may be collateral damage. Finally, the Empire requires as token of your remorse a single warship from each world in the Spine and a 1 million credit tax per inhabited world to cover the costs accrued by your rebellious activities,” the Imperial Admiral then fell silent.
There was an extended silence.
“Are there any questions?” asked Magnus Davenport.
Isaak exchanged looks with his policy adviser before turning back to the Imperial Admiral. “That’s it?” he asked with surprise.
Magnus Davenport cocked his head. “I was ordered to finish this quickly and restore order by any means necessary. Consider this the carrot—I assure you that you will not like the stick,” said the Imperial Admiral.
“I-I don’t know what to say. Thank you!” said Isaak Newton.
“I will leave now so that you may continue your deliberations. When I return, I will expect to hear great news,” said Admiral Magnus Davenport.
Speaker Isaak Newton waited until the Imperials had left the room before turning to his fellow politicians.
“Much as it pains me to strip any man of his rightful patrimony as a citizen of these great Sectors, it is an undeniable fact that Jason Montagne Vekna is a known war criminal. His great and heroic deeds of the past only make what we must do all the harder, but there is no denying his many crimes,” the Speaker said sorrowfully. “I call for a vote. Who will second the motion and agree to the Admiral’s terms?” Speaker Isaak finished righteously. “With one vote we will save all of our lives while the Spineward Sectors will simultaneously achieve its greatest desire: home rule and local regional autonomy at the low cost of one war criminal Grand Admiral. Who’s with me?!”
There was a moment of dead silence.
And then utter pandemonium broke out.
“The man’s a Droid lover who's turned against his own people, using anti-matter and bio-weapons like the Bugs on other humans. I say a vote against Admiral Montagne is a vote against the machines,” screeched Assemblywoman Kern before breaking out in chanting slogans. “Man not machine! Man not machine! Man not Machine!” she chanted passionately.
“Are we really so certain the war is lost?” demanded Minority Leader Chat-hammer. “Admiral Davenport’s own actions tell us the Empire can’t afford a war on two fronts. If we just stay strong—”
He was immediately booed down by Isaak’s partisans in Sectors 21, 22, 25 and 26.
“You’re going to get us all killed, boy,” cried the Assemblyman from Aegis, “did you hear what they said? They’re offering a plebiscite! Aegis could be free. I say let Montagne burn—if necessary I’ll light the match. The man’s a Droid-loving war criminal, straight up. We’re better off without him!”
Sapphira of Tracto strode grimly onto the floor of the Assembly before taking the podium. “While I have no problem with voting to disband this shameful Assembly,” she said eyes like agates as she looked at the other delegates, “let me be clear: a vote against the Protector of Messene is a vote against Tracto, its people, its holds—and its trillium deposits.”
“Forget Tracto! We can ship in all the trillium we need from the Confederation,” sneered one member.
“Tracto doesn’t even have a vote. Why are we listening to this voteless wonder?” demanded the Representative from New Pacifica.
“I’m not sure if such an action as this vote is entirely legal. A majority of unelected representatives that the Empire themselves label rebels, and who don’t even have delegates from a majority of the Sectors and worlds it claims to represent, stripping a man of his citizenship and declaring him criminal without a trial?” Kong Pao said unhappily. “This is a clear violation of the Confederation charter and the protections for individual liberties codified therein.”
“This is a treaty situation, and as the Judge well knows any foreign treaty immediately trumps even the most sacred rights in our charter,” Isaak said quickly. “Don’t let judicial activism sway you from what is right. Who’s with me? I call for a vote.”
With a vote almost strictly along partisan lines, except for the complete betrayal of Sector 23 who were incensed about the Droids in his fleet and a reluctant Kong Pao, the Grand Assembly of the New Confederation—in what could very well be its last action ever—voted to strip Admiral Montagne of his rights and throw him under the bus.
Isaak smiled with satisfaction as Jason became the public scapegoat, a man who will not even have to die or go into prison, to lose all he has worked his entire life for.
“This assembly is a farce and an outrage,” Sapphira declared with icy humor before Tracto storms out of the Assembly, “if you expect our warships or space fuel in the future, don’t bother.”
“Leave now and who knows what might happen to you. A family member of the Exile, Jason Montagne, might have some protection as a part of this body but if you leave it who knows what the Imperials might do?” Speaker Isaak mocked.
Sapphira stiffened, her gait slowing and then despite the subtle threats that they could be killed if they go, she steadfastly continued toward the exit.
“As you have said many times, Mr. Speaker,” she declared, stopping just outside the exit, “Tracto was only ever a provisional world. Now that we are no longer associated with this body, I am announcing a new tariff on all Trillium sales.”
“Like we need your fuel anymore,” sneered the Aegis Assemblyman.
The Assembly was ecstatic—they were going to live.
Assemblywoman Kern of the Anti-Droid Alliance rejoiced, vindicated at last. “Man not machine!” she chanted, surrounded by a swarm of happy followers.
Isaak Newton, having brokered a deal to keep all of them alive, nodded feeling quite satisfied at the results as he shook hands, pressing the flesh of the politicians from all over the Spine. The outraged Border Alliance, and a few holdouts from Sector 24, despite their outrage and unwillingness to celebrate with their peers, quite notably failed to stalk out of the Grand Assembly along with Sapphira.
Looking over, Isaak could see that Chat-Hammer was ill at ease and Kong Pao was just shaking his head.
All in all it was a good day.
Chapter 53: Defend the Spine!
After sending most of the survivors of the New Confederation Flotilla back to the fleet base at New Tau Ceti the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet chased after the Reclamation Fleet survivors advancing into Sector 26 for more than three weeks before a courier flashed into the star system with an urgent message.
“Do you think the Imperials slipped around behind us and advanced on New Tau Ceti?”asked Commodore Druid over the com-link.
“Doubtful,” I said with a frown, “it’s more likely bad news from back home in Sector 25, or other tries against our interests,” I added while the message was still decoding.
Then a pale-faced Chief of Staff Lisa Steiner was forwarding me a message directly from the Assembly and never had I wished quite so passionately to have been wrong.
“Bad news I take it?” asked Druid.
“Apparently the Empire has sent a battle fleet into the Spine. It’s already attacked Hart’s World and Capria, along with a number of other worlds,” I said bleakly while wondering how my home world had fared.
“Blasted Imperials,” Druid swore.
“For the moment it looks like our work here is done, Commodore,” I said grimly, “and I have no idea if or when we will be coming back.”
I now had to cancel the campaign which had just started to reach toward Sector 27’s border. The Reclamation Fleet had avoided battle so far but we’d broken their back in that last battle. With our numbers and large fuel reserves, I was certain I could have brought them to a final battle and completely destroyed Norfolk, given more time.
Sadly, time was one thing I no longer had.
“Message the fleet: the Empire has attacked the Spine with a battle fleet. We need to return home immediately,” I ordered.
If they could attack Capria, they could just as easily attack Tracto. It was imperative we rush back and defend the Spine from yet another Imperial fleet.
I just hoped we weren’t too late.
Chapter 54: The Sacrifice
On the way back home, another courier arrived with a new message. A different message: news of a complete and utter betrayal.
It seemed while we’d been liberating worlds from the Imperial jackboot, peace has broken out between the Spineward Sectors and the Empire.
I—and more importantly to my people, my career, at least as far as I could tell—had just been sacrificed on the altar of political expediency and I was being called back to face an official inquiry before the Grand Assembly.
I had been declared a war criminal and was expected to appear and answer for my crimes in front of not just the New Confederation, but the Empire and Old Confederation as well.
As could have been expected, Akantha was infuriated.
“With allies like these, what need have we for enemies?” she asked furiously.
Was I about to give up? Not hardly.
“I have a plan,” I said evenly. Actually, this was so far out of left field that it was taking me a moment to compensate, so I didn’t actually have a plan yet, but I would. Soon.
“Those spineless cowards,” Akantha raged.
“Indeed,” I said.
Someone must have sold out the location of the mobile government, and in the face of potential death the Grand Assembly had voted to betray the Spine and save themselves. Oh, and not incidentally throw me under the bus in the process.
Wonderful.
I didn’t know what I was going to do yet, but I was certain that when it came to me it was going to be a real doozy.
“Are you just going to sit there and take it?” demanded Akantha.
“First we have an Imperial fleet to defeat. After that we can decide slowly how to deal with the politicians,” I said, now having lost all faith in our elected leaders.
On one level, I couldn’t blame them. It was the job of the fleet to keep them and the civilians safe. On the other hand, I was supposed to be an ally—I had papers and everything, promising that this time they really-really-really promised to treat me fairly and wouldn’t throw me under the bus anymore.
I might as well take that paper to the toilet with me for all the good it was going to do me anywhere else.
Then I pushed all bitterness aside.
“We need to gather information. How big is this fleet? Has Admiral Manning already caved alongside the government, or can we join forces and push these blighters back out of the Spine? Also, we need to take a look and see just what these blighters have supposedly signed away if we’re going to muster an effective PR counterattack,” I said, assigning different tasks to my staff. “Let’s get cracking, people. The Empire waits for no man,” I said crisply.
“Aye aye, Sir,” replied my Chief of Staff.
“Oh, and Lisa,” I said.
“Yes, Sir?” she asked.
“I think it’s time to dust off that battle footage and launch the PR blitz we were talking about earlier. There’s no time like the present,” I said pointedly.
“The people need to know what’s really going on,” she agreed.
Chapter 55: The PR Campaign
Still not having a great handle on the trillium requirements for extended jumping such a large fleet it took us two days and two point transfers to jump home. Or whatever they call it when you don’t actually leave an inertial sump behind you when you jump.
Our first jump was to New Tau Ceti, where we dropped off those survivors of the Confederation Flotilla assigned to Sector 26 that hadn’t fled the battle under Bluetooth's orders.
The stop at New Tau Ceti wasn’t just in order to preserve our hyper fuel or drop off flotilla survivors, it was also so we could gather information and save our homes from annihilation if the Empire hadn’t already attacked it.
If they were already at Tracto, one day more or less wasn’t going to matter. But if they were still on the way we could hopefully intercept them en route.
The news, when we received it, was not heartening.
“It’s confirmed,” I said, wadding up the flimsy and tossing it in the recycle bin, “only it’s not just one fleet...now it’s two.”
“Long odds, but not insurmountable,” Commodore Laurent eventually advised, allowing enough time to pass before speaking so that he didn’t risk an eruption.
I eyed him. “By itself no,” I agreed, “but when you factor in a second Confederation fleet camped outside the mobile governmental headquarters, the odds…”
“Did those boys at Argos slip the noose Admiral Manning put round about them?” queried Commodore Druid, chiming in at this gathering of my top officers.
I shook my head silently.
“It’s a new fleet. Sent by the Old Confederation,” Akantha interjected, foot tapping on the floor and shooting a sidelong look my way as she spoke.
“What’s the word from Grand Admiral Manning?” rumbled Patriarch Glue, one of his black-haired forearms resting on the table.
“Silence. And I like to think I’d have heard something by now if he was putting up some kind of active resistance or even thinking about it,” I said flatly. “As it is, I have the sneaking suspicion that since peace has allegedly broken out in the Spine for the first time in five years and the New Confederation has accepted terms, he has decided to follow the lead of the new government.”
“At the low-low price of your reputation, career, freedom and possibly life—and this fleet being left out there swinging in the wind, Admiral,” said Druid face hard.
“I think someone has very badly underestimated the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet,” agreed Laurent, sharing a look of mutual anger with Commodore Druid.
“Do we even know how things stand in the rest of the Sector?” Spalding coughed into his hand and then gave his chest a thump. “Sorry, fighting off a touch of a cold. I fell into a bacterial vat in Environmental, and despite the happy pills Medical was handing out it’s not quite gone yet. Mainly I’m wondering how things stand back home in Capria and Tracto,” clarified the old Engineer after a long ramble.
“Tracto still stands,” Akantha breathed a sigh of relief as she relayed the results. Then she frowned icily, “At least as of last report. The Battle Fleet didn’t even try to hit us.”
She would never say it, but I could see how worried she’d been at the thought of Argos and Messene being attacked again.
“Capria, Hart and a number of less populated worlds, but not Tracto or Gambit,” I said.
“Well we are a mite out of the way, and you know,” Spalding said, taking a bite out of a doughnut and then wiping some crumbs off his shirt and onto the floor, “it’s kind of hard to threaten a man when you’ve already bombed his home and killed his family.”
“You think they left us alone as a threat?” I asked sharply, all the more determined now to evacuate Gambit and relocate our secret rebel base to an entirely new location. Tracto was definitely in more of a pickle.
It was all well and good to make like a guerrilla fighter and hang out in the blackness of space around an uncharted star while you rebuilt, but what about the people that didn’t evacuate with you? The men and women who stayed behind… I doubted Akantha’s mom Sapphira would just up and leave, either with or without her people, for instance.
“You don’t?” Spalding asked with surprise. “Because whether or not the blighters intended it that way to begin with, it's sure looking that way now. We’ve got a place we have to defend and they’ve got us heavily outnumbered.”
I drummed my fingers on the table. “You’re right,” I said.
“We lost a lot of our system defense infrastructure putting the period on the end of Senator Cornwallis’s invasion, Sir. The factories are working round the clock to replace it all, but these things take time and beyond a certain point it’s a case of diminishing returns that also cut directly into local consumption,” advised Commodore Laurent.
“We’re just going to have to do the best we can and hope Tracto wasn’t too busy building grav-carts, hover cars and luxury goods to get its defenses back up while we were out here fighting for its survival,” I said.
“I think my people are too sensible to do something like that,” Akantha warned.
I shot her a consoling look.
“It’s not Tracto-ans I’m worried about. It’s the Belters and Caprian transplants. We’re not used to being on a war footing,” I said.
The MSP officers around the table gave me odd looks.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t think you’re giving our people back home enough credit,” said Chief Lesner, breaking the silence.
“The Chief Gunner’s right,” said Laurent and Druid nodded in agreement, “I’m not a native of your home world, Sir, but I tend to agree with my colleagues. No one’s just been sitting around twiddling their thumbs in peace since the Imperial Withdrawal. Life hasn’t been easy, but from my experience your civilians seem to have their heads screwed on straight.”
I pursed my lips. Maybe they were right. I just knew that every time I started to rely on someone they eventually disappointed me. At least they did if they were outside this fleet—and the goings on inside this fleet was no sunshine and lollipops.
“Well, be that as it may, we’ll know the state of play at Tracto inside of,” I looked down at my wrist, “eighteen hours. That gives us time to put a few things in motion before getting a good night’s sleep,” I said with a grim smile.
“What are you cooking up in that noggin of yours, Admiral?” Spalding snorted, giving me a look.
“The Fleet will be going back to Tracto, but a handful of ships will be staying behind. Mainly Light Cruisers because of their legs and survivability; they’re larger than most system patrol ships and their ability to survive extended deployments unattended by anything resembling a fleet train could prove more useful as a detachment,” I said.
“Are you thinking of some kind of deep strike force?” Commodore Druid asked with concern.
“In a way,” I replied.
Reaching over to my slate, I pulled up a series of files and linked the device to the holo-projector.
“Working at my direction, Lieutenant Commander Steiner and a select team have been working on a little project. I was made to realize that up to this point we have been badly failing on the PR front. It’s not that the things we have done are not commendable but rather that we, or rather I, have allowed the enemy to dictate the narrative,” I said grimly, “This project is a strike in the dark to try and change that. I no longer think that simply by doing good deeds everywhere we go that the people of the Spine will begin to appreciate us for our good works. Which is why we have a plan to get out in front of it,” as soon as I was done speaking, the first episode in the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet documentary began to play.
It started with still shots of a few of our most famous and deadly looking ships, before switching over to quick personal interviews with the crew. Then a holo-projection of our most recent campaign began to play, starting with a system overview of the Empire’s invasion of the Spine before zooming into the opening confrontations.
Druid looked appalled.
“You intend to release classified information to the public? How much of the actual battle has been redacted? If the enemy gets their hands on our sensor footage they can back into our actual capabilities and blind spots. Not to mention releasing something like this is highly illegal!” said the Commodore.
“It would be illegal if we weren’t an allied power,” I said calmly.
“Maybe our latest battles don’t fall under any sort of classification or top secret level clearance, considering as how you or the Lady could declassify anything we’ve done in the name of Gambit or Tracto,” Laurent allowed, “anything before that…”
“We’ve always acted in good faith, but the New Confederation spread rumors and lies about this fleet. They ultimately betrayed us to our enemies, while as far as I’m aware the Old Confederation never once acknowledged we were part of their fleet in the entire five years since the Imperial withdrawal,” I said.
There was a tense silence.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” said Commodore Druid before adding a, “Sir.”
“Because I didn’t until recently,” I said flatly.
“Sunlight is the best disinfectant,” Spalding opined, “so long as you don’t get burned. The government doesn’t like whistleblowers,” he finished with a warning, “been known to put a few of those blokes in prison and throw away the key. Why, I’ve heard of floating dungeon ships that flitter from one uninhabited star system to the next and no one not even the crew of the ship, much less the prisoners, knows where they are or where they’re going.”
“That’s a risk I’m willing to run considering, several of the alternatives appear a lot worse. It’s time to cut through the lies and go directly to the people,” I said.
“You’re the Admiral,” said Laurent.
“You’re the fleet commander,” Druid muttered.
“The New Confederation wants to throw us under the hover-bus as its final act before dissolving the Assembly? We’re going to flood the waves with news that the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet has just finished liberating Sector 26 and call for governmental support in liberating 27 as well,” I said coldly. “I’ll admit I was hesitant before because it’s not exactly a winning hand, but after consulting with Akantha and my Chief of Staff, and now all of you, I think it’s the best play at waking up the populace,” I added. “After all of the sacrifices the spacers of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet have made for the people of the Spine, it’s important they know what we’ve done for them and for us to know where they stand.”
“Where the people stand?” Druid’s brows shot up. “I hope you’re not implying that they should be held accountable for the actions of a few politicians with guns to their heads—with guns to the head of everyone in the Spine, for that matter.”
“I don’t blame anyone for someone else’s actions. Unless they endorsed it knowing full well what they were doing, and even then I’m not like some dictator or king of old,” I said.
“That’s a relief to hear, Sir,” Laurent said cautiously, “it doesn’t take a genius to understand we’ve been left out in the proverbial cold as of right now. Not to mention the way the Assembly and people of Central mistreated you and your wife.”
“For all of our spacers from Capria, let me make a few thing clear: I am not going to go on some pogrom because my feelings were hurt and we were left to die at the hands of the Empire. The people of the Spine are free to do whatever they want,” I said flatly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight tooth and nail to get the truth out there and hope for the better nature of men to shine through gaining us a ground swell of support right when we need it. What it does mean is that I’m not about to lay down and die just because it’s convenient. Jason Montagne and the MSP lay down and die for no one,” I said.
“Hear-bloody-hear!” Spalding sheered.
“Hear-hear,” echoed around the room.
“But mark my words,” I said, sweeping the room with a steely eyed gaze, “somehow, someday, the people of the Spine will need my help. They'll need the help of the man they threw over the side and when that happens...well, I will have certain minimum requirements for my help at that time and, as always, they will be free to take them or leave them. Because no one treats us all like this and then gets to say as how we’re obligated to help them,” I said flatly.
The previously boisterous group of officers fell into an uneasy silence.
“That will be all, gentlemen,” Akantha said clapping her hands as she stood up.
Within hours of our meeting, eight Light and Medium Cruisers were winging their way into Sector 25 spreading their message for the people of the Spine.
Seventeen hours later, we jumped to Tracto.
Chapter 56: The Public Celebrates
Tracto being free, unconquered, and relatively free of current threats, the ships of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet began a furious round of repair, refit and resupply.
Not knowing when that would change, I debated risking the Spindles on a recon mission before allowing a newly returned Captain Archibald to talk me into inserting his squadron into an uninhabited star system. It sounded like his antics rivaled those of the late Lieutenant Commander Middleton, and I looked forward to perusing the details of his mission at some later date when there wasn't a gun to my head.
Archibald's mission was to insert into the heart of the Sector, begin uploading the prepared content to civilian, local and galactic news organizations, and report back via the ComStat network.
The insertion went off without a hitch, and within twenty four hours the Spindles were shifted back to Gambit Star System where they began moving all infrastructure not essential to the repairs out of the star system.
Within a week, while we were still repairing our ships, we started to get our first messages back via the ComStat network.
“What have we got?” I asked, stepping down into the communications pit.
Lieutenant Commander Steiner stiffened and then turned to me with a forced smile. “It will just take a moment to gather the reports for your consumption,” she replied.
“That doesn’t sound good, Lisa. It’s okay. I’m a big boy. Hit me with it,” I said.
With a look like she would have preferred not to be the bearer of bad news, the former com-tech proceeded with a stiff upper lip. “Well, Sir, everything so far is preliminary but as far as we can tell,” she took a deep breath, “initial reports are of mass celebration across the Spine. The people rejoice at the restoration of peace promised by the joint Imperial/Confederation task force, and many are happy that the Tyrant of Cold Space is to be exiled...or worse. It’s considered a small price to pay considering his checkered past, tyrannical ways, and open support of piracy.”
“Open support?” I asked in a calm voice.
“They point to the ships taken from 4th Easy Haven, as well as several of our more violent encounters with the 25th Sector Guard. Specifically, graphic images of the Admiral Yagar incident which have recently gone viral,” she winced.
“Okay,” I released a puff of air, “that’s the bad news. How has our documentary been received?”
“We have received a lot of support among certain demographics, but the majority seem inclined to dismiss it as fake news,” she said.
“Which demographics?”
“Conspiracy theorists and foreign affairs hawks,” she said weakly, “it sounds like the public is rejoicing at the promise of a return to peace and order under the Old Confederation. And while they are happy to hear 26 has been liberated, the peace and safety of other worlds that aren’t even in their Sector are a distant second to their own needs. Considering the number of Core Worlds that have been leveled, their orbital industries destroyed in the various campaigns back and forth throughout this Sector, they don’t want this screwed up,” she looked at me helplessly. “Even among those few who care deeply about the matter, our actions are viewed with suspicion. This is particularly the case since the details of your various pardon requests and immunity deals appear to have been deliberately leaked to the media. Releasing our records has helped...some. But a lot of people, even among those that care to investigate, seem to think that liberating Sector 26 was the least we could do, all things considered, and taking our ‘checkered past’ into account.” she sighed.
“The least we could do?” I said feeling a surge of utter disappointment. I knew I should have been angry, furious even, but in truth all I felt was let down.
I’d taken my case directly to the people and they were more interested in Imperial threats and promises than they were an inconvenient truth. Maybe someday they would care, but by then I feared it would be too little too late.
Looking over at the family picture sitting on my desk, I stared at the eight little tykes in between Akantha and me. I had to live, I had to survive…for them.
But how?
There was no way. I was out of moves. Absolutely no way. If I had a year, six months even, we could fight our way out.
With Manning in the wind and our fleet exhausted after our recent battle against the Reclamation Fleet, we were in no condition to take on an Imperial battle fleet backed by a fresh Old Confederation fleet.
We needed time, but how was I supposed to get it? I refused to accept we’d won every battle only to lose the war. Or maybe it was more a matter of we’d lost the peace?
I was going to have to think on this.
Chapter 57: The Failed Tyrant
“This is Mathilda May, once again bringing you all the news you need to know,” she paused to primp her already perfectly made up hair before turning a thousand megawatt smile on the camera, “and I have a special message for all our longtime viewers out there. Please remember there’s lots of fake news roaming around out there lately, which is why it’s more important than ever to tune into the most trusted name in news: the Cosmic News Network,” she said, still beaming her gigawatt smile.
Then her expression turned solemn.
“There are a lot of wild rumors floating around out there lately, but I want to remind you to keep in mind that while we might miss a few strictly local events, on the wider galactic scene, if it wasn’t reported by CNN then it wasn’t relevant,” she said, making a distasteful moue.
The CNN headline music started playing, and Mathilda May turned to the side. The camera tracked, following her so that she was still looking straight on to the holo-pickup.
“This just in! Worlds across the Spine rejoice at the news that our time of darkness and chaos is nearly over. The Empire, under Admiral Magnus Davenport, and the Confederation as represented by Admiral and Grand Assemblyman Charles Thomas, have just signed a deal,” she paused lips pursed, “and now we go to Loup O’Leary for the latest.”
“Loup?” she asked.
“Thank you Mathilda. It's complete chaos over here as the people of Central have taken to the streets in celebration! What are they celebrating? The declaration of the new plebiscite where the people of the Spine will finally have the chance to exercise their right to self-determination and a return to the larger galactic community,” Loup said with a smile. “But this time with home rule and local regional autonomy! The only fly in the ointment? A certain Admiral who shall—” he said, building up an impassioned head of steam.
“Thanks, Loup!” Mathilda cut him off as the camera focused on her face and smoothly muted the reporter on the ground. “It’s wonderful to see the people feeling safe and happy again for the first time in half a decade. But as my colleague on the ground alluded to before we lost the connection, there is still one fly in the ointment,” her bright smiled dimmed.
The camera zoomed out for an overhead shot, showing Mathilda and an image of Sector 25 with several flashing beacons on the map.
“While this network and the people rejoice, there is still one threat to the smooth reintegration of the Spine with the galactic community,” now her face turned grim, “the convicted war criminal, Grand Admiral Jason Montagne, the very same Tyrant of Cold Space we have all come to know and fear, was tried in absentia at a closed hearing. Present were some of the best legal minds in the galaxy, including our very own Sector Judge Hammond and Sector 23’s Judge Pao.”
She grimaced distastefully.
“Yet despite the will of the people made manifest, the Tyrant Montagne even now attempts to dispute the results, letting loose a slew of completely scandalous and slanderous propaganda! Sweet Athena, patron saint of wisdom and reporters give me strength, because not only is there not a shred of truth to these so-called documentaries but the Tyrant himself claims they are the product of his illegal release of highly classified documents,” she finished, pounding the table with outrage.
Mathilda May took a deep breath.
“The worst of it is that part of the deal Admiral Davenport cut with Grand Assemblyman Thomas, granting us peace in our time, was the sole condition that the criminal Jason Montagne be turned over to Imperial authority,” she added in a strict voice, “proving yet again how badly our faith and trust was misplaced when we gave it to the former Sector Commandant, Grand Admiral of the New Regime.”
She shook her head dourly.
“The people of the Spine are tolerant beyond measure. But the one thing we will not tolerate is intolerance!” she all but shrieked. “It would be one thing if the Tyrant was simply a sore loser who wasn’t willing to face his detractors head on, choosing instead to run and hide the moment the odds look against him. But he doesn’t even appear willing to make a smallest of personal sacrifices for the betterment of his own people.”
She shook her head and tut-tutted.
“Don’t let the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet’s propaganda deceive you. The Tyrant may have fought for us, but he crossed the line when he utilized WMD!” she looked flatly into the camera. “The sad truth is that he has imperiled us all. That is why I am calling upon all right thinking individuals to write Grand Admiral Montagne and plead with him to do the right thing and turn himself in. All of our futures depend on it. This is Mathilda May of the Cosmic News Network; fair, balanced and unafraid, signing off,” she said, and the segment ended with a large CNN logo taking up the screen.
Chapter 58: Coming to a Decision
We had just finished looking at the latest news reports, including the piece of biased garbage masquerading as investigative journalism that spewed from Mathilda May of CNN.
“At least now we know,” Akantha stated in the privacy of our own quarters.
“I’ll admit to feeling betrayed. I just expected more,” I said as some small naïve portion of my psyche, a part I wasn’t even fully aware existed before now, just died a little.
“Are you speaking of Judge Kong?” she asked.
“He needs help and aren’t I great, but when I need a hand where’d he go? I’ll settle with him later. But no, actually I was speaking of the general public,” I scowled, staring down at my hands. “I mean I always blamed the Montagne’s back home for the people turning against them...but maybe there was a reason my first real assignment was a public relations job back on the original Lucky Clover.”
“You can’t let what the plebes say upset you. It can inform your thinking and even give you a window into the mindset of your people, but there’s a reason there is a difference between a citizen and a civilian on my world,” Akantha advised me. “You just can’t always trust the unwashed masses to use their better judgment when it comes to affairs of state. Who was it that said the average intelligence of any group of angry plebes is their average IQ divided by the number of people?”
“I think they were talking about mob mentality not the citizens of the Spine, Akantha,” I said wearily.
She waved me off. “My point still stands. How many times have you sacrificed yourself and our people to keep these ingrates safe, Jason?”
“It was a worthy cause! And no one else was going to do it,” I said angrily.
“I’m not fighting with you. I agree. It was a worthy cause,” she soothed.
“Then what exactly are you saying?” I said, forcing down a flash of anger that just didn’t want to die, by sheer force of will. On one level, I knew it wasn’t Akantha I was truly angry with. Yet on another, I was hurt and spoiling for a fight.
“You’ve done your duty by these people. But unless I’m reading these papers wrong, you’ve been stripped of your citizenship and exiled. It’s time to let them go and focus on us, the children, and our people, the ones who’ve stood by your decisions all along many of them from the beginning…unless you think I’ve somehow misread this proclamation, of course. Confederation standard is my second language after all,” she said, holding up the flimsy showing I’d been tried in absentia without the ability to be present or the right to face my accusers.
“Except for the part where I’m also instructed to hand myself over to my accusers for the good of the Spine, you haven’t read the results of their Kangaroo Court wrong,” I fumed.
“I didn’t mention that because it’s sheer foolishness. As if anyone would actually believe you’d turn yourself over to them,” Akantha said icily.
My nostrils flared. “If I run and hide now I’ll always be running and hiding,” I said.
Akantha drew back concern on her face. “You can’t intend to turn yourself over. Jason, you’ve done some stupid things in your time as a Warlord but delivering yourself into the hands of our enemies?!” she said, half rising from her chair.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong; I have no intention of handing myself over for Imperial ‘justice,’ or going quietly or however you term it,” I said crisply.
She regained to her seat. “Then…what?” she asked still alarmed.
“I just want the right to face my accusers,” I said with a shark-like smile.
Her alarm morphed into a different kind. “We can call up roughly sixty warships in our hour of need, many of them still in the repair yard. I doubt the Border Alliance will answer our call. That leaves the Sundered and the Droids to rely upon, bringing another twenty? Against what? Four hundred warships if you count the Imperial and Old Confederation Fleets. More if Elysium’s Admiral Manning joins them?” she asked harshly.
“They have a little more than four hundred, but basically you’re right,” I admitted.
“You already used the Bugs. Chief Engineer Spalding tells me that even with his best wizardry there’s no way to turn our anti-matter into weapons easily, and that even if he could he wouldn’t because it would turn all of human space and a thousand worlds against us. There’s no way we can win,” she paused and gave me a penetrating look, “unless you think you can turn Manning to your side?” she cocked her head.
“The Bugs are gone and Manning of Elysium owes me nothing. I doubt he’d go out of his way to help me unless the New Confederation or his masters back at Elysium ordered it, or if he thought it was the only way to save his home world,” I said.
“Then in the name of MEN, why?” Akantha cried.
I looked at her patiently. I knew she was just worked up because she cared. “If I don’t do this, they’ll take the trillium fields, Tracto will fall, and then they won’t stop coming for us until we’re dead and everything we’ve built is ruined,” I said heavily. “Listen to me: the fact is—“
“No, you listen to me,” she cut me off, “we can’t win!” she barked. “Not now. Maybe in a few years. Not now.” She started pacing. “We go into hiding,” she said, her voice calculating.
“I’ve already run the numbers. It won’t work; we don’t have the crew or the resource base. Even if we could scrape one together, without a base to operate from I’d be no better than a pirate or some rogue warlord on the Rim,” I said with finality, “and that is something I refuse to become.”
“That’s not how it has to be,” she pleaded, “if you go, you die. Instead we gather our strength. There are hundreds of derelict warships at hand. Rebuild, repair and return when their guard is down and we can take back what is ours when we’re strong enough!”
“We’ll never be strong enough. They’re just too big, Akantha. We defeat a fleet and they’ll just send another. We stop that and they send two more. We can’t fight a galactic power, a mega government with seven provinces and two thousand worlds when we can’t even hold onto our own,” I said wearily.
“Jason...we can’t win this,” she said with icy passion,
“I know. But they don’t know that,” I said flashing a blinding smile, “I still have a few moves left, my Lady.”
“So you mean to bluff,” she said severely.
“I’m open to a suicide run,” I joked, because I had no intention of dying quietly in some prison.
Akantha glared at me.
“But no. I don’t intend to die,” I said hastily, “instead I’m going to make a few threats and try to negotiate. Make them think I’m stronger than I am, or that I have another Bug surprise up my sleeve and who knows? Anything is possible,” I put as much steel in there as I could muster. “Worse comes to worst, I run and we’re no worse off than if we hadn’t tried,” I ended with a shrug.
“Unless they catch you and you’re dead. No. If you’re going then I’m going with you and that’s final. I won’t become my mother, stuck at home and fretting over the fate of some man—not even for my Protector,” she grimaced.
“I want you and the babies safely away from here. I need you guys to survive this,” I said.
“My three main heirs are already out of the line of fire. If I die, my mother is still young enough to see they’re brought up properly. If your fleet is gone she’ll be able to do better for them in the face of greedy, power hungry men than I ever could,” Akantha declared as if the decision was not only made but final, “I’ll only take our spare heirs with me. The very ones that need to learn this new world among the stars the most and make connection if they are to thrive. They’ll have no future except as small hold farmers if we’re dead and gone,” she said.
“Better a farmer or a farmer’s wife than dead, Sword Bearer,” I said pointedly.
“I think you mean it the other way around,” she said with a lifted brow, “but either which way, I am the Matriarch here and my decision is final. You will respect the wishes of your sworn Hold Mistress.”
“I don’t recall swearing anything but to love, honor and cherish you, but even if you insist on coming don’t bring the kids. We can leave them with my mother. At least that way they’ll grow up to be something more than just farmers if they want,” I said.
Akantha paused.
“Your mother is an acceptable compromise,” she said finally.
It was agreed then. We bearded the New Assembly in its lair—and the Empire and Old Confederation at the same time, while we were at it.
After all, we had nothing to lose.
How we had gone from a victorious campaign in Sector 26 to the total surrender of our government and defeat at the peace table still left my head spinning.
It was time to shake things up and, if possible, set things right. Or as right as they could be with a Spineward Sectors Government as determined to give up and surrender as ours seemed to be.
I refused to believe we’d won the war only to lose the peace!
I waited until Akantha had left the room before I activated my com-console and placed some calls. One was to the Yard asking for every available shuttle, and another was to the Droids. The third and final one I pondered over for a long time before activating the long ranged array.
I might not have a lot have a lot of warships I could scrounge up—I mean, sure, I had the ships but not the crews to man them and they were all battle damaged to one degree or another too boot. On the other hand, there was more than one way to skin a cat.
Pulling up Manning’s contact info I carefully dictated the blandest most uninteresting greeting I could think of and attached a junk fill made up of spam ads to the message. The Spineward Sectors Fleet and Grand Admiral Manning where unreliable at the best of times and the next best thing to useless in our current situation, more likely to join forces with the empire if I qued them as to my next move. Since they were all certain to refuse and/or betray me at the same time if I called on them for help I simply wasn’t going to ask. On the other hand sending the Imperial into a counter-intelligence tail spin as they tried and failed to decode the ‘secret’ message I’d just sent Manning’s way couldn’t hurt.
I refused to accept certain defeat as a prognosis. It was time to take a page from the early days of my career. I was going to fill those shuttles full of Lancers, Marines, Droids and ground forces in skin-suits if I had to.
Next I called Spalding to ask what he had in the way of a stealth coating. I wasn’t going down without a fight.
******************************************************************************
	The message winged its way across the sector as fast as the Com-Stat FTL buoys could activate and relay their message until eventually Manning’s Flagship received its latest FTL download.
	Originally posted near Aegis to stop a Confederation Fleet breakout Grand Admiral Manning and the First Fleet of the Spineward Sectors had been caught flat footed and out of position when not one but two different fleets tracked down the Government Monitor and took the Spineward Sectors Assembly hostage.
	Now heavily outnumbered with two fleets behind them and another one still based out of Aegis, Manning had rapidly run out of options. He could have gone down fighting but it would change nothing except get a lot of good men and women killed. As such when new orders arrived from the Spineward Sectors Assembly telling his fleet to stand down the most he could do was obstinate hold in place.
	Its not that he didn’t want to take action it’s that every path open to him and First Fleet lead to suicide.
	“Something just off the long com’s for you, Grand Admiral,” said his com-officer.
	Manning nodded in acknowledgement and seeing who the message as from his brows rose.
	He opened it with a sigh expecting some kind of high handed demand or grand exortion to duty. Instead he found himself reading a message containing nothing but bland platitudes.
	His brow wrinkled. Opening the attachment in the file to find nothing more than a junk file copy containing spam he stilled.
	Clearly the message he had received may have been sent to him but it was intended for another recipient entirely. It was entirely useless. Or was it.
	The Little Admiral may not have said anything of substance but that didn’t mean Manning wasn’t able to glean something from the non-message.
Jason Montagne was many things but a man of inaction he was not. What were the odds he was sending out spam messages simply to irritate the imperial monitors no doubt intercepting and reading First Fleet’s messages?
	That was the moment Manning decided to make a move. The government had been taken hostage on his watch. The Little Admiral was making a move and Admiral Manning didn’t want to be the man who stood by and did nothing. If Montagne was making a move it was because the man thought he had a more than even chance at victory.
	If experience had taught him one thing it was never to bet against the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet’s Little Admiral. In his opinion Isaak Newton had made the biggest mistake of his political career when he drummed Montagne out of the service. Worst case and he was wrong and Montagne was playing games, he’d formally surrender as soon as his fleet encountered superior forces. Best case... Maybe with his forces thrown into the mix they could turn things around!
Chapter 59: Going to the Assembly?
With a flash, the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet arrived. We were in the same unnamed star system as the mobile governmental headquarters of the Spineward Sectors Assembly. As a political body it was effectively being held hostage until the rest of the Spine recognized the dissolution of their government and I surrendered.
“If anyone thinks I’m here to surrender in order save that self-appointed gaggle of ingrates, they’ve got another think coming,” I said, already considering my fallback plan. With their elected representatives in the New Confederation Assembly literally held hostage, the SDF ground forces of two separate Border Alliance worlds had been willing to donate several hundred thousand troops—and with surprisingly little arm-twisting required.
It might not have been much of an ace, but at least I had one.
“Sir?” asked Steiner.
“Nothing, Lisa,” I said confidently, straightening my shoulders, “as long as I have my staff and the crew behind me, I believe we can win the day…at least enough to claim a nominal victory.”
It was always important to manage expectations, but even more so now.
“Of course, Sir. The boys and girls of the Fleet are behind you one hundred percent,” Steiner assured me, “there was more than a little grumbling early on about how everyone’s promised leave blew up when we were kicked out of the New Confederation Fleet. People are tired and some of us haven’t seen our families back home in almost six years. But with this new threat everyone knows that if we fail it’s all over.”
“The fact we’re no longer in a Confederation Fleet has to be a big part of it, yes?” I asked, pursing my lips. I hadn’t been paying that angle of things as much quite as much attention as I probably should have.
“A lot of our old hands miss their families. It’s not as bad with the Border Alliance people but not all of our initial recruiting drives pulled from strictly border worlds and of course not every border world is part of the alliance,” Lisa sighed wearily, “it’s not that hard to arrange leave for spacers from the Alliance wanting to go home. But for the Clover’s original Caprians? It's Tracto or bust, Sir.”
“I should take it that this is becoming an issue for a number of our people?” I asked carefully.
“Not right now, Sir. No one’s going to leave you in the lurch when another foreign invader’s here knocking. But if this new deal goes through and we’re not Confederation and we’re no longer protecting the Spine? People are going to want to eventually go home. Not immediately, not for most maybe, but more than a few would like to go home. The fact they might not be welcome any longer is an issue,” she said, worrying her lip between her teeth.
“And something I should probably address if I find the time,” I said wearily. I relied on my spacers, not just to run my ships but for a sense of community. We were all exiles out here doing our best for the entire Spine. Yes, we were setting down roots in Tracto and the old Gambit Star System, but still I could understand that for many home was still home, be it on Capria or another one of the worlds of Sector 25.
She nodded uneasily.
“How many people are we talking about, percentage wise?” I asked.
“I think more than half of the crew would like a visit home for some extended leave,” Steiner said, not noticing the impact the words ‘more than half’ had on me then she tapped a stylus against her data-pad, “but I think we’re looking at maybe 5% discontented with the situation with another maybe 20% that would just like to go home once the job is done.”
“You’re saying a quarter of the fleet wants to leave,” I said calmly.
“People are tired. More so the longer they’ve been in the fleet. The ones who stayed with the Clover were new recruits, not lifelong spacers,” she reminded me. “I’m not contesting that many have become lifelong spacers, but not everyone feels easy with how rapidly we’ve swung back and forth from Old Confederation to new and then to…well, whatever we are,” she finished awkwardly.
“I see and I do understand. I really do. And thank you for bringing this to my attention,” I said with a sigh.
“Sir,” she acknowledged, retreating to her workstation on the bridge.
I kept one ear tuned to the Comm. station while continuing to observe the situation throughout the rest of the star system...and it didn’t look good.
Just as advertised, there were two other fleets out here and neither of them belonged to the New Confederation or any other group in the Spine I’d heard of before. Considering that one of the fleets was made of straight up mono-locsium crystal, it was a sure bet that was the Imperial 5th Fleet.
As for the other one…it was mainly a patchwork of older hulls, a mix of Battleships, Cruisers and a lot of Corvettes. Not that their age or relatively lighter hulls was going to help any, considering the numbers involved.
“I’m reading 212 warships in the Imperial fleet and 189 in the Old Confederation forces, Sir,” reported Sensors.
“The Imps would wipe the floor with those old Confed models, Admiral Montagne,” advised Lieutenant Hart.
I made a non-committal noise. Considering it would likely take the two fleets falling out before my own force of 88 warships would stand a chance of taking and holding this system—as if anyone would be foolish enough to do so for an empty system like this in the first place—there wasn’t much I could say without sounding defeatist.
To be honest, we had more ships with us than I’d expected and that was saying something. The Droids and the Sundered had mostly recovered from 4th Easy Haven. Adding in the Patrol Fleet’s own sixty warships, we’d come out fairly decently in my estimation.
I could have hoped for more, blazes I could have ‘asked’ for more. But considering the likely outcome for both the Sundered and the Droids if the MSP fell and Tracto was laid wide open for the taking, I just hadn’t had the heart for it. It’s not like another dozen warships was going to make or break this endeavor.
No, we were going to sit out here in our own little patch of the star system’s hyper limit, charging out engines and waiting while our initial message winged its way across system.
Hopefully that, and the file I’d attached to it, would accomplish something I feared the Patrol Fleet couldn’t accomplish on its own.
As the minutes passed the time it should have taken for our message to have been read and a return message sent, the other two fleets started deploying in our direction.
It was looking more and more like a fight.
The first sign of something different was when the other two fleets stopped moving toward us directly, even if they were still moving the majority of their ships toward the hyper limit, and then we received a hail.
My request for parley had been accepted.
Within minutes the Furious Phoenix, my latest in a series of flagships, was winging its way across the star system toward the Governmental Monitor.
“Is this it, Sir?” Lisa Steiner asked, pale-faced but determined as we left the dubious protection of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet.
“This is it, Lieutenant Commander,” I said heavily.
She nodded jerkily and turned away to issue a few probably needless orders, but if that’s what she needed to help keep her cool then that was just alright and more power to her. Lisa Steiner had been here through thick and thin.
“Once more into the breach, fine sir,” I whispered, careful to keep my voice below the hearing levels of anyone around me.
Hopefully this all worked out the way I hoped. If not and this turned out to be a trap of some kind, at least I was taking this ship out to do it.
The Furious Phoenix was fast enough to outrun anything too tough to take on directly, and it was too tough for anything fast enough to keep up with her to handle.
In a straight up battle, 107 against 401 weren’t odds I would even consider. Originally it was going to be 88 but the addition of Archibald’s forces and another Battleship, the Leviathan class Cimmerian recently back from patrol into Sector 23 had helped beef up our numbers. Better to just retreat home to Tracto and try to hold the fort. But if words could solve this situation, I was determined to try.
The new government may have thrown me over the side, and my former comrades in the New Confederation fleet could clearly not care less, but there were still a lot of lives relying on me. Starting with the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet’s officers and crew and continuing to the millions of people on Tracto.
“Can we confirm that our message was sent and received by Grand Admiral Manning?” I asked.
“Yes, Sir,” replied Lisa Steiner, “not that I expect it will do much good,” she added dubiously, having been one of the few people to actually see the message I had sent.
I nodded with appreciation and shrugged in answer to her skepticism. The important thing wasn’t what had been said but rather the message itself. Manning himself was useless.
“Let’s do this,” I said.
It was time to go to the Assembly.
There were a few tense minutes but we eventually received permission to send a shuttle to the New Confederation’s Monitor after making a close approach with the Phoenix.
Unsurprisingly, the Spineward Sectors Regime formerly known as the New Confederation Government and its new Imperial masters were unwilling for a modified Medium Cruiser such as ours to dock with the Monitor. Probably for very different reasons on both counts, but it all resulted in the same thing.
I was going over there via shuttle.
The shuttle ride was uneventful, and eventually we entered the Monitor’s shuttle bay.
A quad of Lancers in battle armor stepped past me and then I was on the hangar deck, the sound of music piping in my ears.
An Imperial side party had assembled to greet me.
I inwardly tensed, but other than a few cold looks I was spared a direct confrontation. Apparently I was to be escorted to the floor of the Grand Assembly—or, more lately, the New Regime’s—meeting hall.
Surrounded by two quads of Lancers and accompanied by Lieutenant Harpsinger, my fleet’s legal counsel, we followed the Imperial escort to the Assembly Hall.
The two platoons of Marine Jacks, one ahead and one behind, made a statement of their own.
Stepping into the Grand Assembly/New Regime Hall, I was escorted to a small table set in the middle of the room.
I was unsurprised to see the Imperial Admiral present, but I was surprised to see Speaker Isaak Newton sitting between the Imperial and what I took to be his Confederation fleet counterpart.
After a hesitant look from side to side, Isaak stood up. Running a hand through his graying hair to settle it, he crossed his arms and gave me an implacable look.
“Jason Montagne Vekna, so-called Admiral of the rogue and illegal Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, you have been summoned before this assembly to answer for crimes,” he intoned in a low but rising voice.
I snorted. “Trotting out the old planetary piracy charges again are we, Sir Isaak? Or perhaps you’re still upset that those who do most of the fighting reap most of the hulls after the action clears?” I mocked.
The Confederation Admiral gave the Speaker a sharp look, which I noted before looking back at me with an assessing gaze while the Imperial Admiral merely looked amused at the byplay.
Isaak, on the other hand, purpled. “I am the Speaker for this assembly, and you will show this body some respect,” he warned.
“My apologies, Mr. Speaker. I thought the Empire had ordered this assembly disbanded and you were to use your regular civilian title,” I then frowned, “but if that’s the case it still fails to explain your blatant failure to use my own title.”
“You’re no longer an Admiral, Montagne. Its time you got used to it,” spat Isaak.
“What our local colleague here failed to explain is that the New Regime’s government will officially disband as soon as the last of its fleets and constituent signatory worlds, or at least a super majority of them, acknowledge its dissolution,” interjected the Confederation Admiral.
“Oh, and you are?” I asked turning with a nod.
He leaned forward to tap the name plate on the table in front of him and looking I could see that each of them had a name plate, a name that I quickly memorized. “Admiral Charles Thomas, recently returned to service; more lately I was the Minority Leader in the Grand Assembly. The real Grand Assembly,” he said, pointedly looking around the mobile government hall and appearing decidedly unimpressed.
“Of course, Admiral and Grand Assemblyman, thank you,” I said smoothly.
Charles Thomas nodded levelly, and the look he gave me back would have left me searching my soul if I were a junior officer. But being an Admiral in my own right, with several years and more battles and wars than my years of service under my belt, I met his gaze without flinching.
“Please continue,” said the Imperial Admiral, a Magnus Davenport by his name plate, looking at Isaak.
The Speaker or former Speaker cleared his throat.
“As I was saying, Jason—” he started.
“Prince Jason or Your Highness, please, if we’re no longer acknowledging your civil or my military rank,” I interrupted.
“You!” fumed Isaak.
The Imperial Admiral snapped his fingers, drawing everyone’s attention to him as he gave me a steely eyed look.
“I didn’t come here to listen to a pair of provincials, one a rebel politician and the other a rogue Admiral, bandy words. Relay the charges,” he said, looking at me like I was a piece of meat he was considering just exactly how to carve up and take home.
“Yes, Isaak, please get on with it,” I said with my most regal tone, deliberately keeping my attention on my fellow Caprian.
“WMD violations! Is that clear enough for you?” Isaak snapped. “You, Your Highness, Prince Jason, have been accused, tried and convicted of war crimes in the highest courts! Now all the remains is your sentencing.” He sneered,“How nice of you to turn yourself in like this.”
“Funny,” I smirked and then shot back, “I haven’t had the chance to defend myself or face my accusers, so I would have thought you had to have a military tribunal in order to violate my rights like this. But then, you were the king of kangaroo courts and you’ve tried this move before, haven’t you, Sir Isaak? But I suppose maybe I’m wrong, since you say 'highest courts' maybe you mean you sent a message back to the Empire and they did it instead?”
I turned to the Imperial Admiral.
“In which case I retract my accusation,” I continued, “and apologize for any slurs on your Empire’s honor, Admiral Davenport.”
The Imperial officer stood up. “You’re very bold to make light of the the Empire of Man at a time like this. I think perhaps you mistake the gravity of your situation, Admiral Montagne,” he said voice like iron.
“Don’t give him the courtesy of—” Isaak started.
Magnus Davenport lifted a hand, causing Isaak to come to a choking halt.
“Oh, I very much appreciate the gravity of this situation, Admiral,” I said, still smiling.
“You’re a fool then,” said Davenport.
“No,” I disagreed, “merely confident.”
“You are outgunned, outnumbered and as of this month stripped of your allies while I have two fleets here, another waiting in the wings, and a fleet of your own former compatriots I will shortly bring to heel. You are broken, bereft of allies, and utterly at my mercy. You have no play, Admiral,” Magnus Davenport assured me.
I grinned. “And here I thought the Empire was smart,” I said.
For a minute, the two of us just stared at each other before Charles Thomas of the Old Confederation broke the deadlock.
“Please tell us where we’re wrong,” said the Minority Leader, his eyes as sharp as knives as they assessed me.
“First, it would be a mistake to assume that every New Confederation Fleet in the Spine is as eager to betray their comrades in arms as the Rump Government here,” I said calmly.
Isaak paled and then purpled, “Former comrade maybe, but Grand Admiral Manning has personally assured this body he will abide by its decisions so long as they are in the best interests of Elysium and the Spine,” said Isaak before turning to the Imperial Admiral—not, I noted, the Confederation Fleet Commander. “He agrees with our decision. Fighting the Empire because of a few rogue elements out there like the Reclamation Fleet is suicide. But then he’s loyal to the government, unlike some I could mention!”
“Indeed. I wonder how exactly the Empire found your Monitor with such loyal stalwarts within your own house?” I shot back.
“Good intelligence work,” Davenport deadpanned.
I continued without skipping a beat, “But of course none of that applies to me since I am an ally of the New Confederation, not one of its boot-licking sycophants.”
There was an immediate rumbling in the rest of the assembly hall. “You go too far!” shouted the Representative from Aegis.
“Not far enough, I think,” I shot back at the Representative before rounding on Isaak, “unless of course our alliance wasn’t even as good as the paper your people wrote it on,” I said, tossing a copy of our alliance treaty on the table with a sneer. “Here, you can keep it and refresh your memory from time to time as to just what exactly it is you owe your allies. Nothing in there mentions stripping me of citizenship, convicting me without a trial where I can face my accusers—or at least defend myself,” I looked over at the MDL Faction, “but there is a lot in there about mutual defense. Then again maybe your New Regime has dispensed with such things as due process and the right to defend yourself in court, Judge Kong?” I asked.
The Sector Judge looked at the ground before straightening his shoulders, “The evidence of your various misdeeds was overwhelming.”
“That's the excuse of every Tyrant who runs into a legal hurdle to imposing his will,” I said.
There was an empty silence in the room before first one and then another of the members started guffawing.
“Tyrant!? That’s rich coming from a man such as yourself, Grand Admiral,” mocked Assemblywoman Kern of the Anti-Droid Alliance.
I looked up around the ceiling. “Is there a breeze in here? It’s almost as if a bad fan motivator began to mimic human speech,” I said with feigned confusion.
“You can play dumb all you like but all you prove is that you’re the butt of the joke, Montagne,” snickered Kern.
“Oh; Grand Assemblywoman, I didn’t see you over there! I didn’t think the Grand Regime Assembly would be so crass as to bring an attacker into the presence of the victim,” I said.
“I won’t say it again: I am not here for your petty bickering,” Davenport said with icy calm. “Make a mockery of this proceeding at your own perils. Perhaps next time it won’t just be Admiral Montagne I hold responsible for the actions the Spineward Sectors took against the Senator in Black Purgatory.”
There was a sudden silence around the room.
“And the second part?” asked Admiral Davenport into the growing silence.
“Pardon?” I looked over at him.
“You said first it would be a mistake to assume that every New Confederation Fleet in the Spine was eager to betray their comrades. That naturally implies a second,” said the Imperial Admiral.
“Who said there was a second part?” I asked lightly. Then I leaned forward. “Although an experienced observer might have noted that I arrived here via conventional jump. You might be interested in researching the records of exactly what happened the last time I made contact with the Empire using conventional jump technology,” I said.
There were several gasps and Charles Thomas’s eyes widened.
Admiral Magnus Davenport was a cooler customer, and he shook his head. “You’re bluffing. If you had more than a paltry 88 warships to bring to the battle you’d have done it by now,” he said with certainty.
“I encourage you to send your fleet over to mine and find out—the hard way,” I said with a hard glint in my eye.
“It can’t be more Droids or those ape men, you brought them with you today and you already used a series of pre-placed scuttling charges to annihilate that monstrosity you unleashed on the Praetor. You have nothing left,” the Imperial Admiral said frankly, “you are isolated. Bereft of allies and with your wife’s planet to defend you are at a clear and decided disadvantage, Admiral.”
“Again, I don’t think the odds are quite as lopsided as you might think,” I said, projecting total confidence—because if there was one thing I’d learned, first as a royal and then as an Admiral, it was that the last thing you could afford was for the enemy to see you sweat. Besides, it wasn’t like I was completely without cards here.
“I took you for many things, but a man who doesn’t know when to fold was not one of them,” said Davenport turning to his aid and motioning him forward.
“Oh?” I lifted a brow.
“How about I just play a little test and send the 5th Imperial Battle Fleet in the direction of your Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, Tracto-an Self-Defense Force, or whatever you’re calling it these days?” mused Davenport. “After all, at the very least you won’t be there to lead your fleet to another one of your infamous victories. So how about it?”
“It would probably be best if you added Admiral Thomas’s Confederation Fleet to your forces, because my forces are able to carry on just fine without me,” I said coolly.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? All of your enemies nice and concentrated. But no, I think 5th Fleet will do fine handling you on our own,” Davenport flicked active his communicator, “message to the Fleet. Prepare for movement orders,” he said while meeting and holding my eyes.
I just folded my arms and looked back at him challengingly.
It was 'do or die' time, and my job was to sit completely still and deal with this Imperial snake. If I’d misjudged then my protective detail was about to die and I would either die along with them or be escorted off to prison where I would soon wish that I had.
“Since you don’t seem to consider yourself necessary, what do you say we just serve our warrant for your arrest right here and now?” said Admiral Magnus.
“I don’t know why you’re asking since I can’t stop you if that’s what you’re determined to do. I’ve been in prison before, you know,” I added, sliding a glance over at Isaak and bestowing a withering look before looking back over at the Imperial, “on the other hand, I’m curious. You say you’re actually willing to violate an official parley and arrest a diplomatic emissary. Have you never heard of the term 'diplomatic immunity' or does Imperial honor no longer concern itself with such things as the word of its officers?”
“You’re no diplomat. You’re an Admiral of an enemy force engaged in an active rebellion against rightful authority. I owe you less than nothing, and if you think for one second you’re going to walk off this Monitor scot free after attacking and killing an Imperial Praetor, you don’t know me or the Empire as well as you should,” said the Imperial Admiral.
“I see. So what you’re saying, essentially, is that the Empire of Man isn’t used to losing and when its top politicians assume direct command of one of your pacification fleets and gets himself killed, you take personal vengeance against enemy fleet commanders. Do I have that right?” I asked.
“Only when those Fleet Commanders commit war crimes to win battles,” said the Imperial Admiral.
“What war crimes?” I asked calmly. “We had a power generator run rogue and gave clear warn off instructions to your illegal partisans—instructions they ignored.”
“When you use bio-weapons like Bugs to attack and destroy one of our fleets, you will be held accountable,” Magnus Davenport said grimly.
“Bio-weapons! I wasn’t aware the Empire considered them that way. The New Confederation certainly hadn’t designated them as such, and the Old Confederation files we had available at the time of the Imperial Withdrawal from these Sectors indicated them as space hazard at the genocidal event level,” I said calmly.
“Dance around and play word games if you like. You know what you did and so will the rest of the galaxy before I’m done with you,” said Davenport.
“I’m not so sure about that,” I declared, pulling out a tablet.
All around me Marine Jacks tensed and several dozen weapons suddenly pointed my way.
“Easy, boys,” I stopped moving and looked at them mockingly, “I know your Jacks can be a bit over the top but over a data-slate…really?”
“Place it on the table. Slowly,” Davenport said, lifting his fingers in the air and causing the Imperial Marines to secure their weapons.
“As I was saying before your security team so rudely interrupted: what we have here, as I am certain the Empire will agree once it has seen the evidence,” I said, my eyes boring into those of the Imperial Admiral, “isn’t a case of illegal use of bio-weapons at all.”
“You’ve lost your mind if you think that for one second,” Magnus said leaning back confidently.
“Mr. Harpsinger, if you could show them the evidence,” I instructed with a toothy smile.
“As you may or may not be aware, Senator Cornwallis—then Admiral Cornwallis, along with his Flag Captain Arnold Janeski who was later Rear Admiral Janeski—was once stationed specifically in this Sector several decades ago,” Harpsinger said with barely a quaver in his voice.
“Make your point faster, Admiral. Or we’ll be moving on,” Davenport said ignoring my fleet lawyer.
“In short,” Lieutenant Harpsinger said, speaking faster, “what we have here is a simple case of a 'return to sender' activity gone wrong. As we are prepared to prove, these Bugs, which are not native to this region and have never been found in the Spine before, were deliberately left behind to scourge the Tracto Star System clean of human inhabitants.”
We really weren’t ready to prove it, but we had quite suggestive evidence and I was more than willing to make a loud stink in the court of public opinion. So much so that the Old Confederation itself might feel compelled to get involved, and if that happened, and considering that the Empire actually was guilty of bringing the Bugs to Tracto, who knew what else they’d discover?
I was prepared to make a high and holy stink until those investigators had no choice but to show up, assuming I was still able.
“Because of Admiral Cornwallis’ initial refusal to discuss the terms of Admiral Montagne’s surrender and take charge of the Bugs, sent to Tracto by elements of the Imperial Rim Fleet, before the Praetor’s fleet opened fire, what was supposed to be a simple case of 'change of custody and return to sender' became something tragically worse,” Harpsinger said with a mournful note in his voice that left me surprised. He was proving to be a much better actor than the last time we had stood before committee.
“You slander an Imperial Fleet in order to present this laughable farce,” Magnus snarled, standing up and knocking over his chair. “I should gut you where you stand right now.”
“If that’s a personal challenge: anytime, anywhere,” I said, gaining my feet as well and ignoring the blaster rifles suddenly aimed my way by the Jacks.
All around me my own Lancers prepared for a battle to the death.
“As we are prepared to show, my Admiral’s initial intent to return the Bugs,” Harpsinger said quickly in a rising voice, hurrying before the situation completely devolved, “Bugs which we have reports that Rear Admiral Arnold Janeski, then of Rim Fleet, deposited several AU outside Tracto’s hyper limit on Senator Cornwallis’s personal orders, and which we are prepared to share with the Spineward Sectors' Imperial benefactors!”
So saying, he immediately slid the data-slate I’d produced over the table in the direction of the Imperial Admiral.
Meanwhile, I crossed my arms and looked at the other man levelly.
Check, I thought silently. It wasn’t checkmate because I didn’t have the actual goods, but if they wanted to war crime me for using those Bugs then I was going to drag Arnold Janeski and a member of the Imperial Senate itself, Charles Cornwallis, right through the mud along with me.
There was a long moment of silence as Magnus Davenport stared at me. “Clear the room,” he commanded.
Speaker Isaak blinked in consternation. “I have a private side chamber that your people secured in case of need,” he said carefully, “perhaps we might adjourn there, while the New Regime takes care of some housekeeping measure?”
“I like it here just fine,” said Davenport.
Sir Isaak hesitated and then nodded abruptly. “Of course,” he said, and to their consternation the entire elected or appointed body of the Spine cleared out.
Davenport motioned to his aide, who picked up the data-slate and started scanning through it.
As soon the room was clear, an Imperial team immediately set up a jamming field that put Lieutenant Steiner’s old jammer technology to shame.
Then we waited.
The Imperials clearly had no intention of speaking, considering the way Davenport was visibly ignoring his aide in favor of staring across the table at me.
At one point he looked like he almost wanted to say something, but ultimately he didn’t.
The aide finally stopped reading and the Imperial Admiral looked at him.
“Well?” Davenport asked.
“Most of this is circumstantial or from dubious sources,” Imperial aide said finally, “there’s no hard evidence linking in the Senator. The Rear Admiral, maybe…but it’s definitely a can of worms, Sir.”
Magnus Davenport’s gaze swung back my way as I spoke, “I am prepared to press it all the way to the media and Old Confederation Judiciary. Even if I’m taken out of the equation, my people will continue to push, the inquest will go on, and however it ends the Empire winds up with egg on its face.”
Magnus Davenport stood up. “This isn’t over. We’ll talk again,” he said.
“I’ll be waiting,” I replied happily.
As soon as the Imperial Admiral swept out of the room, I had my own team activate their jammers and released a sigh of relief.
“I didn’t think they’d buy it,” Harpsinger said faintly.
I didn’t either, but I wasn’t going to say that. Especially since despite our jammer tech the walls still probably had ears.
What I did say was, “I sent a coded message to Admiral Manning, not knowing how he’ll jump and what they don’t know about our little surprise waiting with the Spindles. This evidence has at least given the Imperial Admiral reason to hesitate before taking action,” I said confidently. After all, the last time I’d encountered an Imperial fleet I’d wiped the floor with a vastly superior force.
When no one came in the room immediately, all that was left was to wait.
Chapter 60: Admiral’s Fall
When the Grand Assembly, or New Regime as they were calling themselves, came back into the room almost an hour and a half later I was escorted to a set of seats at the side of the room, along with my body guards, and the Grand Assembly got back to the business of assembling.
Or at least that’s what it looked like until they actually got through reopening and declared themselves back in session and called for a vote.
What they were voting on wasn’t clear until the vote actually passed. At which time the Speaker turned to me.
“Jason Montagne Vekna of Capria and Gambit, the Assembly hereby reaffirms its vote and sentences you to exile. You are to leave the Spine and, for the good of the people, never return!” Isaak Newton declared. “What the Empire or Old Confederation do with you after you leave this Assembly Hall no longer has anything to do with the New Regime.”
“What a bunch of brave men and women I see here today,” I said drolly, despite the fact my request to link to the overhead speakers had been denied. This was already covered territory after all, and the fact they were going over it again could actually be a good sign. For varying levels of good any rate.
“Tyrant! You are stripped of your citizenship and ordered not to return to the Spineward Sectors without permission on pain of death! Do you hear and acknowledge the will of this body?” Isaak asked harshly.
I suppressed a yawn. “I’d just like to make clear we could have fought off the Empire together,” I declared, my voice rising to a shout in order to be heard without sound assist, even though we probably couldn’t in the long run. Either this fleet or the next one or the one after that would grind us down. All in all it looked like I’d done what I could.
That said, I wasn’t a chump or a wide-eyed youngster who passionately believed in the government or the people to back up him up because it was the right thing to do.
“As they say, no good deed goes unpunished—which is why I am here today. Exiled for no crime other than a desire to protect the people of the Spine!” I said.
“If that was your intention then you failed miserably,” Speaker Isaak declared, “and, by your own standard, deserve to be judged.
“I will let the people be the judge of that. I have worked tirelessly for the Spineward Sectors and shed blood on many occasions in its defense,” I paused and then straightened my shoulders. “Which is why I call upon any world who disagrees with this cowardly decision to impeach any delegates who voted in favor of exile, as well as the planetary leader or leaders who appointed them.”
“Are you quite done?” asked Isaak as the delegates around the room laughed at me or, in a few cases, actually threw napkins, shoes, and in one case a scarf in my direction as they mocked me.
“I have run my course. I’m done,” I said.
“Then go back to Tracto if they’ll let you, and rot on that mud ball of a planet if it will have you,” sniffed Isaak.
Turning on my heel, I ignored the shaking heads and unhappy looks of the Border Alliance members.
I also ignored Assemblywoman Kern who spat in my direction before calling out ‘good riddance’ as well as the rest of the Anti-Droid Alliance which began chanting “Man not Machine’ as I walked past.
With my back straight and my head up, I marched out of the room.
It still remained to be seen if I’d leave this Monitor alive.
Chapter 61: Admiral’s Fall II
On my way back to the shuttle bay I picked up a company of Imperial Jacks for an escort.
They weren’t stopping us exactly, but they clearly had orders to make sure I didn’t go anywhere except where they wanted me.
Shortly after that, I was escorted into a small room where Admiral Davenport was waiting for me.
“Should I take it that last little bit was merely a bit of grandstanding for the cameras and this is the real meeting?” I asked, unable to keep from tensing up.
“Have your men wait outside,” he said.
I eyed the Jacks standing along the wall behind him. Clearly I was to be the only one.
“Everyone but Harpsinger can leave,” I said.
“But, Sir,” objected Sean D’Argeant.
I held up a hand, stifling the protest.
“Go,” I commanded.
The armsmen masquerading as Lancers departed.
“The lawyer also,” said Davenport while the armsmen were still filing out of the room.
“Really?”
“Now,” said Davenport.
“Harpsinger,” I said, looking over at the other man.
Finally, we were alone.
Well, except for the Imperial Admiral and his men. I was alone.
“You have me at a disadvantage. What do you want?” I asked.
“I suspect there’s more truth to events at Tracto than I would like to discover, although I doubt it’s nearly as much as you’re proposing, but your threats of force are laughable,” said Davenport.
“Actually I think I’m right on the money on this one,” I said with a shrug. “But we can agree to disagree about both the Bugs and the power of my Fleet if it will save lives in the short term.”
“I’m not interested in the short-term. The Empire is taking 28th Provisional as its newest Province. It's small but will be the first expansion, and frankly the first piece of good news since this interminable war with the Gorgons started,” said Magnus Davenport, “what I’m after is a long-term solution—and I will have it.”
“I couldn't care less about the 28th, especially since they seem to have welcomed you guys with open arms anyway and,” I added with a shrug, “I’m almost always open to a reasonable compromise.”
“I’m glad you’re happy, but I’m not here to be reasonable and I could not care less what a man like you thinks about what we’re doing, Admiral Montagne,” Davenport said bleakly.
“Understood,” I said, feeling this wasn’t the time to be flippant.
“These are my terms and you can take them, or leave them and we can have a nice big old space battle,” Admiral Magnus said, “first you will return to Tracto and you will stay there until no one in the Empire remembers your name. After that it matters not to me what you do so long as you stay out of Imperial territory.”
“Considering my reception here, that’s not a problem,” I said.
“Stop speaking,” said Admiral Magnus.
I just looked at him silently. It sounded like I was getting out of here with my life. Now it just remained to see how much of a poisoned pill I was expected to swallow.
“Next, Imperial pride demands the return of both our Command Carriers, in whatever condition they are in currently, along with every other Imperial warship you’ve captured in the Spine. That’s non-negotiable,” said the Admiral.
“The Command Carriers…” I said, calculating silently. We’d already got all the tech insights we needed from them and since we weren’t planning to return them to service it's not like we were losing too much. Still, it grated.
“I came here in the Furious Phoenix. I’ll leave on it and return every other Imperial hull we captured,” I offered, “besides, it's so covered in duralloy at this point you can hardly tell it’s a—”
“I said my terms are non-negotiable and that’s what they are. Your continued survival is a stain upon the Empire and if it weren’t for other considerations I would gut you where you stand, destroy your fleet, and the galaxy would have one less group of neo-barbs,” Magnus Davenport said seriously. “You will not retain one single mono-locsium hull or else I’ll ignore those considerations and launch a full-scale invasion of Tracto, claim its massive trillium deposits as the largest jewel of our new province, and give the people back in the Empire the red meat they’ve been waiting for.”
I considered this in silence and then swallowed around a suddenly dry throat, realizing I might have less leverage than I’d thought.
“I could just hide out in Gambit,” I said.
“Are we done here?” he asked, standing up and moving around his table toward the door.
My lip curled and I ground my teeth together. “No. Stay. The Phoenix is yours,” I said, suppressing the surge of anger and pain at losing that ship. The Phoenix meant more to me than any other except the Lucky Clover.
Magnus Davenport hesitated before returning to his seat with a thump. “Let’s be clear. I knew where this mobile governmental center was at before it came here, and it was a lot harder to find than a stationary star system,” said the Imperial Admiral, “this is me being lenient. Make me fight for what is ours and things will go much harder. There will never again be such an offer on the table. You will die and so will all your people. I’ll see to it personally even if it costs me my command and opportunity for advancement,” the Admiral said humorlessly.
From his tone and affect, I trusted what he was saying to be true.
“Right now my superiors want a quick win and immediate resolution to the black eye they’ve taken in the Spine. If I am forced to fight, delay, and take losses, then nothing less than your death and the enslavement of entire Tracto-an population as indentured servants to be sold to various companies in the Empire will suffice,” said Davenport.
“I’m glad we’re clear on just what this is,” I said. This was nothing more than a shakedown. But, as they said: to the victor goes the spoils. And right now I held the losing hand.
The only question was if this guy was serious or if this was just another prelude. Still, the ask could have been a lot worse. Like, say, all of those captured Battleships and other hulls I’d been picking up along the way. There really weren’t that many Imperial ships in my possession, even if they were the most advanced by any reasonable measure.
“Yes or no?” asked Magnus Davenport.
“Done. Yes,” I said quickly, “send me the location and your ships will be returned to you.”
Abandoned by my supposed allies and without the means or forces to fight off yet another Imperial fleet with just the MSP alone I really had no choice. Those Marines waiting in a nearby star system were really just a Hail Mary and I didn’t want to turn it into a forlorn hope.
If it would save my spacers and the people in Tracto, I had no choice.
Admiral Magnus Davenport smirked for the first time since I’d met him. “As a sign of good faith you can turn the Furious Phoenix over to us right now,” said the Admiral.
I flushed with humiliation. The man knew the Phoenix was my flagship and he was just twisting the knife.
“Please remember I’m doing you a favor here,” he said.
“Don’t roofie me and call it romance,” I replied coldly.
“Another Imperial Admiral at another time, and everyone you know would die. I call that doing you a great favor,” said Davenport.
“You’re aware that’s my flagship,” I said tightly
“Of course I am,” Davenport said with a humorless smile, “and the more I see it hurts you. The more determined I am to take it back. Consider this just a tithe of what the Empire owes you.”
“You came to invade our space. Not the other way around. So excuse me if suddenly rolling the dice is sounding a lot more tenable,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Have you ever danced with the devil by the pale moonlight?” asked Davenport with eyes like steel. “Our house motto,” he explained, un-belting his knife and placing it, sheath and all, on the table.
Despite my anger, whatever this was a prelude for I wanted no part in it.
Humiliated but with no choice, I called Commodore Laurent and informed him we needed to hand over the Phoenix and that he and his crew were to vacate the ship—after they had wiped the computers—and then turn over his ship to the Empire..
“This has been a real pleasure,” Davenport said with smug satisfaction.
“Think nothing of it,” I said.
The Imperial waved his hand at the door. “Feel free to leave anytime,” he said.
With a stiff spine, I marched out of the room.
I hadn’t been this humiliated since the last time I was abused by my Montagne cousins on Capria.
******************************************************************************
	The imperial admiral watched with a faint smile on his face as the cause of so much trouble for the empire and him personally was escorted out of the room. The moment the interloper was escorted from the room his expression stilled.
Magnus turned to his aide.
“Make a note,” he said his voice stern and eyes like space ice.
“Of course, Sir,” said the aide.
“Remind me to place a call to Cousin Templeton to place an order for battleship from… what was that world again that resisted our task force?” said Magnus Davenport.
The aide pulled out a pad and then looked up.
“Capria, Sir. Which just so happens to be the homeworld of the rebel Admiral who Buged Cornwallis,” said the Aide.
“Fascinating. As I recall that miserable excuse for a core-world had halfway decent warships and shipyard complex,” Davenport mused dryly.
“Yes, Sir,” replied the aide.
“Once we return to the empire make sure to place an order through my cousin. I believe House Davenport is going to making a rather large purchase,” the Admiral said baring his teeth.
“If I may be so bold, Sir. Why?” the other officer asked with a frown, “while decent platforms they’re still second rate designs at best not nearly up to imperial specs in my opinion, Sir.”
“Everyone involved in the decision to resist the empire must be punished, Lieutenant. Besides Davenport could use the ships. We'll offer to pay half upfront of course,” said the Admiral.
“I don’t understand how funneling money into a third rate world to purchase second rate battleships hurts them and helps the empire but that’s no doubt why I’m not an Admiral. I’ll be sure to make the note, Sir,” said the Aide.
“Your mind’s just not creative enough yet, Lieutenant. But by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be a proper credit to the imperial navy,” Davenport said.
Chapter 62: Isaak’s Rage
“He let him walk? What do you mean, HE LET HIM WALK?!” shouted Isaak.
“Sorry, sir, but that’s the way it went down,” advised his Military Attaché.
“Just what do you think I—” the swish of a door sliding open interrupted his tirade.
The sight of the Imperial Admiral, Magnus Davenport, stepping into the room accompanied by his Imperial Marine Jacks stopped him cold
“Admiral Davenport, what a pleasant surprise,” Isaak managed to muster up some enthusiasm to his greeting, “my aide was just telling me you let the Weapons of Mass Destruction violator walk out of this monitor scot free. But I assured him he was wrong. Completely and utterly—”
At the sudden deathly look the Imperial Admiral sent his way, Isaak Newton snapped his mouth shut.
“You are nothing but a provincial politician and up-jumped rebel leader. Who are you to question an Imperial Admiral in the course of his duties?” Magnus barked.
“My apologies. My sincerest apologies, Lord Admiral!” Isaak immediately fell all over himself apologizing. “I merely sought to understand, not question. I hate that Montagne with a fiery passion and I allowed my own small-minded mindset to take me where I should not have gone!”
Magnus Davenport looked at him with slitted eyes. “That Admiral Montagne is twice the man you’ll ever be. He at least could look me in the eye!” said the Imperial Admiral.
Isaak’s gaze snapped up to meet that of the Admiral, and what he saw left him cold.
Still seeing the withering contempt the Imperial held him in, he had no choice but to take a risk. “Please explain your thinking. We had him in our grasp, Lord Admiral. He came willingly and delivered himself,” Isaak finally argued, realizing that if he didn’t redeem himself in some way he was cutting his own rope, so he might as well take a risk.
Magnus Davenport sneered. “Yes, exactly, a man who has defeated two Imperial fleets and countless Droids, pirates and local warlords—a battle-tested veteran, in other words—delivered himself here just like that. Strolling into this Monitor so very easily that one might have thought he was here by invitation instead of for war crimes,” Magnus Davenport.
“But, sir, whatever he might be, his fleet is weak; he can’t possibly stand up to the full might and power of the 5th Battle Fleet and the Empire!” Isaak said urgently.
“Enough! Do you take me for a fool?” Magnus Davenport demanded.
Isaak gulped and fell silent.
“Manning and your First Fleet have acknowledged your orders in every official communication and, according to you, your government has officially surrendered and maintains no thoughts of rebellious sentiment,” said the Admiral.
“We have!” Isaak exclaimed in agitation.
“How I wish I could believe that,” Magnus sneered.
“It’s the space gods honest truth,” cried Isaak.
“Yet when your First Fleet was ordered to jump to Aegis Star System and turn over their ships to Front Admiral Featherby, suddenly your Manning has engine trouble,” Magnus said coldly.
“You understand how these things are. Until we are released there will be inevitable tensions. Just put yourself in their shoes. It doesn’t matter how many orders I issue; I can speak until I’m blue in the face, but there’s only so much I can do from this monitor,” Isaak tried to reason with the other man. “Think about this situation clearly.”
“Oh, I have,” Magnus said direly, “which is why I have decided you’re either deeper than you want me to think or you really are incompetent,” snorted the Imperial Admiral.
“Just tell me what’s happening so I can make it right,” urged Isaak, wondering how the conversation had gone from slow-roasting Jason Montagne over a spit to defending himself from an Imperial inquest!
“Tell me everything you know about the secret coded transmissions Admiral Manning has been receiving,” Magnus demanded.
Isaak blinked and then blanched. “It’s Admiral Montagne! He’s trying to set me up to take the fall. He’s probably sending fake transmission to throw you off the trail. It’s a bluff,” Isaak said hesitantly, and then much more firmly as it all became clear, “yes, that’s exactly it: a bluff! He wants you to think Manning is ready to join him when nothing could be further from the truth! You’ve been played, Admiral. But there’s still time to make it right. We can nab the traitor Montagne and execute him in the name of the Empire.”
“How easily you turn over one of your own, an officer who fought and bled for you and your government. If this is the thanks your people received for their efforts I’m suddenly less surprised at Manning’s hesitation to follow orders,” said Magnus.
Isaak flushed. “There are many reasons we lost. I’m just glad that you realize this is all a plot. Montagne is a paper panther and there’s not a fleet in this Sector that would help him, I swear it,” Isaak said putting as much sincerity into his voice as he could.
Magnus started to nod and then looked at him sharply. “How sly you are with words,” he said stone-faced. “Where you really unaware that Manning’s Fleet went into jump days ago? Hours after receiving Jason Montagne’s coded message!”
“What?” Isaak gasped instantly turning white.
“What do you know about the Fleet of warships that’s been sitting on the border of your Sector with Sector 24 for the past two months? Where is Manning’s fleet?!” asked Magnus. “And don’t lie to me or this time you really won’t like my response.”
Isaak gaped at him. Magnus scoffed and pulled out his sidearm.
“Speak,” Davenport ordered, “I let Montagne go because there isn’t just Manning’s un-surrendered fleet to worry about, but another Fleet with a full 200 warships. So if you have nothing to tell me you’re as good as useless and in the Empire useless mean’s dead.”
So saying, he placed the barrel of his blaster pistol against Isaak's head.
Isaak paled mind racing. Manning had gone off the rails at the worst possible time and there was nothing in the direction of Sector 24. Both Sectors 23 and 24 had donated all the ships they could spare to New Confederation Fleet. The only thing left was out past them into…
He flushed with rage.
“It must be those blighters in Sector 22! They promised me a fleet and never delivered,” cried Isaak.
Magnus Davenport looked at him levelly and then returned his pistol to its holster.
“Well whether they betrayed you, have cut a deal, or have been working for you all along no longer matters. I can’t trust a word out of your mouth, either out of guile or incompetence. You’ve proven yourself useless to the Empire in this region,” Magnus Davenport said, turning for the door.
“I swear it’s the truth,” Isaak said and waited until the door closed shut before collapsing in his chair in relief.
Furiously his mind raced and he came up with only one conclusion.
Monsignor Raipur Rajputan had betrayed him. He’d been lead around by the nose—possibly from the very beginning!
How sure he’d been that the incompetent Daily Speaker Norman Watts from the 22nd Sector. But who had ever so incompetently introduced his Policy Adviser to the Monsignor? A Monsignor who had then gone on to string him, Isaak, along, causing the Speaker to split his fleet at a critical juncture?!
He’d been played.
If he hadn’t sent Montagne away then the Aegis situation would never have developed. The Reclamation Fleet would have been quickly crushed and their forces might have even been strong enough to fight off this latest wave of attacks by the 5th Battle Fleet and their Confederation Fleet allies.
Isaak collapsed.
This was all his fault…
No, wait! This was really all the fault of Manning, that Monsignor Raipur Rajputan and his stooge, Norman Watts!
“Your time is coming,” he silently promised.
Chapter 63: Returning Home in Exile
Our return to Tracto was decidedly less than triumphant. Humiliated by both the Empire and our own side, this was nothing less than a return in disgrace.
The bitterness of defeat was thick on my tongue, but at least we were alive. I reminded myself of that little factoid several times an hour after we jumped out of the star system and rejoined the Lucky Clover II, our now no longer needed space born ground forces, and the Elder Jump Spindles.
“So you’re saying he wants both Command Carriers as well as the Phoenix?” asked Spalding.
“And every Imperial ship we’ve captured. 'Not a single mono-locsium hull' is how I believe he termed it,” I drooped.
“Well, it could be worse. A lot worse,” Spalding said after ruminating for a minute.
“What?” I said with surprise..
“Well he could have asked for the Spindles or every ship we’d captured to date. Or even just that we turn over our Battleships,” Spalding said with a shrug, “if you’re going to lose, this isn’t a half bad way to go about things actually. I mean at least we won’t have any Imperial jackboots pressing down on the necks or our people. This is over and done in one.”
“Forgetting the fact I’m exiled from the Sectors I fought so hard to defend?!” I protested.
“We fought so hard to defend, and probably the only thing we’re forgetting is yer pride,” Spalding said seriously. “Get over it, Sir. I realize you’re not used to losing the big ones but we’re alive to fight another day, and that’s saying something. The Empire’s just too big and too powerful. Frankly I’m surprised we lasted as long as we did! So pull your head out and be happy. You get to go home!” Spalding declared with a smirk. “So go see the kiddos, hug the wife, and remember: it could have been a lot worse. For instance, you could be in prison.”
“Yes. Yes I could,” I said. It didn’t help much but it did help, “thank you, Commander.”
After speaking with Spalding on the Lucky Clover II and jumping home. Engineering secured the Command Carriers and other Imperial warships and prepared to drop them off in an uninhabited system designated by the Empire.
Fortunately, as Spalding had said, along the way we had squirreled away the better part of a Fleet of heavy hitters. Ships that had been defeated and assumed totally destroyed in previous battles from Gambit and Black Purgatory.
The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet and its Little Admiral might have fallen, but we would lick our wounds, repair those ships, and bide our time…for now.
More importantly, we would make sure those members of the crew who wanted go back to their home worlds would be able to do so and if they wanted to stay they could do that too.
We were no longer a Confederation Fleet of any sort. We weren’t even an allied fleet any longer.
But they'd made the mistake of leaving me alive. Both the Empire and those traitors in the Assembly would pay one day, but in the meantime life goes on.
Chapter 64: Dropping off Our Pride
“What are we doing out here, Commander?” Brence asked looking at his sensors.
“Dropping off our pride, son,” Spalding said stoically.
“Why do it then? We’ve fought worse odds,” the Lieutenant said stoically, “and we’ve won. I’m sure the Little Admiral has another trick up his sleeve. He always has another trick,” he opined loyally.
“Sometimes you have to retreat to advance,” said the old engineer wearily. “Secure the ships and prepare the spindles to jump. As soon as the spindles are back at Tracto, send a message to the Empire. Their ships are here,” said Spalding.
“I still say we could have taken them,” grumbled Brence.
“Then you can’t count,” Spalding growled, “and anyways we’ve been fighting for almost six years now. The crew deserves a break. A chance to go home see their kin and recuperate.”
“I wouldn’t mind going back to see my mother,” Brence said wistfully. He paused. “Of course I’m just as likely to be arrested the moment I step foot on the tarmac and given the chance to see her, but still,” he said and then shot Spalding a sideways look. “Ever considered taking some time and going to see your son?”
“He’s dead to me,” Spalding said fondly before gruffly clearing his throat. “Besides he’s far too busy with a real man’s work to take his attention away from his ship and spend time with a senile old man like myself,” he declared, but the twinkle in his eyes belied his words.
“If you say so,” said Brence.
“At any rate it’s time to beat feet and make like stardust. I won’t countenance losing these Spindles,” Spalding declared, and that was that.
Epilogue: The Last Man Standing
Imperial Admiral Magnus Davenport marched into the office of the Speaker for the New Regime, soon to be the Old Regime, for the last time.
“Mr. Speaker,” he inclined his head, “has the resolution to dissolve gone through?”
“Without a hitch,” Isaak said with relief, “by this time tomorrow every Representative on the Monitor will be going home via courier, freighter or passenger liner.”
“Excellent work; it’s a shame it has to end this way,” said Magnus Davenport.
Isaak scratched the back of his head. “We worked well together,” he said with careful enthusiasm, “but I have to admit I’ll be happy when I get to go back home to Capria. My welcome might not be the best back home, but it beats the alternative and, as they say, there’s always the next election. Now that we’re back under the Old Confederation, the Sector government will have to be reconstituted.”
“About that,” Magnus Davenport said.
The Former Speaker for the Grand Assembly froze.
“Well even if I’m not allowed to stand for elections, a nice retirement sounds wonderful,” he said, breathing quickly.
“Isaak Newton, former Governor of Sector 25, Former Speaker for the Rebel Regime of the Spine, you are hereby under arrest for crimes against the Empire,” Magnus Davenport said, putting an official paper scroll on his desk.
“What’s the charge?! This is Confederation territory, you can’t just—” he stopped as a pair of Marine Jacks went around behind the table taking him by either arm.
“The Confederation has agreed to extradition,” Magnus Davenport said evenly.
Isaak slumped. “But why? I gave you everything you wanted on a silver platter,” Isaak Newton said, drawing himself up with dignity.
Magnus Davenport looked down his nose at the former Speaker. “I had orders to get back our Command Carriers, remove the stain on the Empire from Cornwallis’s defeat, and above all do it in time for the 5th Battle Fleet to return to the Gorgon Front in time to resume our rotation in something resembling a reasonable timetable. Significant losses in my fleet were to be avoided if possible,” explained the Admiral.
“You’ve succeeded! Go home, there’s no need to take me,” urged Isaak, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
“You remember how I mentioned the stain on the Empire’s honor? Well someone has to be held accountable, and you’re the last man standing,” smirked Davenport.
“Montagne’s the one you want. It’s Jason Montagne that’s done this! Take him—it’s all him. I’ll even tell you where to get him,” cried Isaak.
“You know that, and I know that, but the way my government looks at things is quite different in some ways from the Confederation. To them the man who gave the orders is just as guilty, or even more so than the man who carried them out,” Davenport said, his face hardening.
“But I didn’t order the Tyrant to unleash the Bugs on Cornwallis. I fired him as soon as I found out!” shouted Isaak.
“Control yourself. If I had been certain I wouldn’t take major losses defeating Montagne, or if you’d had control of your fleets…but you didn’t,” Davenport said sympathetically. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You were the man at the top. It was your job to know what your people were doing and have control of your fleets…all your fleets,” the Imperial Admiral said with a hard look, “as it is, Montagne got away and you’re the last man standing. The Empire needs its red meat.”
Isaak nodded and kept nodding before suddenly lunging toward his desk.
For one brief moment he thought he’d broke free of the grip the Jacks had on his arms as he reached for his hold-out pistol strapped to the underside of his desk, and then he was slammed face first into the desk.
“Rebel Isaak Newton, you are under arrest for authorizing the use of biological weapons of mass destruction. You will be held until such a time as you can be taken before an Imperial tribunal to stand trial in front of a magistrate. Because you are being held on Section 7 terrorism charges you do not have the right to remain silent, you must tell us everything we need to know, and provide us all the passwords to your private devices. Do you understand your rights as they have been presented to you?” asked an Imperial Officer
“You just told me I don’t have any! Let me go. I’m just a politician. You can’t do this. I didn’t kill anyone. It’s all that traitor Jason Montagne fault—he’s the one you want!” Isaak screamed.
“We are doing this,” grunted Davenport. “In the Empire just following orders is a valid defense; it doesn’t always save you from execution but what it means is that the man giving the orders is just as responsible for the execution of them even if he’s unaware of the results—as you were when you ordered Montagne to stop the 2nd Reserve Flotilla 'by any means necessary.' Bailiff, take him away,” ordered Admiral Magnus Davenport.
Isaak Newton screamed like a stuck pig, kicking, bucking and writhing as they took him away.
“I want an attorney! I’m being framed. I demand justice,” he shrieked as they hauled him off.
The End