Admiral's War Part One Page 6

  “Par for the course,” I agreed with a shrug, “whether it’s in relation to ship, world, or Sector, there’s always danger out there. The only question is: what can we do about it? And in this case, the answer is ‘quite a bit, actually.’ So yes, I think that all things considered, things are going well.”

  The Navigator shook his head but settled back into his chair.

  “Those of us with a background in long range border patrols are used to operating on the far end of the supply line with support a far call away,” Captain Leonora Hammer said contemplatively. “But perhaps we are still not entirely used to the idea that even if we could call no support would come.”

  “You need to get used to it. Our allies in this region are chancy at best and actively subversive at worst. Even within this joint fleet we’ve assembled,” I warned, and then my eyes cut from the Navigator to the Chief Engineer, “the sleepers in this fleet have had the better part of a year to get their bearings, adjust to time shock, and acclimate to the conditions on the ground. It’s time and past time to get it together,” I paused to consider the correct way to put this, “to the veterans of this fleet this long, relatively uninterrupted, period of peace and downtime in the yard were an aberration. Not business as usual.”

  “I think that last’s a given,” the Chief Engineer muttered, probably referring to our time in the yard.

  I slit my eyes as I considered the Confederation Officer. He was walking perilously close to the edge of what I was willing to put up with. Right at that moment, I was missing one Commander Terrance P. Spalding. Sure, the old officer might have spoken out of turn and far-too-often challenged me, but he had ultimately been supportive—and he had also done more than enough afterward to make up for whatever license he’d taken with the chain of command.

  “How are you finding running this battleship compared to your previous assignments, Lieutenant?” I asked, turning to our current Chief Engineer. I wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to stay stationed on the Rage.

  Wave Grinder’s brow furrowed. “It’s a decent enough job, Sir,” the Chief Engineer said sounding concerned and then added begrudgingly, “and I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

  “You’re entirely satisfied with your job, Lieutenant Wave Grinder?” I said calmly. “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable serving on a ship more similar to one you served on previously?” I continued with forced casualness. “I know from personal experience just how jarring it can be to change ship classes, and wouldn’t want to take anyone outside of their comfort zone.”

  “I’m satisfied with my current billet and quite comfortable, Admiral,” Wave Grinder said stiffly, “as well as more than willing to continue in place until the previous Chief Engineer, Commander Spalding, can return to resume his duties.”

  “I see,” I said with a smile that slowly sharpened, “so long as you say you are able to stay focused on your duties, that’s good enough for me.” The subtext was that if he continued to stray outside of those duties inappropriately he would no longer have a job. I hoped, for all our sakes—but mostly for his—that he had taken the hint.

  Lieutenant Lisa Steiner placed a hand up against her ear as I continued.

  “Now then,” I said firmly as I brought up an image of the New Tau Ceti system. It showed the planet and most likely places for new fortifications or sensor monitoring arrays, as the original inhabitants had been too poor for much in the way of system defenses. “This is the terrain of the star system we’ll be invading. I want you to pay particular attention to—“

  “Excuse me, Admiral Montagne,” the Communications Officer lifted a hand to interrupt.

  “Yes, Lieutenant?” I said, suppressing a sigh at yet another interruption in my attempt to form a battle plan.

  “A Courier just jumped into this system; it has a message from the Sector Governor, Sir,” she said respectfully.

  My eyes turned cold, and for a moment I thought about deleting the message sight unseen. However, tempting as that option was, ignoring my enemies was not how I’d lived to survive this long.

  “Put it on the screen,” I waved a hand over my data-slate and removed the current image on the conference room projector.

  “Just a moment,” she said pulling out her own slate and then paused mid-motion, “it’s addressed to the Fleet Commander and says its restricted priority—need to know only, Sir.”

  I snorted. “I think it’s safe to say that everyone here has a need to know,” I replied tersely, “so put it up anyway.” Behind a cast iron smile I was thinking very unkind thoughts toward the now Governor of Sector 25, Sir Isaak, the very man who had decided to execute me out of political expediency. Not because I was a genuine threat to the Sector, mind you, but rather because I would have made an extremely convenient scapegoat for everything that was going wrong at the time.

  Forget that he and the rest of the politicians had been standing around doing absolutely nothing while I’d been, and still was to a certain extent, the only person actually trying to fix the various things left broken by our former Imperial Benefactors when they pulled out—and not inconsequentially saving lives while doing it. No, my family name made me the perfect excuse to blame things on and get ahead on the latest news cycle.

  I may be willing to die for many things, but a sag in the politicians’ weekly poll number I was not.

  The holo-screen flickered to instant life and on it was the ugly mug of that politician and former Ambassador from Capria to the Central Sector government alright.

  “Greetings, Jason,” the distinguished-looking man on the screen said and then frowned slightly, “or, rather, Your Highness Prince Jason of the House Montagne, Admiral of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, Protector of Messene on Tracto and Governor of the Planetary Body Harpoon,” the smile returned with only the slightest hint of a smugness in it.

  Oh, how I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face so badly that I could almost taste it.

  “As for myself, I don’t believe any introduction is necessary,” Sir Isaak smiled. I refused to grant him the title of Sector Governor any more often than actually necessary—even in the privacy of my own mind.

  “Not at all,” I whispered, memories of sitting in a cell waiting to die surging back to the forefront. Only the fact that this was a recording and not a live feed stopped me from making a cutting remark.

  The former Caprian Diplomat straightened on the screen, the faint smirk disappearing to be replaced with a stern and serious demeanor.

  “I come to you with the gravest of news, your Highness,” he continued, causing my face to twitch—I was an Admiral, not a Prince, blast it! “I have placed a copy of all the intel we have on a courier ship in the hopes that you can be man enough to set aside our differences,” the Governor continued.

  I’ll be setting aside our differences on a cold day in Hades where we’d all roast mystery meat together over a campfire, I thought scathingly.

  I could tell I was starting to get sideways looks from the new Confederation officers. It was as if they were starting to wonder if I was the sort of unstable power cell that would actually put the fleet in danger for personal reasons. I would, of course, but not for something as minor as this. After all, he’d only tried to kill me…and my officers and the crew if I failed to comply with his plan.

  “I realize the fact that I attempted to have you executed, and succeeded in having your name and public image dragged through the mud on the galactic news cycle, may incline you to disregard most anything I say,” Sir Isaak said simply.

  I nodded at the screen as skeptical looks concerned about whether my mental stability was going to place this fleet in danger were replaced with shock around me.

  “That was a mistake,” the former Ambassador admitted, although which of the two things he suggested was a mistake he didn’t specify. To my mind he was sorry he’d ruined my public image, seeing as how I was still alive. He stopped and his eyes seemed to drill through the screen, “Just as failing to listen
to me right now would be a mistake.”

  He paused and I waited as that pause lengthened uncomfortably. Then, as if certain the gravity of his message had been adequately delivered, the ‘Sector Governor’ nodded.

  “Ever since I became aware of the Fleet which has invaded our Sector,” he cocked his head, “they call themselves the ‘Reclamation Fleet,’ by the way, but government sources have positively identified that they are in fact run by a core group of Imperials. A few of the most notable names are very familiar not only to those from Central, but those of us from Capria as well.”

  Janeski. I knew it could only be him, but it was nice to have positive confirmation.

  “As soon as I received word these Imperials—or former Imperials, no one is quite sure—had invaded us, I immediately dispatched scouting forces. We caught up to them one jump out from New Pacifica,” Sir Isaak’s face turned hard. “Sector Forces have been trailing them and they are on what we believe to be a course to Hart’s World. Hart only has one battleship and a decrepit squadron of cruisers; there’s no way they can stand up to a real battle fleet,” said the Governor.

  Here it comes, I thought sardonically.

  “This information is less than 24 hours old,” he said, causing me to jolt in my chair, “and given their current speed and your position, my military advisors believe you can intercept them two jumps out of Hart in an uninhabited star system. I know this requires trust on your part in believing me but this might be our best chance to stop this Reclamation Fleet cold. We haven’t been able to penetrate New Pacifica; everything we sent for a quick recon was destroyed so far, so it’s going to take longer to find out what’s still there.”

  “Although we’ve not yet spotted the Command Carrier in the Fleet we’re trailing—either due to fleet jump cycles, the Carrier being back in New Pacifica, or in the event it was sent out on another mission entirely—our scout has been keeping pace with their destroyers and positively identified more than forty destroyers as well as multiple cruisers and two squadrons of battleships. Whether it’s the entire enemy fleet, as I’m inclined to believe, or merely a fraction of their real size, this is our chance to hit the blighters where they live. Your Highness, let’s teach them a lesson not to invade our Sector of known space. Sector Governor Isaak Doringcourt, out,” he finished, and a few moments after he stopped speaking the screen went blank.

  “Ha!” I snorted. I knew that when the murderous blighter said he needed no introduction that he wouldn’t be able to resist the opportunity to sound his own horn at least once in the conversation.

  “Sir! You can’t let past history with the man stop you from doing what you know is right. This could be our chance,” Captain Hammer said, her eyes blazing.

  “What are you on about?” I asked and then waved her off. “Of course we have no choice but to willingly place the noose around our neck and intercept that fleet. What kind of Admiral do you take me for?” From the sudden embarrassment on her face, I didn’t really want the answer to that question. And realizing this whole course of conversation was the result of one utterance, I felt compelled to explain myself, “I was only commenting on the Governor’s hypocrisy, perhaps inappropriately, in first stating he needed no introduction in the beginning and then making sure and certain to trot out his new titles at the end of the message—after he’d gotten us good and hooked with his new intel.”

  “If you say so, Sir,” Leonora Hammer said with a look that said in no uncertain terms that not only was it inappropriate, but completely out of place in our current war council. Fortunately, I was the Admiral, and therefore I was allowed to hold my petty grudges against those who had repeatedly attempted to slaughter me in my sleep—as well as on live camera.

  Isaak’s day would come eventually, if I had anything to say about it.

  “Just so we can confirm. We are switching targets from New Tau Ceti to an attempted fleet interception outside of Hart’s World Star System?” the ship’s Tactical Officer asked cautiously.

  “Yes, Mr. Hart,” I informed the Lieutenant, “although I haven’t ruled out a spoiling raid with a couple of detached lighter squadrons, we are most definitely going to try and stop these blighters before they hit another Core World.”

  “Worst case, we can follow them in and hit them on their way to Hart’s World if we bungle the intercept and only take out a portion of their fleet, or if they move faster than expected and we arrive too late,” Captain Hammer said firmly and while I didn’t like the negative word strewn in there projecting our potential failures I had to agree in principle—but not in practice.

  “While there is truth to the Captain’s words, as your Admiral I have to say that I’m not about to accept anything less than the interception and destruction of this enemy fleet before they have the chance to devastate Hart’s World,” I growled.

  There were mutters of acceptance, prompting me to clap my hands together before things took an undesirable turn—as was the norm in meetings like this one.

  “We’ve got the time and we know where the enemy is about to hit. Let’s make the most of this opportunity. I don’t want to see this ambush fail because we missed something,” I said grimly and, unlike Captain Hammer who was free with her worries, I decided to forgo my fears. Those fears included the possibility of Sir Isaak leading us into a reverse ambush by telling us where the enemy were going to be, and then attempting to play both sides by warning these Imperials, or Reclamationists, or whatever they called themselves that we were going to be there waiting for them.

  No, I decided these people didn’t need to be the subject of my worries. We would just work up a contingency plan for an early detection. I certainly wasn’t going to be telling Sir Isaak where we were going to be until after the engagement was over. Heavy lies the crown.

  “Then let’s be about it,” I said.

  Captain Hammer nodded.

  “A preliminary scan of the potential ambush systems, taken from the Nav-data base indicates that…” the Captain began eagerly pointing out various pros and cons of using this star system as a potential intercept/ambush point, while the Tactical Officer occasionally chimed in.

  With my laboriously devised plan for New Tau Ceti up in smoke, I sat back and let the new information wash over me. This was going to take a while.

  Chapter Five: Medically-induced Frustration

  The old engineer tromped into the room, pausing at the doorway to stare around suspiciously a plasma torch in one hand and a blaster pistol in the other. There was also a shock rifle strapped to his back, and a full tool belt circling his waist.

  He was an engineer ready for anything, and a man loaded with ammunition for one of the greatest threats to life and limb a person could expect to face in this lifetime.

  “I’m grateful you could take the time to come down, Commander. We really need your help,” said the white-coated man gratefully, “I don’t know what more we can do unless—” the other man’s words were cut off when a deactivated—but still warm—plasma torch was shoved in his face.

  “Back away—to the other side of the room,” Commander Spalding ordered sharply.

  “Of course,” the other man said, cautiously eyeing the Engineer’s many weapons, “you know…there’s no need for that weaponry here.”

  “When you enter a house of horrors, you bring with you every weapon you can carry—now stand aside,” Spalding barked, motioning toward the wall. “And one more word out of you and I’ll stun you,” he said bluntly, tapping a stunner strapped to the upper part of his mechanical left leg when Doctor Presbyter began to open his mouth in protest.

  Presbyter lifted his hands in the air and stepped back toward the wall. “The patient is in there,” he said, gesturing toward the appropriate room.

  Spalding stepped sideways, sidling along until he was at the door, always careful to keep the doctor in the sights of his blaster pistol.

  Suddenly the door leading out of the doctor’s office slid open and a second white-coated figure e
ntered the room. The old engineer’s blaster instinctively swung in that direction, eliciting a gasp followed by a look of alarm.

  “Doctor!” exclaimed the medical assistant, her eyes darting from Spalding to Presbyter and back, eventually finding and fixating on the blaster.

  “No need to worry, Miss Aventi,” Presbyter said calmly.

  “But…he’s armed,” the Medical Assistant said in dismay as soon as Spalding’s blaster tracked back to the doctor and stayed there.

  “At least point that thing at the floor,” Presbyter sighed.

  “Can’t trust a single one of the scheming lot of you,” Spalding growled, “but even if I could, I know the face of a serpent when I see it!”

  Grumbling under his breath the old engineer slapped the entry pad leading into one of the private rooms in the ward. As soon as it cycled open, he hopped inside and didn’t relax until after the door finally slid shut.

  “Now isn’t that just a ruddy mess…” he muttered to himself.

  “Go-o away,” slurred a disinterested voice from the small hospital bed situated in the corner of the room. “I to-old you-u I don’t want more the-arapy.”

  “And right you are to send that sanctimonious lot of charlatans packin’, lad,” Spalding said turning back around and clomping over to the bed.

  “Chi-ef Enginee-er?” stuttered the man on the bed in a halting voice.

  “That’s right, lad,” Commander Spalding declared, “the doctors have done what little they can for you, and now it’s time to cast them to the wayside. Tissue regeneration? Ha! ‘Cranial surgery after a traumatic brain injury followed by physical therapy.’ Yes, I read the file; what a passel of meaningless mealy mouthed psycho-babble.”

  The patient stiffened his face before twitching and jerking his expression into a sneer.

  “Go a-a-away. I do-on’t want it. Ta-ake the ther-apy and…shove it!” he shouted out the last two words in an almost normal and understandable voice. “I’m ru-uined. Can’t wo-ork a nav con-con-conso-ole if…can’t stay sitting or pre-pre-press a keypa-ad,” he finished with scowl.