Admiral's Throne

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Try more like impossible, if we’re talking using a conventional drive. Fortunately for all involved, the Spindle Drive doesn’t seem to have been as impaired as previously thought. Using it means risking a bad jump but considering it’s our homeworld under threat, that’s just a risk we’re going to have to take,” I said.

  “You’re the Admiral; I suppose you would know better than my staff what risks are at an acceptable level,” the System Magistrate said.

  “We have everything under control,” I said, crossing my fingers outside the holo-pickup.

  I sure hoped we had everything under control.

  “Thanks again for the exotic minerals I won’t forget it,” I said.

  “I just hope I’m around long enough for those thanks to mean something,” the System Magistrate said with ill humor.

  “I’m hoping along with you,” I said, figuring that if it came time for an evacuation, the top-level politicians in this star system would be the first rats to jump ship.

  “One last thing,” said the Magistrate as I moved to cut the channel.

  I suppressed a sigh.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I understand you’re unmovable on the topic of returning to Tracto,” he lifted a hand, “and I’m not trying to beat a dead horse here. Genuinely. But what I would like to broach is the topic of just what exactly your fleet will be doing up until you depart,” he said.

  “Go on,” I said, narrowing my eyes.

  “I was wondering if up until the point you depart the star system, you could see your way clear to continuing on with joint exercises,” he said.

  “A reasonable request,” I admitted.

  “However, I’ll have to take it under advisement. One way or the other, the majority of this fleet is leaving this star system,” I said.

  “Can I take it from what you just said that you will be leaving us within a matter of hours or days?” asked the Magistrate.

  “You can take it however you want,” I said and with a nod, I cut the channel.

  Chapter 57

  A Bad Jump?

  “Sir, I cannot advise we proceed with a jump attempt at this time,” said First Officer Manblaster.

  “Listen up, Manblaster,” I said sharply, “we’re going and that’s it.”

  “Yes, Sire, and I personally agree but my duty to this ship demands I lodge a formal objection. It’s all funny numbers at this point but our best statisticians suggest between a 40% and 70% chance of failure. As you well know, one bad jump could destroy this entire fleet,” he said steadily. “I would be remiss in my duties if I failed to point that out,” he said.

  “The Spindles say they’re good for a low-threshold jump, whatever that means, and that’s good enough for me. I respect your professionalism but the fact is, this fleet exists for the purpose of protecting others. In this case, our homeworld,” I said with finality.

  “So that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Yes, we have a duty not to throw away our lives but I’m not sure I could live with myself if we didn’t at least make the attempt,” I said.

  “I understand, Sire. Your family, the part which isn’t onboard the Lucky Clover II, that is, resides on Tracto and any threat to it is a threat to them. Not to mention everything you have built,” he said.

  “We have built, First Officer, it was a joint effort including all of us,” I said pointedly. I could have never accomplished a tithe of what I had done without my loyal officers and crew.

  “As you say,” he nodded, “my point still stands. While you and I may view it as a risk worth taking, I am uncertain if everyone in the fleet will share that same thought.”

  “This is war. We’re at war,” I pointed out.

  “You’re within your right. Still, you might consider offering the choice to any of the crew who might desire to stay here and fight the good fight while the rest of us return to Tracto,” he said.

  I considered it. Seriously and strongly. A point transfer with a faulty drive or cracked hyper-dish was no laughing matter. Rather, it was akin to suicide. Seen from the right perspective, using the Spindles after they were almost destroyed was very much the same thing.

  On the other hand…

  “I don’t want anyone to be stigmatized if they decide not to risk the jump. The majority of the fleet is required at home. If we went in short-handed and defeated the bugs, every man or woman lost could be mistakenly laid at the feet of those who chose not to take the risk,” I said after a minute of contemplation.

  “The Fleet will follow you, Admiral. If you ask it of them. I just worry is all. We’ve engaged in an intensive campaign immediately after two years of peace,” he said.

  “I don’t want to ask too much of them either,” I agreed.

  “How about this. We’ll ask for volunteers to stay here and support the Confederation Flotilla and Sector Guard Fleet. Because of battle damage to a few of our ships, we’ll allow inter-ship transfers with the approval of both ships’ captains and the appropriate department heads,” I said.

  “It’s better than nothing and it might work. We won’t know until we try,” Manblaster agreed.

  “That’s what we’ll do then,” I said.

  Chapter 58

  A Bad Jump

  The ships selected to stay behind and support the Sector Fleet; mainly, a group consisting of five squadrons of destroyers had detached from the fleet. The voluntary numbers from those seeking to stay and help defend the sector capital and those determined to return home to assist their families had already been selected.

  Word through the grapevine was that there was agitation among a number of primarily Caprian crews, but nothing had risen to my level as of yet.

  “The Spindle’s ready for a low-resolution point transfer, whatever that is, Admiral,” reported Navigator Shepherd. It was a relief. The alien devices had been building power for almost twelve hours at this point and that was with a trunk line still jacked into the original spindle, still intact enough to initiate repairs.

  “Let’s do this,” I said, issuing the order.

  “Message relayed to the fleet. Prepare for Spindle-initiated point transfer,” said Manblaster.

  Within seconds, the com-board lit up.

  “I’m receiving protests from various ships’ captains, Admiral,” reported Lisa Steiner.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Note their protests and relay the order to hold fast. Their ships are not to activate their drive units at this time and they are not to maneuver their ships in any way except for routine station-keeping on the flagship or to maintain position within the spindles,” I said.

  I also instructed my Chief of Staff, through text message, to prepare a list of those captains with objections for later review.

  “Initiating jump in three minutes,” said Shepherd, looking ill.

  A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Helmsman DuPont’s face and there was a deathly silence on the bridge. All eyes locked onto our navigation team.

  “Steady, Bridge. Our best engineers and scientists have been observing the Spindle’s repair efforts. The risk of a mis-jump was judged minimal and within the acceptable range for a recently repaired jump-drive,” I said.

  I don’t know how many people believed me but they seemed to steady at my words.

  Then the final countdown started.

  “Prepare for point-transfer in 10-9-8-7-6….3-2-1, initiating!” reported Shepherd.

  The next moment, the room seemed to waver and a gut-wrenching sensation grabbed hold of my belly and wouldn’t let go.

  For a long moment, reality seemed to waver.

  ***

  “Hurry up, you old fool!” cried Spalding.

  “Who are you calling an old fool!” snapped half a dozen old men who varied from entirely human versions to ones with varying levels of old age and cybernetic enhancements as they ran into main engineering.

  Commodore Terrence P. Spalding eyed
his various doppelgangers suspiciously and folded his arms as the man in the lead bounced off the force-field that separated the anti-matter generators from the rest of the ship.

  “What are you doing, you fool? Let us in!” demanded a handsome wild-haired version of himself, with no cybernetic enhancements.

  “Not blasted likely,” he rumbled.

  “The ship’s under attack, you old cyborg,” snapped another Spalding.

  “We’re about to be overrun. Engineering’s at risk,” cried the first Spalding.

  “From what?” Commodore Spalding asked, arms still crossed.

  “The six-tentacled alien monsters!” the other six Spaldings said, almost in unison. The echoing distortion of their voices was eerie if he did say so himself.

  When the un-borged Spalding added, “Are you off your robotic rocker or just daft in the head?” that seemed a bit much even for him, though.

  “Now I know you’re all a bunch of imposters,” Commodore Spalding declared.

  When the rest of them looked at him non-plused his brow furrowed.

  “I’m not nearly as rude as he is,” Commodore Spalding declared righteously.

  A furious storm erupted and while the six Spalding’s were busy arguing a squad of six armed monsters with tentacles for hands appeared.

  As the other Spalding’s scattered and pulled out plasma torches the Commodore just chortled as the first of the weird looking aliens splattered against the forcefield.

  He was far less sanguine when the next batch arrived and began setting up a crew served turret weapon.

  After they fired and the force field began to buckle the old engineer’s face blanched and he immediately slapped the large red emergency button on the side of his console.

  ***

  There was a flash and the Lucky Clover II reappeared in normal space.

  “Point Emergence,” DuPont managed to gasp out before leaning over at the side of his console and emptying the contents of his stomach into a retractable waste bin.

  “It’s confirmed. We’re back in Tracto,” Sensor Officer Gu Wang Hai said stoically.

  “Admiral, I’m receiving a number of emergency reports from across the ship,” reported Adrienne Blythe from her perch at damage control, looking concerned… then her brow rose in alarm.

  “What kind of reports?” I asked, tensing only to be interrupted.

  “Anti-Matter 2 and 3 have entered a purge and automatic restart but no evidence of an instability event or other emergency at this time,” she exclaimed.

  “What in the blazes?” I snapped.

  “Six ships have scrammed their fusion reactors and are giving automated warn away messages,” snapped Tactical.

  “Bugs!” cried a Sensor Operator.

  “So soon? Confirm that!” snapped First Officer Manblaster.

  “Aye-aye, First Officer,” said the Sensor Officer, turning to stand over the shoulder of his over-excited Sensor Operator.

  “I’m receiving multiple reports of boarders inside our warships,” reported the Com-Officer.

  “Just what is going on?!” I snapped.

  There was a cacophony of voices each trying to speak over the other.

  “Silence!” Akantha’s voice rose an octave until she pierced through all the confusion.

  A sudden quiet swept the bridge.

  Then, Manblaster stepped forward.

  “One at a time,” he growled and then pointed at Blythe.

  “The Clover isn’t about to explode?” he demanded.

  “We’re fine but—” she started.

  “Next!” Manblaster turned to Sensors, ignoring her.

  “Where are the bugs?” ordered the First Officer.

  A partial map jumped onto the main screen. It displayed the sun and major planetary bodies then zoomed into the nearest, Tracto, and the bugships advancing on it.

  “There are no bugs within combat distance of our position, First Officer. But there is bug sign all over the star system,” reported Gu Wang Hai.

  A moment later, Belter Station popped up on the screen.

  “We came just in the nick of time then,” I said with relief.

  I then preempted Manblaster and turned to Blythe.

  “What’s going on in my ship, Warrant?” I demanded. Now that it was clear we weren’t in the middle of a Swarm of bugs, the Lucky Clover II was my first priority. Despite multiple reassurances, our anti-matter generators didn’t just turn off!

  By itself, the Clover could singlehandedly change a battlefield and if we lost her….

  Blythe had her head cocked with one hand to her ear as she held the ear-bud in place to help listen.

  She lifted a hand and then paled.

  “The Commodore was found next to the entrance to anti-matter generators 2 and 3,” she reported, “it’s possible the Commodore put them into a manual shutdown.

  “He was found? What does that even mean… is he dead?” I demanded feeling a thrill of alarm.

  “He was… incapacitated… and there’s more,” she said.

  “Spit it out,” I ordered feeling surge of relief.

  “Let me show you,” she said instead shooting a link to my Throne.

  For a moment, I was irritated to the point I was about ready to reprimand her but I hesitated.

  Opening the link, the Commodore appeared sprawled out on the deck like a dead fish. Only the way he tried to bat away the medic when the medical personnel placed a monitoring device on him gave the evidence he was still alive.

  “He was attacked. Possibly right before we jumped,” I said flatly and turned to Coms.

  “Reach the Lancer Colonel; we’re putting this ship into full lockdown,” I said.

  “More reports are conflicting but there’s more,” she started.

  “Unless we’ve got boarders running around trying to take over the ship, I think that’s enough,” I said turning away.

  “I have the Lancer Colonel on the line; he’s insisting on speaking with you,” reported Steiner, reaching over to give me a handheld.

  “Wait one,” I told Blythe and turned to the Colonel on my screen.

  “What have you got?” I said tersely

  “Something boarded the ship,” the Colonel spat out, swiveling the pick-up to display a half-melted creature, more goo than person, but the equipment it was carrying was anything but melted.

  I looked up to the rest of the bridge.

  “Red Alert. Prepare to repel boarders,” I said.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes of chaos later, and it was determined that the ‘boarders’—whoever or whatever they were, as the medical was still pending results from the bio-samples put in the sequencer—had appeared on multiple ships throughout the fleet. Also, the reason our six destroyers put their ship’s fusion reactors into emergency shutdown, was because of those very same creatures. There also appeared to be a discrepancy in the anti-matter reserves. It was a minute amount but it still bore looking into.

  Everything about the anti-matter generators was of critical importance. Even a few grams, if improperly used, could destroy the flagship.

  Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to wait for the internal investigation to run its course. The bugs were much deeper into the star system than anyone suspected or the messages relayed by com-stat had led us to project and then the messages started pouring in.

  The first person to hail the flagship was a surprise.

  “I’ve got a Commodore Tully requesting an immediate conference with our flagship,” reported Lisa Steiner, my Chief of Staff, having reverted to her former profession and returned to haunting the communications department now that we were back in Tracto.

  I nodded and opened the channel.

  “This is Admiral Montagne,” I said, taking in the brown-skinned officer with surprise.

  “Tully here, a Commodore in Your Majesty’s System Defense Fleet,” the other man said with a relieved nod.


  My brows rose.

  “Allow me to be the first to say how much a relief it is to see you here. When we heard the message summoning relief should have been received days ago but that your Patrol Fleet had yet to arrive, I feared the worst,” the Commodore said, sighing with relief.

  “Glad to have you here; we can obviously use the help, but even gladder to be back in person, Tully. I’m sure there’s a story here but how did you get to Tracto?” I hazarded the question. I was aware of every commodore in the MSP and Tractoan SDF, his rank combined with acknowledging me as ‘his Majesty’ meant he had to come from Capria. However, Capria was far enough away that for reinforcements to have reached Tracto before us seemed improbable.

  “My detachment was on working up trials, testing our jump-drives with half strength crews, when my officer stripped a com-stat buoys as we were passing through and I learned Tracto had discovered bug signs,” said Tully.

  “You must have been quite some distance out. I wasn’t aware such long-range patrols were part of the usual builder’s trials,” I said.

  “It wasn’t a builder’s trial and regardless to say, no, they are not,” Tully said, baring his teeth.

  “We’ll get into that later. In the meantime, I appreciate your dedication to King and country,” I said.

  “I couldn’t stand by while several million people were eaten,” the Commodore demurred.

  “Of course,” I said perfunctorily and then focused back on the man with a sharp gaze. Whatever he’d been up to was less important than the fact he’d shown up ready to fight when the Tractoan Star system was under attack.

  “What’s the current strength of your forces, Commodore?” I asked.

  The Commodore looked embarrassed for the first time.

  “I started with a squadron of light cruisers and twelve armed freighters but three of my freighters and one of my cruisers had to withdraw to Belter Station for repairs,” he admitted.

  My gaze sharpened. We would definitely be talking later.

  “We did what we could but with the size of the Swarm,” Tully shrugged awkwardly, “I soon realized our best hope was to delay and avoid. Harassing attacks seemed to work for a while but the main Swarm wised up after a few days. After that, all we could do was send light units to interdict their biomass recovery efforts. We swept clean every scout and scout marauder unescorted by a harvester that we could reach. I don’t know if it was enough though…” he trailed off.