by Dean Henegar
“All right, quiet down, everyone,” Slater announced over the buzz of the crowd. Having this many people in a confined space was exciting, a chance to feel like a part of humanity once more.
“The results of the first round of testing are in. Our first corvettes are complete, and two captains are about to take their new commands. First, and not much of a surprise, given the time he spent at the helm of the Franklin, let’s congratulate Captain Guzman and his crew with the highest score in testing.” The crowd cheered, and Guzman and his crew stepped up onto any available table to receive their prize.
“With the ship comes the honor of naming it. What has your crew decided, Captain Guzman?” Slater asked.
“This ship looks ominous and deadly, even when sitting still. Enemies will look upon her with fear in their hearts. We have named our ship the Tiburon . . . That’s ‘shark’ to most of you,” Guzman said, and the crowd applauded his choice of names. Drones engraved the ship’s name as well as the image of a shark onto the corvette as Guzman and his crew took command of their vessel. Guzman’s crew had to be supplemented by the crew from the other SAC ships, bringing him up to a full crew of thirty. A normal ship of this size had a crew of over sixty, but automation brought the number down to only twenty. The ships would be carrying more crew than they required, enabling them to replace losses in battle without hampering their performance.
Included alongside Guzman’s crew were Gabriella and the other eight miners who had been imprisoned with him. They were comfortable working alongside Guzman, and their presence meant his ship could be used to prospect for additional metals as they began their long journey home. Should they encounter a mineral-rich asteroid that proved easy to mine, the fleet just might expand further.
“Our second ship is being awarded to . . .” Slater paused and several of the crew beat out a drumroll on the tabletops. “Commander Moreno and her crew!” Slater announced. Commander Moreno had barely beaten out the other two corvette commanders, all of whom still needed training. Commander Moreno had cobbled together a crew of forty-two from the survivors of her ship and a few of the stragglers she had gotten along with during their imprisonment.
“Two things, Commander Moreno. First, I don’t want anyone below the rank of captain in command of a vessel in Task Force Vengeance, so by the power vested in me by the admiralty, I am giving you a field promotion to captain. Now, Captain Moreno, what is the name of your corvette going to be?” Slater asked the newly promoted and very excited captain.
“We’ve discussed this, and this ship will be the Huracan, the storm that sweeps away her foes,” Moreno replied. She took her crew and hustled over to check out the newly christened vessel.
“Commander Herrera and Perez, I would like to also announce your promotions to captain, though I’m sorry your ships are not quite ready. The two destroyers are next, which will be issued to Captains Falkoff and Peirce. For now, get together to work out training schedules for all your crews to get time at the helm of the two ships. Sorry, Captains, you’re going to have to share for a bit as we try to get everyone up to speed. Make sure your stealth generators are set to give off the return of a gnomish raider and then cast off for some training once your crews have settled in,” Slater ordered.
The excitement at the promotions and the new ships being completed seemed to have put everyone in a good mood. Slater felt like he was a commodore, not a glowing ball of energy. It felt good to be part of a fleet, even if it was only a small task force of three ships for the moment. It wouldn’t be long, though. Even now, the drones were starting on the frameworks for the two destroyers, pulling material from the ever-shrinking station to build the new vessels.
With Guzman and his crew gone, the Franklin felt a bit empty with only the soldiers, Doctor Cheng, and the eight patients needing care in the med bay, two of whom would be transferred to the new corvettes to complete their treatment, lightening the load on the Franklin’s treatment pods. The doctor who was among the survivors, Doctor Carlisle from Captain Peirce’s crew, opted to stay on the station with his crew until their destroyer was complete. Doctor Carlisle would spend most of the day in the med bay, working with the patients and training medical staff for each of the other ships. With only a pair of corpsmen and a sailor trained as a combat lifesaver, he had his work cut out for him. Thankfully, the tech involved with the treatment pods meant that even someone with a minimal amount of medical training could treat a serious injury or illness.
The task force still hadn’t garnered any attention from the other gnomish stations, a situation that would not last indefinitely. Still, before they could leave, Slater would need another three days to finish up the destroyers and three days after that for the final corvettes. There wouldn’t be a whole lot of salvage left after the last ship was built, so he had the new corvettes locate and tow back the large chunks of debris from the raiders he had blasted in the fight. It was a good training exercise for the new crew and let them break in the new ships . . . as well as scuff up the finish on the Tiburon when the ship nudged into a large piece of raider while trying to bring it under tow. Valuable lessons were learned, and the additional salvage was welcome.
He did spend a small amount of salvage on creating an escape pod for the surviving gnomes, who hadn’t expressed much desire to leave and seemed content with the fair treatment they were receiving. Doctor Cheng, who had been assigned to interact with the prisoners, came to him with a strange request soon after the first corvettes were launched.
“Commodore Slater, the gnomes wish to speak with you,” Cheng requested.
“What do they want? Did you let them know we’ll send them back to their people in an escape pod once we’re done here?” Slater replied.
“Yes, and they don’t seem to want to go back. It seems their failure at allowing the Keeblhar to take their ship over will be met with an extreme reaction,” she advised.
He hadn’t thought about that. Apparently, sending the gnomes back to their clan would be a death sentence. Still, he didn’t want them roaming about his ship, and the station was going to be consumed when he was done with it.
“What exactly do they want? I can always throw them out the airlock or, better yet, process them for biomass if they’re unhappy with their living conditions,” Slater said, annoyed at the little monsters.
“They want us to drop them off at a place called Sarton Station. From what they told me, it’s on our path home. It’s a few jumps from here and is kind of like a free city of sorts. Think Tortuga in the days of the pirates. They believe they can make a living there selling their baked goods. One of the gnomes has some secret recipe that’s supposedly in high demand. He’s offered to share it with us as long as we don’t go into business and compete against him,” Doctor Cheng added.
“What do I care about a bakery recipe? I’m leaning toward reprocessing them as biomass, but let me talk to them. Who exactly do they think we are? I know you didn’t tell them about me. Do they think we’re a human operation?” Slater asked.
“They think we’re some rescue force here from human space. These gnomes are low on the totem pole and don’t know much about the area around here, but apparently, everyone knows about Sarton Station,” she added.
Slater patched through to the cell the gnomes were being held in. “I’m a busy commodore. What’s this about dropping you off somewhere? I thought I was being more than generous in shooting you off in an escape pod. After all, I’m not exactly a big fan of your people, so I suggest you don’t waste my time,” Slater said.
The gnomes trembled a bit before one replied. “Great leader, sir, we’re sorry to presume on your patience, but to send us back would be worse than throwing us out of the airlock. Take us to Sarton Station. It’s one of the few places a human ship can dock and not be attacked on sight,” the gnome pleaded.
This Sarton Station place could be a treasure trove of information if it were truly neutral. “Very well. I’ll take you there, but you’ll have to show us
the way. Any funny business and I’ll do much worse than throw you out the airlock. I’ll serve you to my crew and let them dine on gnome while you’re still alive. Living gnome flesh is quite the delicacy to humans, you know,” Slater threatened, lying, of course, about feeding the gnome to his crew. Well, not quite lying, as he could always reprocess them into biomass, which would essentially mean the crew was eating them.
“No need for gnome-eating, sir. Not at all. I’ll even sweeten the deal with my famous recipe for the amazing Elgenflazzle cakes. You’ll love ’em, I swear. They’re much tastier than a nasty gnome would be,” the gnome said, shaking in fear.
“Fine, I’ll hold the crew from eating you four in exchange for the recipe. I’ll figure out a place to keep you since we’re destroying this station soon,” Slater said, going back to a private feed with Doctor Cheng.
“Doctor, I think they’re too scared to try anything, at least for the time being. In fact, they really don’t have any option other than to come through on their end of the bargain if they want to land somewhere that doesn’t mean a painful death. I just don’t know where to put them that will keep them out of trouble,” Slater said.
“I think the best place is to keep them on the upper deck of the Franklin. The rest of the crew doesn’t go there, and the place is going to be packed with MOBS that would tear the gnomes apart if they tried anything. You can observe them and their behavior, integrating that knowledge into our gnome MOBS, making them more believable,” the doctor suggested.
“You know, that just might work. I’ll restrict them to a few compartments out of the way of any traffic. I like the idea of observing their reactions, and that seems like a good task for you, Doctor. I’ll count on you making some observations and recording the data for me,” Slater ordered.
The doctor didn’t appear perturbed with the task, and it seemed right up her alley as far as work went. If the gnomes took one step outside of their assigned area, they would have a very bad day when his reapers spotted them.
Without any immediate ship launches to do or cookie recipes to torture out of gnome prisoners, Slater made some adjustments to his research. His focus had switched to improving systems for his human crewed ships as much as upgrading his own. Some things had been easy to do, like scaling up a railgun from five inches to fifteen. Some things were a bit more of a challenge, like programming the repair and combat drones for the task force. He also wanted some improved power distribution for both his and the other ships as well as faster-charging jump drives.
Research Allocation:
Autonomous Drones: 25%
Reapers: 25%
Reactor Efficiency: 25%
Jump Drives: 25%
His research was done by the time the destroyers were completed. He would have loved to have given Captain Guzman command of one, but Guzman had more experience at the helm of a corvette than a larger vessel. Peirce and Falkoff ran their crews hard, trying to get them up to speed on the new systems as quickly as possible. Both had opted to name their ships after the ones they had lost: the USS Kidd and the HMS Nestor. The final two corvettes were now under construction, and his drones should have them completed in around three days. With his destroyers and corvettes camouflaged as raiders, he sent them out to gather further debris from the battle. There wasn’t much more to be found, but gathering everything possible now made sense, especially when doing so gave the crews valuable experience running their ships.
As soon as the last corvettes were done and the final bits of salvage were processed, he would proceed to the next nearest gnomish station—which he had learned was owned by the Flobblegunk clan—and take it over. While most of the Flobblegunk clan’s human slaves had been captured by the Keeblhar and subsequently freed by Slater, they still might have a few who needed rescuing. The mass from a second station would allow him to upgrade all his ships. He could make the Franklin a true battleship and upgrade all the other vessels to destroyers or light cruisers.
When his research completed, he would continue trying to upgrade the drones for his new ships while also upgrading his own forces. His earlier research had improved the weapons his drones used as well as the ones he could print up for the humans. The explosive rounds were more powerful, and the rifle was more accurate. A crew-served weapon that fired a larger round was designed off the machine gun that Sergeant Gonzales had used before he died. The weapons were a powerful upgrade to his automated defense turrets, and once he upgraded his drones further, he suspected that his reapers would be able to carry the heavier weapons.
Slater also sacrificed a repair drone, having it launch itself off the ship to see how far he could still control it. It had been over a day and he still had control over the drone. He left it on its slow course out of the system, but the initial results suggested that he could pursue building some type of drone fighter craft in the not too distant future. Perhaps with the next upgrade he would see about adding a flight deck to the Franklin.
Grenade research had shrunk the size needed for the units inside his blast rats, enabling him to place two inside each. The little guys now packed twice the punch. The next gnomish station would be in for a nasty surprise once he boarded it. With the body armor upgrade, his human crews and bio-based MOBS would be better protected. As far as combat went, his reapers were the preferred unit, but in rare instances, other MOBS like the orcs and gnomes were good to fool enemies about the true nature of their foe.
He spent his remaining time overseeing the construction of the final vessels and interacting with the new crew. They were understandably freaked out by what he was, but most had loosened up once they had time to speak with him. Slater was a real person, even if his body had changed its form. He wanted—needed—to believe he was the same man as he had been on the day the Franklin self-destructed.
— 25 —
“Ladies and gentlemen, with these last two vessels, the Cordova and the Durango, our task force is complete. I estimate the enemy will not arrive in the system for another week, giving us enough time to strike once more against the gnomes. The closest gnomish station, home to the Flobblegunk clan, will be our next target. We will destroy any defenders, take the station, free any of our fellow humans, take their supplies, and make our escape. It will take less than a day to get there and a day to leave, so we’ll only spend a day or two at most gathering resources. With my newly enhanced drone capacity, we should be able to make off with quite a bit of salvage in that time frame. All crews to their stations. We sail within the hour,” Slater ordered.
The task force left as the last of the Keeblhar station was broken down for salvage, the drones storing the bricks of material inside the Franklin’s newly expanded storage bays. Each of the other ships had full stores of weapons, food, and repair materials. His ship had a small reserve of salvage, enough for a modest number of repairs as well as ammunition fabrication for both the railguns and the missile magazines.
His task force approached the Flobblegunk clan. The Franklin’s acceleration and sensor return profile were now matching that of the Keeblhar mothership commanded by A. His six other vessels had deployed their camouflage systems as well, making the smaller vessels appear as raiders. The Flobblegunk might see their approach as a hostile maneuver, but as long as Slater got to within weapons range, he would be happy. He couldn’t wait to try out his new main battery on a real target.
The ship felt a bit empty with only Camden, Harris, Long, and Cheng on board. He had gotten used to the bustle of activity the additional crew had brought. Still, these were the humans—along with Captain Guzman and some of his crew—who he knew were loyal. Slater trusted each of them completely and was glad to have them aboard. His thoughts were interrupted when the Flobblegunks hailed his vessel.
“Hey, Keeblhar. Why do you approach with raiders in a hostile configuration? You know the rules. Violate another clan’s space and pay the price. Heave to, and our ships will take the fine from your supplies,” a gnome wearing the hat of command ordered.
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Slater had gnome MOBS printed up as a false crew. One of them was even made to resemble A, just in case the Flobblegunks knew who captained the Keeblhar vessels.
“Aye, Flobblegunk Prime, we’ll obey and wait for your ships to board,” Slater ordered his A to reply. He had gleaned some knowledge of the other clans’ structures from the station’s databanks. Each had a bit of a twist on naming their leaders and how new leaders ascended to power. To be honest, it was a confusing mess, and Slater was almost glad he wouldn’t have to try and refine his ruse for each clan. The Flobblegunks would be the last, providing all the resources necessary to begin the journey home.
The Flobblegunks possessed four or five motherships, according to his data, but only two were currently in the system. The fractious nature of gnomish politics ensured that each clan kept a strong defensive force on hand; in their books, an undefended station was an open invitation for a hostile takeover. The two motherships were larger than the ones he had faced so far, each capable of carrying eight raiders. The Flobblegunk clan was wealthier than the Keeblhar clan, but not by a huge margin.
“All ships, cut thrust and assume formation Alpha,” Slater ordered to the task force. The ships continued their current course and speed as the gnomish motherships approached at their modest levels of acceleration. He had placed the Franklin front and center of the formation. Slightly back from the Franklin, the destroyers Kidd and Nestor took position on the flanks. The corvettes were farther back than the destroyers, maneuvering around to find any gaps that gave them a clear field of fire.
The formation was different than the conventional take. Normally, the smaller ships were sent in front of the capital ships to act as a screen. They were used to shield the more important vessels and wear down smaller craft and missile swarms from their foes. With his core-enhanced hull, more numerous and accurate weapons, and a lack of crew to injure, the Franklin would bear the brunt of any assault.
