Druid leaned back in his chair, his brows rising. Despite the shocking news, he couldn’t help a healthy dose of skepticism from coloring his thoughts as he mulled over the report.
“We, the survivors of Prometheus, may be few in numbers, but our hearts burn for revenge,” Iorghu continued. “I know that we don’t have the best relationship but I’m desperate. Prometheus Fire, and the squadron of corvettes that accompany us, formally throw ourselves on the mercy of the mighty War Prince, Jason Montagne, Vice Admiral of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, also known as the Tyrant of Cold Space.” His face twisted into a bitter expression as he added, “We want to rejoin the MSP.”
Druid blinked at the more than slightly disrespectful address of the Admiral by a group which claimed it wanted to join his fleet. Meanwhile, bridge standers all around him broke out in a chorus of curses against the very same Reclamation Fleet that had attacked and destroyed their ship, the Parliamentary Power.
“Jason Montagne, I know my words mean less than nothing to a man like you,” Captain Iorghu’s mouth twisted, “but all I can do is beg you, Sir: please do your sworn duty as a Confederation Admiral and save our world. If you can then I swear you will find none more grateful—or more loyal—than the survivors of Prometheus! We will not enter this star system without an invitation; we anxiously await your reply, Admiral.”
“Well, that was something else,” Druid said dryly after the transmission ceased.
“You don’t believe him, sir?” the XO asked with surprise.
Druid looked at him strangely. “Actually, I do…or, at least, I believe the important points: his home world being destroyed, and this being a group of survivors representing the last of Prometheus’ military,” he said.
“I see,” said the XO.
Dismissing him from his mind, Druid turned to the Communications Station. “Comm., I think we’re going to need to send a top priority message to Tracto Station and ask them to fire up the long-range array for another message,” instructed the Commodore.
“On it, sir,” said the Ensign, “I’ll encode a copy of this transmission to send along with your message.”
“Do that, and then open a channel between me and this Captain Iorghu. I think it’s about time we talked,” said Druid.
It looked like this was going to be yet another in a series of long days.
Chapter Sixty-five: Panic in the Sector Government House
Sir Isaak dropped the data chips he had been holding in shock. “Come again?” he demanded numbly.
“Governor, we’ve just received word from Areas Prime that a massive Fleet has just conquered Prometheus,” said the shadowy figure on the other end of his screen that managed Sir Isaak’s secret high priority FTL com-stat network. “They call themselves the Reclamation Fleet, and they apparently have an Imperial Command Carrier.”
“Dear space-gods,” Isaak muttered, firing off a quick prayer to the Lady of Beauty to save them all from the greedy grasp of the Great Destroyer. “Arnold Janeski…I was a fool to think he’d leave us alone.” The former Ambassador didn’t know the extent of whatever Fleet or Empire the Imperial Rear Admiral had managed to amass in the years since the other man had supposedly departed the Sector, but he knew it had to be considerable for him to return now.
“That flow is yours to decide,” the shadowy figure said uncaringly, “do you have any instructions?”
“Not at this time,” Isaak, said cutting the transmission and then activating the com-link connecting him to his staff. “Get in here—now!” he transmitted.
“Sir,” Butters said rushing into the room, “you called?”
Not far behind him was the Governor’s military attaché.
“Butters and Beaumont, stay,” Sir Isaak said sharply, “the rest of you should return to your duties.”
“Yes, Governor,” said the rest of the staff those who had actually made it into the room hurrying back out.
“Was there something we could do for you, Sir?” asked Beaumont as soon as the door was closed and locked.
“Of course there is! Why else would I call you?” Isaak demanded impatiently.
“Sorry, Governor,” said Beaumont.
“Sir?” asked Butters starting to look alarmed.
“What’s the status of the new Sector Guard?” Isaak demanded.
“Two Cruisers from Areas; one from New Pacifica just out of the space-dock; three Squadrons of Destroyers—one more squadron from New Pacifica, also just out of the space-dock, with the other two from Capria,” he gave a nod toward the Governor. “And two more squadrons of Corvettes of mixed providence. There’s also,” he checked his pad, “three transport ships carrying a division of Marines between them, also from Capria and a squadron worth of freighters currently being used as a fleet train. That’s in addition to the permanent force defending the Central System itself.”
“A notable accomplishment, especially considering the previous attempt at establishing a unified Sector Defense Force,” Butters said servilely.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth where it belongs; raising this size of a force was nothing,” Isaak said dismissively. “The previous attempt to build an independent Sector Guard force was laughable at best. The Security Council were fools.”
Beaumont looked at him oddly.
“Weren’t you on the Security Council as its President?” he asked with surprise.
“Don’t be more a fool than you must be, and stick with military matters—they suit you much better,” Isaak said coldly. “You can’t run a military by committee even if you are elected president of it. That’s why I pushed so hard for Governor; with full access to the Administration’s purse and lack of competent oversight, you just need to know where the bodies are buried, which palms to grease, and have the will to get things done.”
“I see,” Beaumont, said pulling back.
“Pacifica doesn’t want to pay for their navy but, by the same token, they aren’t quite foolish enough to give up their battleships. However, getting the Sector to pay for the refit and upgrade of ships—ships they weren’t going to use anyway—as well as the wages of a significant fraction of their remaining SDF personnel was an easy sell. They can always tell the voters that they had no say in whatever goes wrong,” Isaak sighed, “while Capria is almost permanently divided, and whoever is in control wants to send the other half of their military as far away from their home world as they can. With us paying the cost of such a relocation, it was again an easy sell. The rest are the patriotic leavings that anyone could sweep up.”
“And Areas?” asked Butters curiously.
Isaak just smiled enigmatically. “Back to the business at hand,” he said, coming back to reality with a jerk, “Have the Ponce de-Louise and my body double readied at once. We can put out that it’s a goodwill tour to show the people how much their government cares for them. It’ll also make me unavailable for comment in the immediate future—officially speaking.”
“Okay,” said Butters slowly, “I can set that up, although your Chief of Staff would be a better channel for this to go through.”
“Then talk with him,” Isaak said shortly, “I also want the New Sector Guard readied and on their way within two days’ time. No excuses, Mr. Beaumont,” he snapped when the younger man started to open his mouth.
“Where are they supposed to be going, Sir?” Beaumont asked, exchanging an alarmed look with Butters.
Isaak snapped his fingers. “Eyes here, the both of you,” he said flatly. “They’re to go to Easy Haven at their best speed,” Isaak informed them, “we’ll say it’s a series of joint maneuvers, to heal the wounds inflicted on both sides by the previous head of the Guard. Yagar is, conveniently, dead and no longer present to defend himself so he’ll make a convenient scapegoat when the media comes knocking and I assure they will. Next, I’ll need you to come up with a good reason to pull off a few of the larger units from the Defense of Central, so they can be redeployed.”
Looking increasingly
ill at ease Beaumont stared at Governor Isaak. “Sir…is there something going on that we’re not aware of?” he asked. “Sending out a body double on a goodwill tour, and then sending the Guard out on maneuvers…it all seems a little bit…”
“We’re being invaded,” Isaak said flatly. “Prometheus has already fallen and we don’t know much more, except the invaders blockaded the planet so no one knew what was going on—or could even get out to tell the rest of the Sector what was happening until it was all over and done with. And these invaders have a Command Carrier,” he added in a casual tone, but his eyes spoke to the true severity of the situation.
“Sweet Murphy,” Beaumont breathed.
“Prometheus has been suspiciously silent lately,” Butters said, and then the import of what he was talking about must have hit him because he paled. “Dear me, what about the rest of the Sector—are we safe?”
“If either of you breathe a word of this before a ship comes in with the official news, I’ll have you up on treason charges so fast your head will spin and you’ll ride out the rest of your increasingly short lifespan in a prison ship,” Isaak said in a hard voice.
Two heads nodded simultaneously a hint of real fear on their faces.
“As for ‘safe?’ Who knows in these benighted times,” he shrugged, “all we can do is load our side of the balance as heavily as possible and hope it’s enough; which is why we need to consolidate as much force in one place as possible and repulse these invaders.”
“The Tyrant,” Beaumont said with sudden comprehension and sudden heat, “that’s why you wanted to rehabilitate his image months ago. You knew this was coming!”
“I suspected something was moving outside this Sector with ill intent, but that was all vague suspicions and a feeling of alarm. I knew nothing!” Isaak snapped. “If I had known this was coming, I certainly wouldn’t be sitting here in Central—the biggest target in the entire Sector—with nothing but the currently inadequate defense force and a prayer for more time. And as for the Tyrant? Yes, I intend to use him to the fullest extent possible—and then punish him for his crimes against humanity, if it is at all possible or practical to do so. Does that answer your question?” “You’re planning to use him as a shield?” Butters said with surprise and admiration.
“Needs must when the Demon drives,” Isaak shrugged. “It’s a ‘dog eat dog’ galaxy out there; we have to protect our own. In the meantime, I’ve already lined up commitments for a joint defense if Sector 25 was ever to be invaded, however much such commitments are actually worth. I’ll line up even more of them before the Ponce de-Leon actually leaves—including from the Ambassador from Prometheus, so that no one suspects my prior knowledge of the situation. Hopefully once the Core Worlds become aware of the threat posed by this…Reclamation Fleet, and its oversized flagship, they’ll be primed to pull together instead of falling back to the failed strategy of ‘every world for itself’.”
“Is this invasion, this Reclamation Fleet, really such a threat?” asked Beaumont seriously.
“They conquered a Core World,” Isaak said flatly, “if they can do that once, they can do it again. Nowhere in this Sector is safe until they are defeated. And for that, we’re going to need the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet—if only to give the rest of us the time we need to put together a Sector Fleet strong enough to fight them off before they destroy us. I will not stand by and watch while everything I’ve tried to build burns to pieces around me, just because some egomaniacal Imperial thinks he can take what is mine! You have your marching orders—get to it.”
“Yes, Governor,” said the Aide and Attaché before filing out of the room.
Watching them leave, Isaak just hoped the Sector had enough time to rally to its own defense. Manipulating Jason Montagne, a man with a fleet that was—hopefully – if his reports on the numbers of the MSP’s newly captured battleships were correct—stronger than many Core Worlds, into doing what he seemed to naturally do so well anyway, namely by throwing himself into dangerous situations, shouldn’t be too difficult.
Would it be enough? That was the question…it was always the question.
By reinforcing the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet with the Sector Guard, and whatever other forces he could pry out of the soon-to-be-hysterical hands of the major worlds of this Sector, he hoped to be able to at least slow down Admiral Arnold Janeski’s forces.
If he could only hold the Imperial off long enough to bring verified reports to the Old Confederation’s Grand Assembly…no, he knew that was wishful thinking. He’d already focused too much of his time and attention on the Old Confederation; there was no need to throw good money after bad.
The Sector would rally to its own defense or it would not; either it would stand or it would fall. Whichever way things went, hopefully Jason Montagne and his band of misfits would be ground up and destroyed in the process.
But, however things fell out, Sir Isaak, the Governor of Sector 25, planned to survive the affair. While his body double was out on tour—to show the people how much he cared—the real Governor was going to soon move out to an undisclosed location where he could monitor and control the situation from a vantage of relative safety.
Someone was going to have to fix this whole mess if they won, and if they lost….well, going down with the ship was very romantic and all but he was a politician, not a starship captain.
Heading the Sector 25 Government in exile was a markedly better option than dying.
Chapter Sixty-six: Panic on the Home Front
After watching the latest video file from Tracto, I wanted to punch someone in the nose. But I no longer had the luxury of indulging myself, so instead I called an emergency meeting.
“This is a disaster, plain and simple…there’s no two ways about this,” Glenda Baldwin, the Yard Manager for Gambit Station shook her head with dismay after everyone had had time to get caught up on the situation.
“They blew up the Power and now they’ve taken Prometheus by storm,” Spalding growled, “we’re going to have to step up the pace of our repairs right bloody now! We’ll go back to back shifts, with only four or six hours of sleep in between.”
“They only captured the Parliamentary Power, not blew it up; didn’t you watch the video file?” Baldwin snapped. “And what’s this four hours of sleep in a day business? If you run the crews that hard you’re going to have accidents that will set our repair efforts back further than we’d be if you left things as they are!”
“The crew can do it!” Spalding barked back.
“Do you even listen to yourself sometimes?” Glenda shouted. “This is my Yard, not a warship; we’ve got multiple repair projects running simultaneously. We can’t afford any mistakes, not now. And besides, are we even going to be heading out right away?”
“What are you on about, lass?!” Spalding cried. “Of course we’re goin’ out. We can’t let a thing like this stand; worlds are burning and you want us to just what…hide?”
“It churns my gut, too, but this is a Command Carrier we’re talking about. Forget for the moment however many smaller ships it might have with it; did you look at how badly it tore up the Parliamentary Power? It took a Dreadnaught class battleship—one of the most overbuilt ships-of-the-wall in the entire Sector—and cut it open like its armor was made of canned cheese! We don’t have an answer for that—or are you blind as well as forgetful?” she snapped back.
“When the Clover’s finished—” Spalding started.
“You and that infernal ship, which won’t be finished for another year—if then,” Glenda exclaimed throwing her hands in the air.
“Glenda’s right; the Clover won’t be done in time,” I said shortly, causing the Yard Manager to look smug.
“Then we won’t be going out to stop them?” Lieutenant-Commander Hammer asked carefully.
Beside her, Laurent nodded in support of the question.
“Oh we’ll be going out,” I said grimly.
Glenda Baldwin shook her head. “It looks
like suicide to me,” she said flatly.
“Well then it’s a good thing you won’t be going out with us, isn’t it?” I snapped and then took a deep breath to calm myself. Another moment passed, and I had my carefully trained non-expression firmly back in place.
“We’re with you, Admiral,” Spalding growled, “just give us the word.”
Laurent nodded more slowly. “We have to at least try,” he agreed.
“Green crews, recently repaired ships, most of them different classes—and not even out of their shakedown cruises,” Leonora Hammer shook her head. “Not to mention the accumulated battle stress from what trained, veteran officers and crew we do have. It’s a recipe for disaster.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Glenda cried.
“Are you duckin’ out now, lass?” Spalding demanded angrily turning to eye the Confederation Officer while ignoring the Yard Manager he was sweet on.
Hammer glared right back at him unrepentantly.
“Am I to assume you don’t support this operation?” I asked to break the growing tension.
“Oh, blazes no—I’m not backing out. I’m all in on this one, Sir,” Lieutenant-Commander Hammer said, breaking eye contact with Spalding and giving me a level look.
Spalding snorted and Baldwin sighed while the rest of the officers looked on inscrutably.
“I want the Rage put back together as quickly as possible,” I said, declaring my intentions unequivocally. “I’ll be transferring my flag over to her as soon as possible. From what we’ve seen in Druid’s reports, there’s no way anything with less hull armor than a Dreadnaught class can stand up to the main beam of that Imperial Command Carrier—and I’d be a short lived fool to try and command the Fleet from anywhere else. Hopefully with the new sheath of Duralloy II on her, the Royal Rage can do better than the Power when it comes to standing toe to toe with her.”
“Admiral, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but, this is an Imperial ship—a Command Carrier,” Yard Manager Baldwin pointed out. “You’ll be outmanned and outgunned, not to mention outclassed tech-wise.”
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