“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 t
ablet, “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?”
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