Admiral's War Part One
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I had too many ghosts in my wake to back out now. I was fully committed to bringing these Imperials down—or to die trying.
I just wished the dying part didn’t seem more and more likely.
As for those ship Captains either in despair over our losses or in outright fear of the enemies, they were the same fools who had wholeheartedly supported the attack.
They’d shown their stomach and it was weak, I thought damningly. The very same people who pressed me to launch an attack—insinuating I was a coward if I didn’t—were the very ones now running for the hills and their home worlds as fast as their ship drives could take them. I silently vowed that I would never bend to their sort ever again.
Next time I fought the enemy, I refused to have regrets.
Epilogue: Breaking Out
“Are you sure this is going to work, sir?” Brence asked sounding worried.
“Nothing for it but to try, me boy,” Spalding replied with a grin as he looked at the holo-image of the still half-completed warship. “She may not be right, but with two fully functional antimatter generators installed and the HPC now operational, I give her better than 50/50 odds.”
“That sounds a little tighter than most people would prefer,” Brence said with rising alarm.
“Haha! Nothing for it Brence. Faint hearts might pull back but fortunately for them, we’re engineers! We’re made of sterner stuff,” the old engineer said confidently.
The younger man closed his eyes and began to silently mouth a prayer.
“This inter-face iii-s terrible,” complained Shepherd as he worked his console, the lights in the back of his head flashing, “the trans-lation ma-a-trix is o-o-off!”
“That’s what you get when you use an old AI bridge program on an even older Elder Tech interface,” Spalding said knowingly.
“Most engineers would run for the hills after hearing just one of the last two things you’ve said,” Brence said clinically.
“We’ve got grit and dogged determination,” Spalding declared.
“We are chock full of that, man,” Brence agreed wryly.
“What man can catch the scent of danger and be content to molder away?” Spalding demanded, full of rhetorical thunder. “They may have tried to keep us locked away in this bone yard like a trick-performing dog on a leash but I won’t stand for it, you hear? Try as they might, they can’t keep old Spalding away from a good fight!”
“I guess we’re as ready as we’re going to be,” Brence said, his jaw clenching and a determined look entering his eye.
“Good lad!” Spalding clapped him on the shoulder before turning to Bostwell. “Make sure we have a firm connection to the routers and power cables we tied into those jump arches.”
“Connection is solid,” said the Engineering Comm. Operator, “although it seems to be eating up an incredible amount of power from the antimatter generators, Commander.”
Spalding looked around with satisfaction as the Clover’s transplanted bridge functioned with a…well, with a reasonably smooth efficiency. They might be a might short-staffed and mainly with cross-trained Engineering ratings—or green sprouts from former SDF’s in the Border Alliance worlds, meaning their training programs back home had likely been half-baked at best—but the stations were manned and everyone at least had a general idea what their job was.
“The power requirements are irrelevant. The main thing is to keep our power banks charged up full and only siphon off the excess into the external jump drive,” Spalding pontificated for the education of those around him. After all, only by training the next generation could forward progress carry on.
“Still…sir, are you certain that using an untested technology is wise?” Brence couldn’t seem to help but ask.
“It’s only untested because we haven’t used it yet,” the old Engineer said calmly.
All around him, the jaws of eager listeners who had been eavesdropping on the conversation fell open—and even those who knew the ornery old engineer best were aghast.
“Don’t worry; I’ve got the basic technical read out and operating instructions,” Spalding said proudly, although immediately after doing so he pursed his lips as he considered the cost. He’d done the best he could to scan, re-scan and check the data storage device the Heart of the Ship had modified, but even so there was no telling what tricks might have been uploaded into it that he couldn’t detect.
Over the next several hours, the energy from the antimatter generators continued to pour into the giant, external jump drives that had been brought back by the Pride’s intrepid crew—who were real go-getters in Spalding’s book, and in many ways set an example the rest of the fleet would do well to follow.
“I can’t be sure bu-ut I think we’re past the po-oint of n-o re-turn,” Shepherd slurred.
Spalding nodded and brought up the power levels on his console. Everything seemed within tolerance…for a strange unknown piece of alien technology with an untested buggy interface program, of course.
“Strange particles are being generated between the two alien cylinders, sir,” reported Shepherd.
Spalding nodded and continued to monitor the readings.
“I am receiving a hail,” reported Bostwell.
“Eh? Who from?” Spalding asked with surprise.
“It’s Captain Laurent on the Phoenix, Commander. He says he’s ready to join the party,” reported the Bostwell.
On the screen, the image of the Furious Phoenix and several other warships—including the gunboat carriers—approached.
“Put him on,” Spalding barked.
“This is Captain Laurent, Commander,” said Laurent.
“Just what fool thing do you think you’re doing?” demanded the old Engineer.
“Hope we’re not too late to the party,” the Captain said, unveiling a tight smile.
“What party?” Spalding demanded, his chin jutting. “I don’t know about no bloomin’ party. We’re too blasted busy workin’ over here to have time for fun and games!”
Laurent cocked his head. “We know you’re planning to make a jump to Easy Haven. We want in,” Laurent said, looking at him steadily.
“Why of all the confounded, cockamamie notions,” Spalding fumed.
“I have it from a reliable source,” Laurent said, “so you might as well stop protesting and tell us where to park our ships.”
“We’re using untested alien technology here,” Spalding swore, hoping to appeal to the man’s survival instinct—which, naturally, was almost certain to be weaker than a proper engineer’s, “so you’ll take your ships on out of here if you know what’s good for you.”
“What’s the worst that could happen, your ship gets torn apart from a failed jump and the rest of us have to continue on without you?” Laurent scoffed. “One way or another it’s time for this ship and crew to get back in the fight!”
“Oh, it could be a lot worse than that—we could take the rest of you down with us!” Spalding declared seriously and then threw his hands in the air at the other man’s determined look. Apparently Laurent was made of sterner stuff that the rest of his ilk, and Spalding secretly knew that a little escort might prove handy for a shakedown of this type, “Fine, take up position between the alien devices and prepare to jump.”
“What are the coordinates?” Laurent asked.
“Don’t you worry about that; we’ll be forming a field between the alien jump drives and it’ll take the whole blasted lot of us,” Spalding said confidently before furrowing his brow as he was reminded of a string of particularly confusing math which had been integral to the jump drive’s calibration. He shrugged and added, “Or it won’t and we’ll all be dead.”
“You’re talking about multiple ships jumping inside the same bubble?” Laurent said, looking alarmed.
“If you’re backin’ out then just do it; I don’t have time for fiddle faddle,” Spalding snorted, cutting the channel before stomping around the bridge.
“Should we really be riski
ng the other ships, Sir?” asked Brence. “I mean, what if having them here in addition to the new Clover causes a mis-jump?” asked more nervously than Spalding had come to expect from the lad.
“It should work,” the old Engineer said a little uncertainly, then his face hardened, “anyway, if they wanted me to worry about every little thing they shouldn’t have left me here in this yard when there’s a war going on. Laurent and the others are grown men and women. They’ll just have to make their own decisions.”
Brence nodded.
After a full forty nine hours, the Elder tech jump engines finally built up a charge sufficient to make the jump.
“The trillium usage is off the charts,” Shepherd reported in alarm, his synthetic voice blessedly free of those accursed stutters and other impediments, “we could run the entire fleet for six months off what we’re estimated to use for this one jump!”
“Tell everyone to get ready, including the other ships,” Spalding ordered as a swarm of uncharacteristic butterflies took up residence in his rebuilt guts. It was a curious thing, to feel like a wide-eyed rating taking his wrench to the finest lady the space-ways had ever seen for the first time. That sense of fumbling about uncertainly, the messiness of those first few times, and the excitement which had filled him were feelings he’d long feared would be nothing but foggy memories in his borged-out brain. But here he was, giddy as a schoolboy again as he looked the ol’ Demon squarely in the eye and dared him to do his damnedest.
Bostwell activated his station and began to relay the message.
“Prepare the point transfer, Navigator,” Spalding ordered, fighting against his rising nerves as the moment of truth finally drew near, “and lock us in for Easy Haven.”
“Coordinates locked and sent to the artifact,” Shepherd reported via his synthetic voice, “able to jump on your mark.”
“I know,” Spalding said, looking down at the big red button he’d had installed into the Captain’s—or in this case, the Chief Engineer’s—seat on the bridge. In theory, the Elder tech jump drive was capable of jumping several ships simultaneously—but, more importantly, it could also jump vastly greater distances in a single point transfer than any drive known to humanity.
His hand hovered over the button that would activate the Elder tech jump drive; if all went properly they would emerge at their target destination just a few seconds after the Clover’s newest system was activated. The old girl would have her legs again, and she could get back to the work she did best—work which the universe needed her doing now more than ever.
“Alright, kiddies, this is what they pay us for…” he raised his voice as the nervous tension on the bridge mounted and every pair of lungs inhaled sharply in preparation for what was to come. After a brief pause to drink in the thrill of anticipation—and feeling more alive than he had since awakening mere minutes before being turned into compost by herb-smoking slackers—the ancient engineer slammed his hand down on the button and triumphantly declared, “Let’s see what she’s got!”
The Story Continues in Admiral’s War, Part 2