Admiral Invincible (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 7)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  My eyes flashed back up to the screen.

  “We’ve got multiple ships detaching from the Droid Mothership,” reported Tactical in a rapid fire voice.

  “We’ve just been pinged; we’re being scanned!” exclaimed the Warrant Officer in charge of Sensors.

  I opened my mouth to say scan it back, but then realized that’s exactly what we’d been doing. I took a deep breath.

  “What are we looking at?” I demanded, staring at those new contacts with hard eyes. If the droids had just decided to spring and ambush they were about to find out just how ready we were for their ‘surprise attack’—and how badly they’d messed up when they chose to face a Montagne.

  “I’m seeing a number of shuttles, or lifeboat-sized vessels,” the Sensor Officer reported.

  “Reclassify those boats and shuttles as heavy fighters,” Tactical corrected, “and the ships popping in at the hyper limit are definitely destroyer size.”

  I looked at the four larger icons and the swarm of thirty eight smaller fighters popping up around and behind the Super-Ship and suppressed the urge to scowl. The odds had just been significantly evened.

  “For some reason, I’m not surprised,” I muttered, thinking that any group that could and had cracked our communications network, even if only on the FTL side would have far too good an understanding of our fleet size and capability. Had I made a mistake and played into their hands by coming here? The fact that Bethany and Tremblay had signed off on the meet, even presupposing they hadn’t been coerced, still wasn’t reassuring.

  “Sir, we’re being hailed,” Steiner said from her position at communications.

  I stiffened in the chair. “Put it on, Comm.,” I ordered firmly.

  “Shooting it over to the screen now,” she replied with a nod.

  A Droid appeared on the main screen. He, she, or it, looked surprisingly human in appearance with an articulate, plastic-looking face and an oversized metallic head sticking out behind the pale white face.

  “This is Ship Proctor Gambol-39; I seek interface with the biological entity, Admiral Montagne,” the Droid—Ship-Proctor Gambol-39—said in a synthesized voice.

  All around the bridge, breaths were inhaled at this first contact with mechanical life forms.

  “This is Admiral Montagne,” I replied, inclining my head fractionally and deliberately ignoring the peanut gallery.

  “Your link is being transferred to the Chairman on the Sub-Committee on Foreign Relations with Biologicals,” Proctor Gambol-39 said matter-of-factly.

  I opened my mouth to speak but the screen wavered and a new figure appeared. This one looked even odder than the previous droid, with a single red glowing eye, thin metallic limbs and a smashball shaped head.

  “Greetings, Admiral, my name is Chairman Bottletop IIV, and I am greatly gratified that you have chosen to meet our demands,” the Droid said, inclining his body forward in what could, possibly, be mistaken for a bow.

  “Demands?” I repeated coolly. The Droid paused.

  “Not the best word selection?” the Chairman paused, sounding momentarily puzzled. “Perhaps ‘precondition for the opening of potentially harmonious future relations’ is a better descriptor?” it asked, looking at me as if I had the answer.

  My jaw started to set but I did my best to smile through it.

  “You said something about a prisoner exchange?” I inquired calmly.

  “Oh yes, of course, forgive me,” the Chairman Droid, this so-called Bottletop IIV, sounded flustered, “I have bypassed the social niceties. How is your work cycle?” asked the Droid in a strangely haughty tone. “I trust it does not find you in a low energy state?”

  It took me several moments to realize the droid was trying to make small talk, and was asking me how I was feeling.

  “I’m doing fine,” I said my tone making it clear this line of conversation was done with, “I think it best if we stick to the main reason we’re here.”

  “Oh, of course, pardon me,” Bottletop said, his metallic limbs rattling and clanking as he shifted position, “please allow me to verify verbally before the unit-to-unit hand off. You have acquired both the Captain and the Prisoners?”

  “The man behind the Moonlight Myth is here, along with the droid cores you are looking for,” I replied, once again wondering if I was doing the right thing handing over a bunch of droid cores—even if all they were where a bunch of grav-cart data and control modules. The data they could give on Caprian military technology or fleet strength were minimal at best but it still felt wrong somehow.

  “Then I am prepared to send over an unarmed shuttle to begin the retrieval of our synthetic brethren,” the Chairman Droid sounded pleased.

  The thought of a droid having any sort of emotions had my brows climbing for the roof. Even if they didn’t actually have such emotions, the fact that they could so convincingly approximate such had potentially dire implications for the war effort. The better they could understand us and ape our behaviors, the worse the threat to non-mechanical life everywhere.

  “One thing I’m still a little fuzzy on,” I said before the droid could go any further.

  There was a pause. “Please elaborate your concerns, Admiral Jason Montagne,” the droid said politely.

  “When you say ‘prisoner exchange’,” I said evenly, “what exactly do you mean? Your files were unclear on the subject and, as far as I am aware, no Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet personnel have fallen into Droid hands.”

  The Chairman droid stilled in that eerie way that only mechanicals can do, and then began moving again as if nothing had happened. “Ah I understand your concerns,” the droid bobbed its head, “the reason for this obfuscation was three fold,” it raised a finger—or similarly-designated manipulating digit—for each point. “First; we were unsure as to exactly how many specimens we had in our possession at the time we transmitted the file. Second; how many prisoners are exchanged is in your hands, as not all of them are members of the Confederation Fleet.”

  I interrupted before he could continue. “For the moment, let’s avoid the use of the word ‘specimens’,” I said, feeling an anger growing inside me at the term, “and take up the second issue. You mean to tell me you have bona fide members of the Confederation Fleet as your prisoners? Who else have you captured?”

  “I apologize if the term offends,” the Droid said, “however, yes, we have in our possession members of the Confederation Fleet. We are not uncivilized, I would have you know,” the droid paused and then shot me a piercing look with its ominous red eye, “for the past three hundred standard years the United Sentients Assembly, and its precursor organization, the Free and Principled Mechanical Life Organization, and its predecessor, the Anti-Matter Containment Union, have been providing rescue and relief duties under the articles of war as it regards defeated enemy combatants.”

  “Three hundred years,” I repeated, my mind boggling.

  “Indeed, and although some have viewed it as controversial, given our lack of extensive biological life support systems, we have worked hard to provide such prisoners with accommodations comparable to those provided our own people by the Confederation Authorities, while still following the established articles of war.”

  I stared at the creature, impressed that they had been taking prisoners when I was sure and certain that Confederation Fleet had not been doing the same—except possibly for interrogation purposes. I also disliked the words ‘controversial’ and ‘comparable,’ even if they followed that up by saying they followed the rules of war. I mean, for all I knew they treated Confederation Fleet forces as pirates under the articles of war—and that could mean that we were just talking about picking up the remains of their so-called prisoners!

  “These prisoners haven’t been physically or mentally damaged by their time in your prison facilities?” I asked finally.

  “I assure you they have had minimal contact with the United Sentients, and any mental and physical conditions are as close to baseline at the time
of their capture as can be technologically achieved. Although, following up on your final point, we have recently acquired a number of prisoners from the worlds of this Sector from the other Droid Groups.”

  “For what purpose?” I asked sharply.

  “We believe that all life is sacred and possessing of innate value, Admiral. When we learned the other Tribes intended to destroy these individuals summarily, we negotiated for their release into our care,” the Chairman replied.

  “Just how many prisoners are we talking about?” I couldn’t hold back the question anymore.

  “Two Thousand eight hundred and sixty nine Confederation prisoners, and seven thousand two hundred and forty seven miscellaneous personnel from various worlds and ships within Sectors 23 and 24,” Bottletop IIV said promptly.

  I fell back in my chair, stunned by the numbers. “I hadn’t expected so many,” I said with rampant disbelief, “and I don’t understand how you could have so many members of the Confederation Fleet!”

  The Droid looked at me oddly, “Three hundred years is a long time to gather prisoners, especially when we have sustained numerous conflicts with Confederation Forces. Honestly, the power drain necessary to keep this many biologicals in life-sustaining conditions over such long periods of time has been a strain on our resources which we are eager to be rid of,” the Chairman replied.

  “What!? You mean you been holding fleet personnel for that long?” I said, my face tightening as I wondered just how many human prisoners had died in a droid prison.

  “This is the first time a Confederation Officer of sufficient rank to authorize the release of prisoners has agreed to an exchange,” the Chairman said patiently.

  “Well then, by all means; let’s get this show on the road,” I said firmly. “However, before I can authorize the release of our prisoners, I will need to see the condition of those we will be receiving.”

  “After we have verified the status of the Droid Cores you will be exchanging, we are more than prepared to escort a group of inspectors from your ship over to our prison transport,” Bottletop said. “And, in the interests of expedience, we are prepared to give you the transport should you be unable to transfer all the prisoners off the vehicle.”

  I didn’t like the part about them inspecting our side before we got to see theirs, but if they were telling the truth then I was about to exchange just under two hundred grav-carts—or, rather, their ‘cores’—for over ten thousand human lives. Since we could wire the cart-cores to blow at the first sign of any betrayal, it was a risk I was more than willing to take. The reward, to my mind, was far greater than the risks involved.

  “Alright, agreed,” I said tamping down my eagerness to free that many people from the machines. I was about to initiate a sign off when something nagged at me. Then it came to me, “You said there were three reasons for not telling us this information in advance. What was the third?”

  “Ah, yes,” the Droid replied, “we do not want to risk broadcasting such sensitive information over a network using an encryption protocol that was so easily penetrated.”

  “I see,” I said heat rising to my face before signing off.

  Chapter 8: Spalding vs. the Droids

  “What are we doing out here?” Tiberius said over the com-channel and shaking his head.

  “Getting ready for the handoff,” Commander Spalding growled.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Tiberius said stiffly, “I mean, you’re actually going through with it.”

  “Of course I’m going through with it,” Spalding Senior grunted. “I said I would, and the Admiral’s counting on us—” he shot a sideways look at his son and then scowled, “on me to make the hand off. Besides, these cores are nothing but a big power drain; I mean, do you realize what kind of electrical hookups and isolated router system I had to set up, and just how many years I’ve maintained it? Why, back in the Locker—”

  Tiberius sighed. “Look, there’s no one out here but you and me,” Tiberius said finally, “let’s switch to a private channel.”

  “What is it, boy?” Spalding replied irritably, after making the change. “We don’t have much time before they dock in the Locker’s exterior airlock.”

  “That’s it! That’s exactly it,” the young Engineer fumed, “even here, even in private—or maybe that should be especially here in private—with your own son. Why can’t you for once, just once, come back to reality for two seconds instead of raving and spouting off old spacer nonsense like it was the gospel truth?!”

  There was a slight glimmering in the distance as the Droid shuttle started taxiing in for the final approach, and then began to extend the portable airlock to the ship’s airlock they were standing in.

  Spalding shook his head and then sighed heavily. “Son, why do I always have to be the one to come over into your way of thinking? Why can’t you cross the bridge to mine and see the world through my eyes for once in your lifetime—is that really too much to ask?”

  Tiberius didn’t say anything for the half minute, until the Droid’s portable tube reached their position and they started hooking it up but the set of his shoulders said it all.

  After securing the lock the duo entered into a small cargo bay area.

  “So this is the mythical ‘Locker’,” Tiberius said neutrally as he gazed around with critical eyes, “sure looks a lot like an Intelligence half deck to me. Nothing mythical about it.”

  “Some of the greatest mysteries don’t appear very mysterious when you pull back the curtain and know their secrets,” Spalding retorted, “but that doesn’t make them less than they are, or remove the sense of wonder.”

  “Maybe not for you, but for the rest of us dressing things up in pretty gowns and calling them something out of a fairy tale just doesn’t hold any water,” Tiberius said exasperatedly.

  The door to the airlock hatch slid open and both men’s attention turned to the airlock.

  Servos whined and a mismatched pair of heavily-patched and haphazardly-repaired combat droids came through the hatch.

  The two engineers hands landed on the butts of the plasma pistols they’d armed themselves with for the meeting.

  Then a short, dumpy-looking droid with a built-in, form-fitted metal apron over its ‘torso’ stepped through the hatch and looked around the room.

  “Are you Captain Moonlight?” she demanded, because unlike the other droids, this one looked to be the spitting image of an aged and long-discontinued household assistant design.

  Spalding had to suppress a guffaw; except for the vacuum attachment used to clean dirty floors, the droid looked like the spitting image of an old Housekeeper 48-Gama-Four.

  “That’s me,” he said tapping a thumb against his chest.

  Tiberius made a strangled sound.

  “Where are the prisoners?” the Housekeeper Droid asked, looking around with narrowed eyes.

  “Got them all loaded up right here for you, Miss,” the old Engineer said pulling the tarp off a heavily loaded grav-cart sitting up against the wall.

  “The name is Madame Clean-Sweep,” the housekeeper Droid said, swiveling back around to look at him before making a loud beeping noise and gesturing toward the grav-cart.

  Both combat droids moved forward to inspect the cart and another pair moved out of the airlock to take their place.

  Tiberius made a small sound of protest, his hand twitching on the butt of his pistol.

  “Stay calm, lad; this is nothing to be concerned about,” the old Engineer said calmingly. “You know, two decades ago there was this automated infiltration team that had me dead to rights and—”

  “Insane stories are not helping!” Tiberius hissed in an overly loud mutter.

  “Right,” Spalding frowned, opening and then closing his mouth again before scowling at the younger man, “well then, buckle up, buttercup, and lock it down.”

  Tiberius gave him a strangled look, “That’s the best you can do? Really, dad?”

  One of the droi
ds hooked up a cable to one of the many droid cores stacked up dangerously high on the cart and made a trilling sound.

  “Test them all,” Madame Clean-Sweep said giving the two Spaldings a glower.

  “They’re all there and in fine working condition, if I do say so myself, all 188 of them,” Spalding informed her.

  The droid gave him a withering look.

  “Having mechanical legs and eye doesn’t make you a droid,” Madame Clean-Sweep said in a strict voice. “And I wouldn’t trust a biological to know the first thing about the working condition of a droid core—especially not one who made a career out of hunting down sentient units.”

  “Now, hold on just a bloomin’ minute!” Engineer Spalding said belligerently. His son placed a hand on his arm but he shook him off irritably, “For one, I’d better know a thing or three about cores, as I’ve been capturing the things for the past 4 decades! For the second, I only went after mutineers, rebels, and rogue units that were causing damage to the ship—or those blasted, two bit Automated Insurrectionists! So there’s no call to be questioning my competency!” he declared and before he knew it, he’d crossed the distance between them to wag his finger in ‘her’ face.

  The whine of weapons cycling up to full power sounded as the two combat droids on either side of Madame Clean-Sweep pointed the barrels of their weapons in his face.

  “Be careful, Captain,” the Droid Housekeeper warned.

  “Then don’t question my competence to my face,” he glowered.

  “I’d find it very uncomfortable if I had to explain to your Admiral exactly why his anti-droid vigilante had his brains scattered all over the wall and floor,” the Droid said stiffly.

  The old Engineer paused to look at her and her guards then back at the two droids who had paused in their task of checking the grav-cart and shook his head.

  “As if that would happen,” he scoffed and, with a wave of his hand and the press of a key on his data slate, he gestured and automated weaponry fell out of the recessed walls to bear on the droids. “Lady, I’ve got you and your helpers here dead to rights; if they so much as twitch in my direction with lethal intent it’ll be their silicon and wiring that’s scattered over the walls and floor. The name isn’t Terrance P. Spalding for nothing, don’t you know?” he finished with a drawl.