Admiral Invincible (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 7)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  For an extended moment no one said anything just looked back and forth between each other.

  Then Akantha leaned forward, looking for all the world like a hungry panther about to pounce. “Boarding actions, there have been too few lately,” she said with a gleam in her eye.

  I suppressed a sigh; I could have—and should have—expected that.

  He must have seen my suppressed emotion, because Captain Darius lifted his hand and spoke. “A good thought, for while we have been boarded by enemy droids, we have yet to do a significant counter-boarding operation in turn. As they are not from our homelands, they will not be suspecting it,” he pointed out reasonably.

  Taking this as affirmation of her position, my lady love turned a challenging look my way, obviously daring me to support her…or else.

  “That was something I was intending to do anyway,” I said patiently. An instant later I could tell I was going about this the wrong way. So, with an inner wince, I decided I had no choice but to double down, “But I guess since you’re both so in favor of the idea, I’ll just have to increase my plans.”

  Akantha grinned and Captain Atticus forgot himself long enough to smack hands with Darius, before remembering they had some kind of petty feud going on back home and turning serious again.

  Seizing the moment, I stood up and made a vow. “By hook or by crook, we’re going to come out of this battle stronger than ever before,” I swore, placing my hands flat on the table and glowering at the assemblage.

  To my surprise, and gratification the officers at the table cheered. Good morale was worth more than a fully functioning Cutter as far as I was concerned. More to the point, it did when you were surrounded by the officers who commanded a fleet in which that Cutter could become lost.

  “We’ve got a few ion weapons,” the new Chief Engineer said a bit gruffly, swept up with the excitement of sticking it to the droids and increasing the size of our fleet and seemingly not liking it too much. “They won’t do much against proper warships but knock down their shields, and you’d give our boarding teams the time they’d need to cross the distance and board without taking serious fire.”

  I nodded appreciatively, ignoring the frown I received in return. Turning to my men, I grinned like the shark I was feeling like at that instant.

  “We are going to take everything they don’t want. We are going to take as many of those droid gunboats as we can; damaged, ion knocked out and, even though they’ll probably want to stop us after we really get going, as many of those bigger droid ships as we can handle. And the one thing I can tell you is that we’re not going to stop until the droid threat is destroyed!” I declared.

  I brought up an image of Elysium’s Jovian and the Forge on the table. “That is our objective, ladies and gentlemen. If the Grand Fleet is unable to crush the Droids in a stand-up battle near the hyper-limit, that is the rock upon which we will—which we must—break them. And, by that, by ‘we’ I mean the MSP. It’s nice to have these allies and I know our contingent is a fraction of the Fleet, but,” I leaned forward for emphasis and thumped the table, “as we’ve too often seen out here, when push comes to shove we can only count on ourselves.”

  Akantha straightened up in her chair, her face turning icy. “Are you saying that our allies cannot be trusted?” she asked harshly.

  I paused, I had wanted to insert a word of warning into the conversation not set Akantha off on the warpath.

  “I have no specific information,” I temporized, “however I would point out that our encounters to date have shown locals to be unreliable at best. True, these are new people but until they’ve proven themselves to us I’m going to strongly recommend everyone here keep their eyes open and an ear to the ground.”

  “We can do that, Admiral,” Chief Lesner said, looking around the room with a big, fat, unlit cigar bobbing in the side of his cheek and drawing nods of support.

  “What about the hab-zones, sir?” asked Laurent his brow furrowing in thought. “The Jovian is inhabited and the fleet charter is clear: the Grand Admiral will only allow salvage of ships taken on the outskirts of the system where there is no Elysium presence.”

  Spalding jumped in before I could get a word in edgewise. “We can always drag as much as we can grapple and tow outside the hyper-limit, where we then lay our claim on it,” he pointed out.

  “A good thought, Spalding, but already solved,” I explained an edge creeping into my smile. “I got Grand Admiral Manning to declare the Jovian System a free salvage zone. So long as we don’t go salvaging anything Elysium built, we should be just fine.”

  “Sir,” one of the Destroyer Captains, a First Lieutenant, raised a hand and I turned my attention to him.

  I motioned for him to continue, and he took a breath.

  “It’s about the freighter, sir?” he asked cautiously, “we left our cutters with it. Are they going to be joining us soon?”

  I smiled enigmatically and refused to answer the question. “We are prepared for every contingency,” I replied with an answer that was no answer at all.

  Taking the hint, the rest of the group refrained from commenting or asking about the freighter and its Cutter escort.

  Over the next half hour, we hashed out several contingencies and I answered those questions I felt wouldn’t endanger the security of Operation Sideswipe—the name I had bestowed upon it.

  After that, the meeting broke up and we returned to duty.

  Most of the people in the room had departed when I caught Warrant Officer Steiner by the hand.

  “Admiral?” she asked, looking flustered.

  I dropped her hand now that I had her attention.

  “A moment of your time, Tech,” I said.

  She nodded and waited until the room had cleared. I receive a few speculative looks but, other than that, no one said a thing.

  “What’s the status of Captain Middleton and the Pride of Prometheus?” I demanded as soon as we couldn’t be overheard.

  Steiner got a resigned expression on her face. “The Pride is still outside of transmission range of the network, Admiral,” she said somewhat meekly.

  Damn that man! I silently cursed.

  “Sir?” she asked, sounding like a woman who expected to be chewed out for something that wasn’t her fault.

  I shook my head not about to fall into that trap. I wasn’t about to vent my spleen on an inappropriate target. No, Steiner wouldn’t receive the brunt of my ire; that would be reserved for the man—the Captain—who thought an independent command meant he was free to hare off into the black of unknown space when all of humanity in two Sectors was under threat.

  “Carry on, Lieutenant,” I said coldly.

  She froze and then blinked rapidly.

  “I’m just a warrant, Admiral,” she reminded me, trepidation in her voice.

  I glared at her, “Not any more you aren’t. Good work, and carry on, Lieutenant,” I said waving a hand in dismissal.

  “Admiral,” she said in a low voice and then turned to scurry out of the room.

  I slammed a fist on the conference table. I could ill afford the loss of that cruiser when my own forces were so relatively small. Forcing myself to take a deep breath I reminded myself that in this particular instance I had no one to blame but me. I had known Middleton was a loose cannon back in Tracto when I gave him the assignment to secure the ComStat network—and, incidentally, to allow him to remain in command of the Pride of Prometheus. I hadn’t known he was such an independent operator that he’d basically go rogue and disappear if tempted by whatever he must have run into, but all the signs were there if only I’d bothered to take note.

  Still, the fact remained that humanity in two Sectors of known space was under threat of annihilation or worse. He knew that as well as I did, but still found reason to take off—right before the decisive battle.

  The question was: could I afford a man like that under my command? I very much thought the answer to that was a resounding ‘no.’

&nbs
p; Chapter 21: Meetings in Cold Space

  “Sump slide achieved; we are free from the inertial sump, Commodore,” reported the Navigator.

  “Smooth as butter,” bragged the Helmsman.

  “It was a short jump and the resulting sump was small. Of course it was easy,” the Navigator said pointedly.

  “That’s enough,” Druid said commandingly, and both Navigator and Helmsman fell pleasingly quiet.

  “Initiating scan of target system,” reported the Lieutenant in the sensor section.

  “I believe it is the only system we are in,” Druid said with a chuckle.

  The Lieutenant colored briefly but continued issuing orders to his subordinates as if his captain or in this case commodore had not spoken.

  “Target acquired,” reported the Sensor Lieutenant, “preliminary scans match the profile of the freighter used by the droids as a prisoner transport; still seeking to acquire the expected escorts.”

  “Carry on, Sensors,” the Commodore instructed, “and keep scanning for potential hostiles around us in near space. The last thing we need is to be so distracted by our rendezvous with the freighter that we miss a Droid attack fleet until it’s on final attack run.”

  “On it, sir,” replied the Sensors and in the Tactical Pit the Tactical Officer nodded his agreement.

  Tense minutes passed as the main screen continued to populate the image of the system they were in.

  “Standard sweep completed; no sign of enemy warships detected, Commodore,” reported the Sensor Lieutenant. By this time, the escort Cutters they had been expecting had all been detected and their positions around the freighter pinpointed.

  “Continue with routine scans then, Sensors,” Druid replied.

  “I’m receiving a transmission from the freighter, sir,” said the Ensign at the Coms, “they are using MSP encryption and handshake protocol verifies it’s the transport we’re here to meet.”

  “Put it up on the screen,” Druid ordered, and then paused, “we are transmitting our IFF, correct?”

  “We are, Commodore,” nodded the Comm. Officer.

  “Then let’s have the message,” he said, pointing to the screen.

  “This is Captain Archibald,” said the very young-looking Captain, “and it’s sure good to see you and the Parliamentary Power, Commodore. We’ve been twisting in the wind out here, with most of the Fleet off with the Admiral with just us and the Cutters out here.”

  “It’s good to be here, Captain,” Druid replied. “Commodore Druid here, and I have to say that we’re eager over here on the Power to finally get fully-crewed. I know it takes a certain amount of time to thaw out your…cargo,” he said, carefully aware that, despite not finding anyone out here on sensors, any number of ears could be listening with their computers furiously working to break MSP encryption. “So be prepared for us to dock and begin…cargo transfers as soon as is feasible.”

  “We’re way ahead of you, Commodore Druid,” the young Officer said with a cocky grin, “the freighter’s life support’s been getting a definite workout the past couple days, and most of the free spaces in the hold have been filling up in anticipation of your arrival.”

  Druid frowned. “That was good work, but it could have caused you some definite problems if we’d been held up or arrived too much behind schedule. In short: it was a risk, Captain,” he said, giving the younger man a penetrating look.

  Archibald nodded and then shrugged, “The Admiral said to get the lead out, and when the Admiral says to move as quickly as possible then that’s what we do,” he replied, not quite questioning Druid’s authority but indicating by his chosen expressions that he wasn’t intimidated or too worried with his new immediate superior’s displeasure. “And now that you’re here, we can start clearing these decks and proceed at full pace.”

  “As you’ll come to learn, there’s a time to fly by the seat of your pants and a time for protocol,” Druid said, not allowing any hint of displeasure to color his voice or expression, “and now that we’re here and can take a breath, we’ll make sure to cross all our T’s and dot those I’s as we proceed forward.”

  “As you say, sir,” the young Captain said, saluting respectfully.

  “Druid out,” the Commodore said saluting in turn. He’d have plenty of time to meet the other officer in person after docking. He needed to get to know his new ship Captains because, even if all they commanded was a freighter and a bunch of Cutters, the Admiral had indicated he expected great things from Druid and his new little task force.

  Yes, they were definitely going to have a few words, along with all the time spent planning. The MSP was so green it squeaked, with Corvette captains commanding Battleships and former crewmen and junior officers jumped up to command of Cutters and Corvettes. With what little time was available, someone needed to rectify as many of the resulting deficiencies as was humanly possible—and it looked like in this little grouping of warships, that ‘someone’ was him.

  For a second, he sat there and marveled that he really was the Old Man and then he nodded briskly and locked it down. He’d been a warship Captain and a squadron commander long enough that it was easy to look at all this as just a natural growth pattern…or so he kept telling himself. Maybe one day it would even be true.

  In the meantime, remedial training was the order of the day.

  Chapter 22: Minor Matters

  “Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet arriving on board,” shouted the bosun’s mate to the accompanying sound of being piped aboard as I stepped into the shuttle bay.

  I blinked, and it took me a moment to realize what was going on. Apparently, our close contact with the other elements of the Mutual Defense League’s Grand Fleet was having an impact. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure if it was a change I particularly liked. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I grew up surrounded by pageantry and meaningless rituals, so after the initial confusion it should just be like water off a ducks back for me.

  On the other hand, part of the charm of our little fleet up until then had been a refreshing lack of standing on ceremony—a trait which looked to be slowly coming to an end. The lack of ceremony, I mean, not the fleet.

  It took me a moment to realize everyone was looking at me while I just stood there. I took half a step forward but something in the expressions of those around me cause me to hesitate. Then it came to me. I’d been through enough welcoming aboard receptions on the various flag ships of the Grand Fleet to pick up the basics after all.

  “Permission to come aboard,” I requested, refusing to roll my eyes with exasperation at having to ask permission to board my own ship by reminding myself that it was these sorts of rituals that helped hold social groups, such as the military, together.

  “Permission granted, Admiral Montagne, and welcome aboard,” First Officer Eastwood said, saluting and stepping forward to shake my hand and welcome me aboard after I returned his salute.

  “It’s good to be back,” I replied, feeling something inside me lift as I finished shaking his hand and stepped into the rest of the bay. I told myself I was just glad to be back, and that my sense of ease had little or nothing to do with meaningless military rituals that took up mine and other people’s time, time that could be used for more productive pursuits, but I wasn’t sure how much I believed that.

  “Is there a reason you’re down here to meet me, First Officer?” I cocked an eyebrow at Eastwood.

  “It needed a senior officer’s presence,” Eastwood replied, his face a professional mask that I couldn’t quite penetrate.

  “That’s good, then,” I said eating up the bay with long strides of my legs.

  “Although, since we’re both here, I was hoping to speak to you about the port hydroponics garden,” the First Officer said, easily keeping pace with me. It must be nice to have long legs.

  I sighed, “Of course you were. Although…isn’t this something more in line with the duties of the ship’s Captain, Mr. Eastwood?” I queried hopefully. It would be nice to knock the man down a
peg or three for going over the head of his superior office.

  “The Captain suggested you might be the best person to liaise and settle the issue,” said Eastwood.

  “Oh, he did, did he?” I barked, almost but not quite coming to a stop in the middle of the bay. “And just why did he think I would be the best person to handle a Flagship hydroponics issue when I’ve got a Fleet to run and other fleets to coordinate with?” I demanded irritably.

  “As it concerns both the Lady and the Lancer contingent, it was felt that I should at least approach you first before I, or the Captain, got too deeply involved and possibly ruffled feathers,” Eastwood said neutrally.

  “Sweet Murphy,” I swore, and then, realizing I had in fact come to a stop in front of the bay doors leading into the rest of the ship, I growled and resumed walking.

  “Just what is it my wife wants, that I’m not going to like, this time?” I grunted.

  “Not so much the Lady herself as the men of the Lancers,” Eastwood replied diplomatically.

  “Oh, just spit it out,” I ordered.

  “Apparently,” the First Officer said, stressing the word, “it is traditional to offer certain edible and non-edible foliage to a lady who is expecting. It involves various plants that I’m not familiar with, which are specific to a woman who is expecting for the first time.”

  “Of course it is,” I said stepping, into the lift and not at all surprised I was only now finding all this out for the first time. After all it would have been just too easy to inform me of such cultural necessities before we had a crisis on our hands. No, that would have been too easy, “And I suppose by now the entire ship is aware of her condition.”

  I just hoped they weren’t aware of her entire condition because, despite it being entirely her own, native, creation and none of mine, I was likely to face some intense scrutiny and sour looks once it was discovered she wasn’t just carrying the normal one or two ‘eggs in the basket, but in fact around eight of the things! Control over her own biology, indeed! She called eight children in one pregnancy control—ha! I’d argue that such a decision was the very definition of ‘out of control.’