Admiral's Revenge (A Spineward Sectors Novel:)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  With a smile and a wave, I turned my back on the Commodore and went down there to answer the hard questions. The honeymoon was now officially over, and by tomorrow the last of these little sideline plots and diversions I’d come up with—or been talked into—would be over with or officially out of the way.

  Which meant it was time to begin the most dangerous maneuver I’d come up with to date. Let the Commodore doubt and hold back a hull or two for a rainy day or two, if that’s what was needed to make a smooth exit from Easy Haven without burning any bridges I wasn’t ready to burn. I had a scheme that would show them all the danger of messing with a Montagne—and I was going to start with my beloved, piratical Uncle.

  Never go up against a Montagne when death was on the line, I mused silently, and it was a saying I was more than ready to forcibly shove down Jean Luc’s throat. Let’s see how my Uncle likes it when the diabolical scheming is on the other foot and aimed his way.

  Because after I’d survived to make that particular statement, I’d was coming back to the Core to see just how many of my enemies—and even the more reluctant of my ‘allies’—thought it was such sweet idea to continue to mess with one Jason Montagne.

  Because, for the first time in my life, I was ready to do what was needed, and not just what was convenient. I was willing to cross the threshold, just as my Chief Engineer had done in the raging inferno of an active reactor core—an act which had cost him most of his body and saved everyone aboard the Lucky Clover.

  It was a strangely satisfying comfort knowing that I, too, was about to start a similar fire…

  …and to let it burn.

  Chapter 10: Leaving the Friendly Confines

  “Where is my Science Officer?” I asked, feeling myself go into locked-down, battle stations, full-on paranoia mode the closer we got to a point transfer. The last thing I needed was someone throwing a monkey wrench in the works this close to leaving Easy Haven. A part of me felt like things had been just too easy of late, and that made me start looking for enemies. The intractable Science Officer was the closest thing I still had to an open adversary, and as such I wanted him firmly locked down—and where I could see him.

  There was a tense silence on our new bridge, and then Laurent stepped forward and cleared his throat.

  “Yes, Captain?” I asked with forced mildness, my voice making it quite clear that I was ready, willing, and able to turn it into a razor-sharp weapon and wield it on anyone who wasted my time. I was in no mood for delays and obfuscation.

  The former Warrant Officer grimaced slightly; he was still a little sore over the way I’d sprung the whole Captaincy on him. Which was water off a duck’s back, as far as I was concerned.

  “I still wish you’d picked another Captain,” he muttered.

  “Officer Tremblay taught me the perils of running the ship with only a First Officer, so I plan to avoid going through that again if at all possible,” I said, my tight smile not reaching my eyes. “Besides, a Captain is a more traditional adjunct and as my former Tactical Officer, I know for a fact that you can fight the ship—but none of that answers my question about the Science Officer.”

  “As you say,” acknowledged the former Warrant Officer, current Lieutenant Commander, and courtesy Captain of the Little Gift—my recently refurbished old Heavy Cruiser—before he stiffened. “Officer Jones transferred to Spalding’s Courier ship for the trip to Gambit, Admiral.”

  “Ah,” I said, feeling grim and wondering what kind of mischief the Science Officer—a man who’d tried to jump ship on multiple occasions—could get up to at my secret Confederation base, “and no one thought to inform me of this?” asked mildly.

  “I thought you were already aware, Sir,” Captain Laurent said, looking surprised.

  “Of course you did,” I muttered under my breath, “well, there’s nothing to be done for it now,” I said, trying to shake it off. I didn’t need to be distracted; right now my focus needed to be tracking down the Lucky Clover. They obviously hadn’t come to Easy Haven, and I’d kept the coordinates to Gambit completely isolated from my old ship’s systems. That left me with the choice of running after Akantha for a joyous, marital reunion as I consolidated all our ships back under one happy banner, or running back to Tracto first to make sure what was essentially our least guarded target was still protected. I figured that Jean Luc would show up there sooner or later—as would Akantha, following the urge to return to her home world to check up on her subjects. Besides, she’d sent Spalding to come rescue me rather than take care of busting me out herself, so she was probably pretty busy with whatever it was she had gone after.

  “I do know for a fact, Sir, that Commander Spalding was aware of and approved the Science Officer’s transfer to Gambit Station,” Captain Laurent added, breaking up my chain of thought. It took me a moment to break out of my brooding and focus back on the officer.

  “Do you happen to have any idea why Officer Jones chose the trip to Gambit?” I paused as a thought occurred to me, causing a smile to creep across my face, “Maybe he was ‘convinced’ by our beloved Engineer for some unknowable purpose?” This was a particularly pleasant consideration, and one I held onto for a few moments as I considered that particular interaction going down.

  “The Chief Engineer said something about a practical application of Jones’ thesis work?” Laurent said with a furrowed brow, sounding more than a little uncertain.

  My own brow wrinkled and then my eyes widened as I recalled what exactly his original reason for joining the Lucky Clover had been all about. I smiled.

  “Well,” I said trying to look as disappointed as I’d been feeling earlier, “it’s too bad the Science Officer won’t be with us this trip.”

  The ship’s new Captain wasn’t the only one to look at me funnily after I said this, but I was determined to appear blissfully unconcerned and then change the subject.

  “How long until we reach the point of no return?” I inquired, feeling more upbeat than usual of late.

  “Another half hour, Admiral,” Captain Laurent replied, sounding more professional than usual. Perhaps it was the weight of his new responsibility, but whatever it was I was certain that Laurent was the right man for the right job.

  “Excellent work, Cedric,” I said giving the new Captain a confident nod.

  The Captain braced to attention before striding over to the helm, where our Helmsman DuPont and Navigator Shepherd were double checking their figures and running last minute checks.

  Maybe it was the thought of getting back out in space and being my own master again, but more likely it was the thought of my revenge. Whatever it was caused a feeling of deep satisfaction to well up through me. Easy Haven was almost behind us, and soon Jean Luc was going to find out exactly what it felt like to experience an Admiral’s revenge…Montagne style.

  Space Gods have mercy on his Murphy-cursed, piratical soul, because I wasn’t going to have any. This wasn’t just about business or survival; this was personal. No one took my ship, shot me down, left my wife for dead, tortured my crew, and then got away with it. If we hadn’t been a part of the exact same family, I would have seriously considered declaring a blood feud. Go after me and then try to blow up my wife, would he?

  I looked down at the data slate in my lap, taking comfort in what I saw:

  X1 Heavy Cruiser

  X1 Heavy Destroyer

  X3 Corvettes

  X5 Cutters

  Might not be quite enough to take out two Dreadnaught class Battleships all on their own, but it was more hulls under my command than ever before, and by Saint Murphy’s Wretched Wrench Jean Luc was going to feel us before we were done with him!

  Chapter 11: To Tracto!

  “Point Emergence!” barked Navigator Shepherd from his console on our combat bridge—which was noticeably smaller than the Flag Bridge aboard the Lucky Clover.

  “Extending baffling beyond transfer area and firing main engine,” the Helmsman reported, sounding subdued, “for awhile I
never thought I’d be doing this again.”

  “I know what you mean,” Shepherd said with feeling, “it’s good to be back.”

  “Can the Chatter,” said The Gift’s new first officer a transfer from Easy Haven. I think is name was Eastwood, and his rank tabs said he was a senior lieutenant.

  “Point Resistance?” Captain Laurent asked mildly. To listen to him you wouldn’t have thought this was his first time commanding a warship. Thank Murphy we’d had time to shake out on the cruise to the Tracto System.

  “Engine at 15% of maximum,” said the Helmsman as the ship hummed and vibrated around us. “We still have a lock on the ship.”

  “Shield modulated for breakout,” the Ensign in command of the shields’ section said crisply, and I suppressed a grimace. I didn’t like having two new officers on my command deck at the same time, but when it came to both shields and First Officers we hadn’t exactly done a bang-up job, so I had accepted the two officers with as much grace as I could muster when LeGodat offered them back at Wolf-9. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t watching them with the gimlet eyes of a paranoid Montagne.

  “Thank you, Mister Longbottom,” First Officer Eastwood said professionally.

  “Yes, Sir,” acknowledged the Ensign.

  “Main Engine now at 35% and…we’re still locked,” DuPont reported, his fingers flying over his console quickly, “engaging both secondaries now.”

  “Contact!” screamed a hysterical sounding sensor operator, throwing her hand in the air and promptly jumping out of her seat.

  “Double check your readings and stay in your seat when reporting! We jumped a full three days travel outside of the Tracto hyper-limit,” the new First Officer snapped, a hand falling to the data slate on his belt as he turned toward the Sensor pit in what I recognized as a shooter’s stance. Although, what he was planning to shoot with that slate was beyond me, “re-verify those readings and—”

  “Throwing the image up on the screen, just a second,” reported one of my best former sensor operators. I say ‘former’ because he had been promoted to Warrant Officer and placed in command of the sensor pit—a practice I’d seen first in the Wolf-9 Star Base’s command section, and decided to duplicate in the MSP.

  The ship suddenly shuddered and a red alarm light was instantly accompanied by a claxon started screaming its ‘whoop-whoop-whoop’ sound into our ears.

  “Shields down to 80%,” yelled the Ensign at the shield station, “we’re taking fire!”

  An image suddenly appeared on our small and cramped looking forward view screen.

  “Oh, Space Gods!” shrieked the sensor operator who had first jumped out of her seat, staggering backwards and tripping over her own chair as the ship shuddered again, “Bugs!”

  “Tactical, lock on target and fire as she bears,” roared Captain Laurent leaping out of his chair and thrusting his finger at the view screen, “and break the sump—with alacrity, if you please, Mister DuPont!”

  “Super-charge the main shield generator for combat operations, Longbottom,” shouted the new First Officer, pulling out his data slate and leveling it at the Sensor pit. I wondered if it was some kind of secret concealed, holdout blaster pistol I knew nothing about.

  “All engines to 80% of maximum,” our Helmsman cried.

  “Main Shield generator—” started the Ensign at shields only to be cut off as ship lurched beneath us as the grav-plates struggled to keep up with the sudden strain.

  “Increasing to 90%,” DuPont called out right before the ship suddenly felt like it was slewing to the side, “and we’re free!” he cried with a touch more relief than I had hoped for from one of my longtime crewmembers.

  “Keep the speed up and initiate evasive maneuvers, Helmsman,” Ordered the Captain.

  “Shields at 60%,” the Ensign said in an elevated voice, his words still clipped and professional, “the strain on the main generator was too sudden and intense; it’s in danger of overheating at condition yellow. I say again, condition yellow. I am load balancing with the two secondary generators to reduce the strain now!”

  “They’re right on top of us!” shouted another sensor operator, jerking around in his chair before settling down.

  “There’s more than one of them?” Laurent demanded, rounding on the operator with obvious surprise.

  Simultaneously, the crewwoman from sensors who had first identified the ship and then tripped over her chair, began rocking back and forth on the floor and screaming.

  “Someone get that woman off the Bridge; she’s in battle shock,” I barked, forcing the irritation I felt at this ear-rending behavior to the side and grabbing a nearby yeoman by the elbow before pushing him towards the still screaming woman.

  “Gunnery is requesting to know if we want them to concentrate on one particular target,” reported the new Tactical Officer.

  Both the First Officer and the Captain’s heads shot around to stare at our new Tactical Officer with disbelief.

  “What part of ‘fire as she bears’ don’t you understand?” Laurent growled with angry disbelief.

  “Do your blighted job, Warrant,” snapped the First Officer in agreement while the Warrant at Tactical still stood flat-footed.

  “Blast it, man—” raged Laurent, advancing on the Tactical area.

  I stood up to interject myself into the growing chaos. “Captain, back to your seat and focus on the battle,” I barked, my voice cracked like a whip causing Laurent to pull himself up short and round on me with disbelief and rising fury in his face. “First Officer, take command of Tactical for the duration,” I then turned to the Warrant Officer who was still gaping like a fish, as obviously the pressure of running his section was too much for the man. It was too bad, really; he’d been one of Laurent’s up and comers, “As for you, you’re fired. Get off the bridge and confine yourself to quarters,” I said coldly.

  The First Officer’s head snapped around and he hesitated, looking to Laurent first. I pulled out my holdout blaster pistol and held it down at my side.

  “Now, Mister Eastwood,” I said with ringing authority, my knuckles whitening on the grip of my weapon as the First Officer glanced at me before looking back at Laurent as if my weapon was immaterial.

  “Do it before you get shot,” barked the Captain, and just like that the First Officer snapped into motion as he headed for the Tactical section without giving me a second look.

  “This is my ship, Admiral,” Laurent growled as the ship shook around us, “I’m the Captain—I fight the ship. You’re the Admiral—you fight the Fleet.”

  “Shields down to 45% and dropping from multiple hits on all multiple facings,” the Ensign said crisply, and no hint of the earlier unsteadiness in his voice remained. I was surprised; the young man seemed to be settling down much faster than I would have thought possible.

  Then, realizing the Captain was still glaring at me I rounded on him with a glare of my own.

  “Then fight your ship, Captain,” I said coldly, “or I’ll find someone who can.”

  “Just so we’re clear,” Laurent said evenly, “I’m no Tremblay; I’m the Captain, not some First Officer to bend with every breeze. Don’t relieve another one of my officers without my consent again—that’s my purview.”

  “I’ll just shoot the next malingering blighter who hesitates to the point of cowardice in the face of the enemy,” I snapped, re-holstering my holdout pistol back in its fore arm sheath for emphasis. “I’ll leave the counseling to you and the Bugs—fight your ship, Captain!” I’d broken bigger men than Laurent, and I was going to be dipped in batter and deep fried for some alien stew pot before I let him—or anyone, other than myself—endanger the lives of our crew…not to mention my chance for revenge.

  Laurent made a sound of pure frustration and turned back to the main-screen, on which I could see half a dozen images of Bug ships and not a single, other Confederation vessel. As I watched, DuPont heeled the ship over, exposing our right broadside to one of the two largest Bug sh
ips.

  “Target the Large Harvester nearest our position and hold your thunder, Gunners,” Eastwood’s voice cut through the chatter on the bridge like a hot knife through butter and every head including mine snapped around. At some signal only he could see on his screen, I saw the First Officer lift the microphone in his hand up to his lips. “All mounts are to fire on my mark…fire!” His voice thundered into the microphone and he jerked back as he did so hard enough to pull the cord free from its connection in the desk—it didn’t look like that particular cord was meant to come out, a supposition that was soon confirmed when the First Officer tossed the microphone to the ground and called for a new one.

  “Prepare to roll the ship, Helmsman,” barked Laurent.

  “Yes, Captain,” cried DuPont.

  “View screen fully populated,” called out the Warrant in the Sensor Section, “readout shows we’re facing four Scout ships and a pair of Large Harvester class Bug warships!”

  “How many of our ships have point transferred in yet?” I asked levelly.

  The ship shook underneath my feet and the view on the main-screen flickered before steadying.

  “Shields down to 25%!” cried the Ensign, his professionalism starting to crack along with his shields.

  “We arrived scattered all over cold space—this was well beyond the expected dispersal rate!” exclaimed the new Sensor Officer sounding concerned. “The nearest MSP sister warship is at least a half hour away at best speed.”

  “How did the System affect us this far out?” I growled, cursing those trillium deposits as I pounded on my command chair for emphasis. Thirty minutes…that was too long to expect to survive the Bugs without things being decided one way or the other.