Admiral's Revenge (A Spineward Sectors Novel:)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “I thought it was prudent to send our captured gains back to one of our bases while—” she started.

  I raised my right hand in the air and twiddled my fingers. “Moving on,” I said, knowing that the longer we continued on this subject, the more foolish I was going to look to the bridge crew. “We won, and that’s the important thing to keep in mind. The rest are fiddly bits,” at the lack of comprehension I added, “details that can all be straightened out later. Right now we seem to have a number of Bug ships we need to decide how to deal with.”

  “Deal with?” McCruise said with surprise and she visibly switched gears. “Admiral,” she continued hesitantly, “there’s no way we can deal with three Bug ships of that class with the forces we have available. I wouldn’t want to take on one of them with our ships in their current condition. Withdrawal is the only prudent course.” She seemed completely unaware of how those words rubbed salt into an already open wound, and I was determined she would remain that way.

  “I am forced to agree,” I said, disguising my unhappiness with a shake of my head. A glance over at the Captain of my own ship, however, revealed that I hadn’t perhaps been as good at hiding my emotions as I’d initially presumed.

  “Your order, Admiral?” McCruise said neutrally.

  Blast it, I thought, am I that transparent? I really was going to have to work on that later, but in the meanwhile this argument with Laurent in the middle of the bridge had embarrassed me and obviously had more of an impact on the visibility of my emotions than I’d expected.

  “Consolidate on the Flagship and fall back,” I said, every single word feeling like an admission of failure. Which it was, of course: the failure to defeat these Harvesters. But to me it signified something more; it signified the futility of our struggle against the Bugs and pirates who had each descended on Tracto like a plague of locusts. Each was determined, in their own way, to strip the system bare.

  “Very good, Sir,” McCruise said crisply, “we will rendezvous with the Flag.”

  “We need to shadow these Bugs and figure out exactly how many of them there are, Captain,” I said, thinking out loud when I was interrupted by another stir in the sensor section.

  “Captain,” Called out the Sensor Operator, “we’ve just picked up another sixteen Harvester Class ships and over fifty smaller Bug vessels.”

  “What!?” Laurent and I called out at the same time. Even McCruise, who must have heard the report over her com-channel, looked like a dog that had just caught the scent. “Verify those readings, Warrant!”

  “Over seventy,” the Sensor Officer paused, “no, eighty total contacts and climbing, Sirs,” he said looking white as a sheet.

  I felt my blood run cold. This was a lot of Bugs—more, perhaps, than I’d really been expecting, if I’m being honest. I mean, after all we had just destroyed a number of Harvesters and smaller ships.

  “We’re now picking up something big, Captain—Admiral,” the Sensor Officer said, and I could see shoulders start to slump throughout Sensors.

  “Well, spit it out,” I growled when the silence started to drag, “what is it, man?”

  “I think we’ve found the Bug fleet, Sir,” the Warrant whispered, barely loud enough to be heard. In fact, we normally wouldn’t have been able to hear it except the bridge of the Flagship had gone unnaturally still and silent. “I’m reading a Mother-ship class at the very edge of our sensor range, Admiral.”

  You’d think after preparing for such an occurrence for the better part of two years, and actively fighting off waves of Bug attacks for nearly three months, that I’d have been ready for that announcement. But those words, and the sight that slowly appeared on the main screen as our Sensor section slowly built up a more cohesive picture, painted its own horrifying realization: we were all going to die.

  “Something’s wrong with the bow of that ship,” Laurent said into the growing silence.

  Looking at it, I realized that it did look somewhat deformed. Almost as if—“It’s been damaged at some point in the past,” I said flatly, my lips acting of their own accord.

  “Bad enough to cause that kind of damage?” Laurent said with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, and my stomach tightened until it felt like my guts were literally clenched up tight. The front of the ship was definitely smaller and deformed compared to the majestic bulk of the rest of the mighty—over two thousand meters long!—Bug Mother-ship.

  “Bad enough that someone could have broken it in half, or perhaps smaller pieces even,” I said, pointing to a deformed section of the ship a fourth of the way forward from the back that looked like it had been repaired—or, more accurately, scabbed and healed over. It was a ragged line, but clearly visible once you knew what you were looking for, which I was after months of studying Bug ship data.

  “It’s amazing that ship survived…whatever it was,” Laurent marveled.

  “Yes, isn’t it,” I said, grinding my teeth, “it almost looks like one of those Harvesters we destroyed. You know, one of those that broke in half and didn’t explode?”

  “This is going to make it much harder,” Laurent said, shaking his head. “I mean, with a ship that size I don’t understand how it could be that badly damaged and still survive. Whoever attacked it should have been able to finish…”

  I could see the moment realization cross over his face.

  “You’d think so,” I agreed, not quite ready to give full voice to what was becoming increasingly more clear and likely to me, “still, it does finally explain why we’ve been encountering ‘Marine Bugs’ almost since the beginning, which is something that most SDF’s and Confederated Imperial Fleets don’t encounter until further into an invasion cycle. Also, it explains why we’ve seen an unusual pattern to how long it’s taken for the Mother-ship and main fleet to arrive.”

  “No, Sir, that’s just not possible,” Laurent denied, “it’s just not possible, Admiral!” He was now seeing what I was seeing: someone had attacked and destroyed this Mother-ship at some point in the past, and then allowed it to reattach and reform the damaged, rear section of itself. Although by this point, it had also managed to re-grow a significant portion of the forward section, as well.

  “It fits, though. This fleet’s also clearly outside the standard behavioral pattern simply by being located within the Spineward Sectors as well, wouldn’t you say,” I mused, ignoring his protest.

  “What are the two of you talking about,” demanded First Officer Eastwood.

  “Why, isn’t it obvious, Number One?” I drawled, rolling my head around to look at him casually. I ignored the suppressed grimace and unsuppressed eye roll from Mr. Eastwood in favor of driving my point home—like a sword through the heart, “Someone transported these Bugs here to Tracto. This world was never meant to survive…or at least, its indigenous population was never meant to.” Finally, all the strange clues and missing pieces of the puzzle had come together to form a complete and mystical hole. Since this predated my arrival, it couldn’t have been aimed at me and the MSP. I hadn’t even known about the system before our random patrol had brought us here; my arrival here had been pure happenstance.

  That meant that someone hated my Tracto-ans and wanted them destroyed—someone with a starship big enough to move a Bug mother ship. When you put it that way, there was really only one power in the entire galaxy with ships capable of doing that job.

  “We’ve got three weeks, people,” I called out. Three weeks before this Mother-ship arrived to descend upon Tracto like the wrath of the old gods reborn.

  Yes, someone definitely hated my wife’s people. I’d have said they’d just made an enemy out of me with their genocidal actions, but I was beginning to suspect that actually saying that would have been a lie. It would have been a lie because unless I was wrong—we were already mortal enemies.

  I turned back to the main screen, on which the silent image of McCruise watched everything with hooded eyes.

  “You called them ‘tribute ships’,” I
said, pinning her with my eyes.

  It took the Confederation Captain a moment to realize what I was asking. “Yes,” she replied, looking surprised.

  “From the pirates obviously,” I said, ignoring the mighty Bug fleet on my screen even while Captain Laurent ordered our ship turned around and headed away from the Bugs at best speed.

  McCruise nodded.

  “Pray tell…who?” I put to her mildly. “Who was the intended recipient of this tribute?”

  Surprise turned to dawning realization, and a flash of horror crossed her features which was quickly suppressed—but she couldn’t hide the tightness around the corners of her eyes when she responded. “Interrogation and the data files both agree,” McCruise said, taking a deep breath, “the freighters were headed for 28th Provisional, where they were to be given to one ‘Rear Admiral Arnold Janeski’.”

  “Of course they were,” I said icily, as the final piece of the puzzle fell into place before my mind’s eye.

  I then turned and gave new orders to the damaged Cutter; it was time to start gathering our forces.

  The Battle for Tracto was officially on a countdown to annihilation—the only question was: whose?

  Chapter 48: Spalding tries to sneak away…

  He was the very model of a stealthy—d’oh!

  “Where exactly do you think you’re going, Mister?” Glenda’s voice cracked like a whip as she strode into Main Engineering of the Armor Prince.

  Spalding winced. “I must away, ‘ere break of day,” Spalding muttered under his breath before quickly tapping his approval of the last order on his data-slate and handing it over to a new engineering recruit who had been waiting for it.

  “I’m talking to you, you old reprobate,” Baldwin snapped, placing a hand on his arm and forcibly turning him around.

  “Glenda,” Spalding said, pasting on a false, delighted smile, “so good to see you. I didn’t know you were on board!”

  “Did you think that you could sneak a battleship out of space dock without anyone noticing?” she growled. “Or is it just that you think I’m particularly stupid?”

  “Now, Glenda,” Spalding soothed, trying to ease the situation by letting his girl down slow.

  “Don’t you ‘now, Glenda,’ me,” she said, shoving a finger up under his nose, “and don’t avoid the question: just where the Hades do you think you’re taking this battleship while she still needs yard time?”

  “Ye’ve done a fine job with the old boy,” Spalding hastened to assure her, “there’s nothing wrong with her that a shakedown cruise under a set of real engineers can’t fix.”

  “Real engineers,” she shrieked, “what am I and the rest of the yard team, Green Creeper cheese?!”

  “Now, I didn’t mean nothin’ by that,” Spalding, barked starting to get genuinely angry. “I’ve no bias against you yard types, it’s just that—”

  “Yard types?” she glared. “Well, I’ll have you know, Mr. ‘Real Engineer,’ that it’s thanks to us ‘yard types’ and very little thanks to you that you’ve even got a ship ready to sail.”

  “I never said otherwise, lass,” he growled, “but it’s time and past time we left; the Admiral needs us!”

  “You in particular, or this thundering big battleship you’ve been ignoring in favor of sneaking away all hours to hole up inside that floating death trap of a hobby horse you’ve just transferred into the Prince’s shuttle bay?” Glenda demanded accusingly, stabbing him in the chest with her perfectly lubricated finger covered in grease. “Because we need you here; I’ve got two major projects as well as any number of infrastructure growth to manage without the needed hands to man everything. Impossible schedules; incessant demands for manpower I can’t fill,” she continued, ticking off points by stabbing him in the chest each time.

  “You’ve done some good work here, Glenda,” Spalding said shortly, “but we’ve just got word and it’s time for some thunder and lighting. The Clover, she needs us!”

  “Word,” Glenda scoffed, “from that wreck of a Cutter that just pulled in here? If that’s how well the Admiral’s been taking care of the rest of your ‘fleet,’ then I shudder to think what he’ll do with the Armor Prince.”

  Spalding’s face hardened.

  “We’ve no time for womanly qualms and squeamishness,” he glared, “if ye can’t deal with the thought of ships getting’ torn up in combat, then it’s a good thing you’re now a yard dog.”

  The former Construction Manager huffed with outrage. “I’ll show you how this blushing violet deals with her ‘womanly’ qualms, you old goat,” she threatened, grabbing her tool belt and hauling out the large auto-wrench hanging from the left side which she immediately swung at his head.

  Spalding ducked the swipe and stumbled back. “Mutiny,” he yelped, “assaulting a superior officer in a time of war is mutiny, woman!”

  The new Yard Manager stopped and sneered at him. “Afraid of a little honest auto-wrench, now? I thought the high and mighty Chief Engineer who stepped into a burning fusion reactor was tougher than that,” she spat.

  “I don’t go ‘round hitting women,” Spalding said with great dignity, “so it’s not fair to attack a man who can’t defend himself.”

  “Life isn’t fair,” Baldwin said scornfully.

  Spalding felt his face flush in the face of her scorn and disregard. “That’s why Murphy invented ‘mutiny charges’,” he agreed, squeezing his fist closed to keep his plasma torch fingers from activating.

  “That old saw,” she rolled her eyes, “you’re just afraid you’ll be licked, is what. That’s why you’re hiding behind your rank. This is the age of patriarchal reign where you can hide behind your chauvinism to protect you.”

  “I’ll hire a mercenary is what I’ll do,” Spalding declared, “and pay her to flatten you.”

  “Like I said a coward,” she said flatly.

  Filled with fury, when she waved that blasted auto-wrench in his direction again, he grabbed it mid-swing and tore it out of her hand. With a yell he grabbed it with both hands and bent it over his droid leg.

  “I’ll show you cowardice,” he raged, drop kicking the auto wrench to the other side of the room where it bounced off with a clang, “talking trash against a man who can’t defend himself!”

  “That tool was expensive,” Glenda said with disbelief, “and you just destroyed it!”

  “There’s a cost to everything,” he grumped, feeling embarrassed at letting his temper get the better of him—and in front of his Glenda, no less! He turned and started stomping away, disgusted with himself.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Baldwin demanded.

  “Tracto,”’ he said shortly.

  “Blast it, Commander, we need you here,” she said, coming around in front of him and blocking the way to the turbo-lift.

  “You’ve done a fine job, Glenda,” Spalding said with a sigh, “you’ve more patience with the yard projects and all the whining that comes with them than I do, and that’s a sure and certain fact. You’ll do fine.”

  The former Construction Manager blushed. “I don’t know about all that,” she muttered before rallying, “not that it’s hard to do a better job than a man who doesn’t show up to work half the time!”

  “I’ve told you before: it was a top secret project,” Spalding sighed.

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said skeptically.

  “How many times have I been wrong?” Spalding groused to no one in particular. “And how many times have I done what they thought couldn’t be done, and still they doubt me and call me crazy?”

  “It would probably help if you weren’t foisting all the work off on me and running away to tinker on a piece of junk lander so old all the electronics had hardened and every major system had to be replaced,” the Yard Manager said critically.

  Spalding sighed. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll just give you an acting commission before I leave so you have the rank to run things in me absence.” Glend
a fell behind him in surprise and then hurried to catch up.

  “That’s not the point; I don’t want your rank,” Glenda protested.

  “Good,” Spalding said with a nod, “not wanting the job means you’ll probably do better than most. In my opinion there are two types of leaders that do a good job: the ones that don’t want the job, and the ones that love the job for everything it is—not everything it can bring them.”

  “Is there any way I can talk you out of going?” she asked finally.

  “’Fraid not lass,” he said with genuine regret, “you just get that new space dock ready and start on that complete rebuild of the Rage we talked about before.”

  “If I wanted to be stuck in some shipyard, I wouldn’t have signed up on a Constructor,” the new Yard Manager grumped and then gave in. “Oh, alright, I’ll do what can be done. You just make sure to see about getting us some more hands over here while you’re off gallivanting all over the border of known space.”

  “Eh?” Spalding looked at her in surprise and then smiled, “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ll see about the warm bodies.”

  Chapter 49: Spalding Comes for Brence

  He was the very model of a recently upgraded space engineer.

  “Commander Spalding, it’s good to finally meet you. I’ve heard great…things,” Colonel Wainwright said.

  Spalding narrowed his good eye. “Naught but a passel of lies, I’m sure, Marine,” he said, extending his hand.

  The two men shook and Wainwright winced.

  “You’ve got quite the grip there,” the Colonel observed.