The ship shuddered and the deck beneath the bridge crew seemed to sway. “Damage to our starboard communications array,” yelped the Comm. Officer, “pattern signal temporarily aborted due to the loss of our primary array! We’re undergoing a mandatory system reboot; I’ll start retransmitting as soon as my system boots back up, Commodore.”
“Blast you, Tremblay,” Jean Luc said savagely to the Pennant Lieutenant, who was still standing flat-footed and holding onto a guiderail for support after the swaying, “get out of my way!” He emphasized his frustration with the other man by shoving him toward an empty console.
Turning to the Tactical pit, he growled, “I want those engines pulverized. Utterly destroyed, or as close to it as we can get before we pass out of range, do you understand me, Tactical?!”
“As you command, Commodore,” the Tactical Officer said fiercely, “these Bugs won’t be moving again anytime soon.”
“Succeed and it’s a bump in rank—fail me and the demotion you’ll receive will be the least of your concerns!” Jean Luc smiled—a smile that had been known to curl toes and send weak men running in terror.
Chapter 73: Spalding Abandons Ship?!
“Admiral, this is the Chief Engineer,” Spalding said staring into the view screen before him.
“What are you doing on the holo-screen on my command chair, Chief Engineer?” the Little Admiral blinked.
“We have our ways down here in Engineering,” Spalding said gruffly, shaking his head from side to said as if to shake off an annoying fly or other insect buzzing around his head. “But that’s not important, Sir.”
“If you say so,” the Admiral said, looking doubtfully at him.
“We don’t have time for pleasantries, Admiral,” Spalding said with passion, “now’s the time to strike!”
“Which is exactly what we’re doing, Commander,” Admiral Montagne said with patented disapproval on his face, “we’re about to reenter attack range any minute.”
“That’s what I mean, Sir!” Spalding said excitedly. “Her shields are all but down, and I’m sure with yer next pass you’ll knock ’em back down again; this is our chance! The Fix is in, Sir! Just give the word and we’ll have the Clover back under your control before you can say ‘Bob’s your uncle’!”
“Bob is very much not one of my Uncles,” the Admiral said coolly, “in point of fact the only uncle of mine in this entire star system goes by the name of Jean Luc Montagne, Pirate King and Blood Lord of the spaceways.”
“Yes, yes, the Captain’s gone rogue,” Spalding said, throwing his hands into the air, “that’s why we’re here. Between the two of us we’ll put an end to his life of crime and villainy! All you have to do is give the word, Admiral.”
“I’m sorry, but we’re in the middle of battle, Mr. Spalding,” the Admiral replied, shaking his head abruptly, “I’m afraid that it’s simply too dangerous to risk a shuttle at this time, Chief.”
“But, Sir,” Spalding pleaded, “every man’s a volunteer and we all know the risks. The Fix has been built and rebuilt for exactly this sort of situation. Please let us show you what we can do. Don’t keep us on the back bench when we’ve got a Bug Mother-ship and two ships of the line to deal with!”
The Little Admiral looked torn and leaned over to speak with someone. He then shook his head regretfully, “I promise just as soon as things settle down a bit you’ll have my permission to attempt a boarding action. I know how much the Lucky Clover means to you, but as things stand right now they’ve got at least 90% of their beam weaponry still functioning—including their point defense lasers. Any attempt right now would be suicide plain and simple,” the Admiral said, “I’m sorry but until things die down a bit more, I can’t allow it.”
“Put us in, coach!” Spalding pleaded. “Put us in; I promise you the Fix is ready—she was born ready, and so was I!”
“You’re sure you can shut down her fusion generators?” the Little Admiral demanded.
“Of course, Sir,” Spalding said stiffly, but his eyes shifted from side to side and his shoulders hunched slightly. “Not a problem; one way or the other, we’ll get her shut down so she doesn’t take any further damage!”
The Admiral looked pleased. “Look, I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but I swear to you,” he said giving Spalding a solid look, “you’ll have your chance just as soon as possible.”
Spalding felt as if someone was cutting his heart out with a spoon. “Please, Admiral, I beg of ye,” he pleaded, “change yer mind.”
“As soon as possible,” the Little Admiral said and then severed the transmission.
Spalding stared down at the blank and empty screen in disbelief.
“I’m sorry, Chief,” Brence said placing a heavy hand on his shoulder, “but at least he promised to let us try as soon as things are safe.”
“This is a fight between Battleships, lad,” Spalding said with disbelief and rising emotion, “nothing about this is in the least big safe!”
“Look, Chief,” Brence said raising his hands, “all I meant was—”
“Oh, I know what you meant by it, you and everyone else on this ship,” Spalding said, flying into a rage. “You all think you’re humoring a washed-up old man, a mechanic and engineer well past his prime. When I walked into a fusion reactor, did anyone say it couldn’t be done or try to stop me? No,” he stabbed a finger accusingly, “you all believed in me when it was convenient for you, but not a single, solitary one of you wants to believe me now. I tell you plain as the light of day or the very nose that sits atop this cyborg old face of mine that the Fix can do it!”
“It’s not like that, Sir,” Brence said hurriedly, “not at all!”
“All you see is a cyborg who’s more metal than man, and ye think to pity me—but I will not be pitied,” Spalding raged, pulling out his auto-wrench and slamming it into the console before him, breaking the screen and shattering several of the interactive buttons on his control panel. “I’ll show you. I’ll show all of you!”
“Commander. Commander Spalding,” Brence said urgently.
“Get away from me, you idjit,” Spalding roared, thrusting him away and starting for the door, “I don’t need a single one of you. The plan is foolproof, and I’m just the fool to prove it!”
“Chief Engineer,” Brence said, his voice suddenly cracking with authority, so much so that Spalding actually paused mid-step and looked back at him curiously.
In two strides, the wayward young space hand reached over and grabbed his shoulder. “Sir, you’re the only person who ever believed in me,” he said, his face shining with suppressed emotion, “no one ever gave me a second look except to heap punishment on me. Even my own mother thought I’d fallen in with the wrong crowd and would never amount to anything.” The young engineer spoke so passionately that it plucked at the old man’s recently re-furbished heart strings, “But not you. You saw my flaws and in spite of that—or maybe even because of it, I don’t know why and I don’t care to know the reason—you believed in me when no one else did. I am your man, Sir! And if Terrence Spalding, the greatest Engineer and Officer I’ve ever known says he can do it, then I believe him. I believe, Sir! I followed you into that fusion reactor not because I expected to live, but because I believed in you. I’d follow you into a fusion reactor, and I’d follow you through the icy fires of Hades itself. So don’t say that no one believes you, Commander, because I do,” Brence said, his eyes now filled with tears. “Lead and I will follow!”
Spalding stared at the formerly wayward hand before him and blinked. Somethin’ in me eye, he thought as he quickly wiped it.
Reaching over, the old engineer awkwardly patted the younger man on the shoulder.
“There, there, lad,” he blinked rapidly, “I didn’t realize you…well, what I mean is,” he swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “That is, I didn’t mean to say anything against you. Much as I hate to admit it, I’m an old man and sometimes it just gets to feelin’ like the world is out t
o get me, is all. I didn’t mean nothing by it—of course ye can come!”
“Let’s go, Chief,” Brence said giving him a nod, one man to another, “we haven’t got all day to sit around here slacking off while our Battleship’s in pirate hands!”
Spalding shook his head to clear if of all the stuff and nonsense that had crept inside it while he wasn’t paying attention.
“You know what, you’re right,” he barked, “we’ve no time for lolling around or woolgathering. It’s time and past time to do something about the dire straits of our bonnie young lass,” he said, turning for the door, “come on, lad. We’ve got a ship to save, and as I recall the Admiral said we had permission to go just as soon as things died down a bit, and if something isn’t dying right this very minute then I can’t read the power drain of a gun deck broadside on a Dreadnaught’s fusion reactors!”
“Yes, Sir!” Brence declared.
“I just have to engage the automatic override on the shuttle bay doors and we’ll be out of here lickity-split,” Spalding bragged as he finished typing in the override code and then turned toward the modified Penetrator Class Lander, silently urging the other engineer to hurry.
“How are we going to get through our own shields, Chief?” Brence asked cautiously, and now that they were inside the shuttle bay the old engineer didn’t hold it against him. Anyone who didn’t know all the stealth features he’d installed into the innocuous-looking Lander might have been concerned also.
“Don’t you worry, lad,” Spalding bragged, “those duralloy spikes might look like they were soldered onto the hull by a madman, but I assure you they’ll work just as well as they did for the Strike Cruiser in reducing her sensor profile. And on top of that, without a conventional drive system—except for the maneuvering thrusters—I was able to reroute the power we would have normally used for acceleration and increase the number of grav-plates! Between the extra plates and the ballistics jelly we’ll soon be swimmin’ in, I guarantee we’ll survive the journey over!”
Brence’s eyes widened to the point Spalding began to worry that the younger man’s eyes were about to fall out of his head.
“Last chance to back out now, son,” Spalding said with a twinkle in his eye.
“N-not on your life, Sir,” Brence replied with a weak smile.
Spalding courteously ignored the stutter. On a normal work crew it might have been noteworthy, but being a volunteer member of what the ignorant might call a suicide mission, it was only right to cut the other man a wee bit of slack.
“Good lad,” he said, slapping Brence on the shoulder and hurrying towards the front of the ship. Plopping down in the pilot’s chair, he activated the drop-down mask and adjusted it to fit his head. “It’s been a wee spell since I flew a small craft, but it’s just like ridin’ a bike,” he hastened to assure the younger engineer, “it comes back just as quick.”
Brence looked a little green. “What’s the mask for, Commander?” he asked.
“Oh,” Spalding said realizing he hadn’t mentioned the masks yet, “right. It’s an oxygen re-breather mask, hooked directly into the shuttles air supply. We’ll need them as soon as the cockpit stops filling up with ballistics jelly,” he said, and reminded of the jelly, flipped a pair of switches on the control panel.
There was a ‘glug-glug-glug’ sound as side panels in the walls of the cockpit opened up, and a thick, green liquid began to flow out.
Brence jumped into his seat and quickly reached for the mask.
“Is this some kind of experimental new drive system, Sir?” the younger man asked, sounding concerned and clearly trying to hide it.
“Brence, me lad,” Spalding shook his head disapprovingly, “this isn’t a new technology at all.” The younger man’s shoulder had just started to slump with relief when the old engineer’s face brightened and he added, “Nope, this isn’t new—it’s a technology so old they retired it centuries ago. Some fool child o’ Murphy declared it too hazardous and energy-inefficient to continue using, you see.”
The younger Engineer made a strangled sound and then said something that sounded like, ‘Murphy save us.’
“But don’t worry, boy,” Spalding said, slapping him on the shoulder, “we’ve come a long way since they deactivated this type of drive system. Between the extra grav-plates and the new ballistics jelly I found in that Imperial style Constructor’s database, I realized that this old mode of propulsion was once again feasible. It’s the ballistics jelly, you see; it cushions the human body against extreme gravity and acceleration, and can be turned from a liquid to a solid and back again with the simple application of a specific electrical frequency.”
“What type of propulsion system are we talking about…exactly?” Brence finally managed as the liquid filled the cockpit.
“Oh, it’s similar to the way yer basic mass driver works,” Spalding hastened to explain. “You see though, instead of using a coil of grav-plates to achieve incredible speeds like a mass driver pellet, what we do is essentially strap an atomic to the back of the Lander and set it off. Took a fair bit of extra shielding in the back of the Lander to keep the radiation down to survivable levels, but I managed it,” he said with a wink.
“Atomics,” Brence gasped, “you mean we’re setting off a series of nuclear explosions on the back end of our Lander for propulsion?! That’s nothing like a mass driver; it’s a nuclear drive system!”
“Low grade explosions,” Spalding said severely, “they hardly qualify as ‘nuclear’.”
“But you’re still splitting atoms and riding the blast!” Brence exclaimed.
“Well, I’d hardly have described the drive as atomic if we weren’t,” Spalding scoffed, shaking his head.
“Oh, Space Gods,” Brence said, slumping forward in his chair.
“But don’t worry, lad,” Spalding said quickly, “I realize yer probably asking yourself about just exactly how I’m supposed to fly this Lander if we’re to be encased in this ballistics jelly…am I right?”
Brence looked over at him dully.
“Never fear,” Spalding assured him, “my arms are made entirely of metal and artificial, so using that same electrical frequency I told you about before—but at a much lower amperage—my arms are strong enough to move around inside the jelly and still operate the console. Plus, of course, my new eye can see through the stuff good enough that I can read the console.”
“Go, Commander,” Brence said, sounding more like a man going to face an execution squad than an engineer about to battle test a new technology.
“Of all the nervous Nelly’s,” Spalding muttered, shaking his head, “who could have known?”
Brence screamed into his mask the first time the Lander rocked from an explosion to the stern.
“It was a shaped charge, the contours of the hull combined with the charge itself helps propel us along,” Spalding shouted gleefully into his ear via a communication device installed into his re-breather mask. “But it’s the way the grav-plates are placed for maximum gee-force acceleration and the innovative use of this ballistics jelly that allows us to survive!”
“That’s great,” he shouted back, while wishing he was anywhere but where he was.
“Isn’t it, though?” the old Engineer chortled, and even unable to turn his head he thought he could see the Demon’s own, unholy light burning from Spalding’s cyborg eye.
Chapter 74: Head to Head
The Armor Prince came back around at a slower pace than last time as it circled the now twitching Mother-ship whose weight of fire had fallen just below 50% of her total broadside and was still almost randomly firing off into cold space.
“We’re receiving an incoming transmission from the Lucky Clover, Admiral,” the com-tech reported. “Do you want to accept the hail?”
“Put it on the main screen,” I ordered.
An image of my one-eyed Uncle, sporting his pirate patch appeared, lounging on my Admiral’s Throne.
“Well, well, well, Nephew,”
Jean Luc said with a mocking smile, “come back to have your head handed to you a second time, I see?”
“You can run, but you can’t hide, Jean Luc,” I growled as the Prince came blasting around the outside corner of the Mother-ship’s extreme field of fire, “your days are numbered.”
“How melodramatic,” my treasonous, Caprian uncle scoffed, “but I do thank you for bringing me back one of my Battleships.”
“You’re calling me melodramatic?” I asked, projecting disbelief. “You lost this Battleship, just like you lost the Omicron. I’m sure your ‘friends’,” irony colored my voice, “at Central sent you the reports, so read it and weep, traitor.”
“Still stuck on that old paradigm, are we, Pipsqueak?” he said as insultingly as possible. “Well, let me clue you in on a little something: as the ‘rightful’ heir to the Caprian Throne, it is essentially impossible for me to ‘betray’ anything that has to do with the Sovereign State of Capria, and as a firm believer in the Parliamentary way of life—you know, putting them in power so that everyone can have the joys of elections, random loyalty testing and forced interrogations to ensure the proper kinds of free thinking—I have only merely been doing as I believed was right.” Jean Luc grinned maliciously, “That a few random usurpers managed to get themselves front row seats to a private orbital bombardment along the way was a shame, but in no way my fault—or my concern.”
“You’ve gone space mad,” I said flatly, almost unable to believe what I was hearing, “completely and utterly off your rocker.”
“The current dynasty simply doesn’t have the nose for it,” Jean Luc sighed, “it’s not their fault that they’re incompetent, but the Veknas never have been the sharpest chip off the old block.”
“I’ve no time to sit around and bandy words with you,” I said, shaking my head mockingly, “there are a pair of Battleships I’m about to blow out of the sky.”
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