Then something he said penetrated. “What do you mean, we’ve got an old Hydra Class Medium Cruiser and a bunch of Corvettes and Cutters? Did Middleton come back? And where’s the Imperial Strike Cruiser?” I demanded. Up until then, I had figured Spalding and the Constructor had built the Cutters, and either built or borrowed the Corvettes from Tracto IV.
Spalding suddenly looked a touch uncomfortable. “The Strike Cruiser’s on its way to Capria,” he said, looking away.
“Capria! What possible reason could we have to send a high tech Strike Cruiser off to Capria, when it is very much needed here?!” I rebuked.
“Well, the Clover for one,” declared Spalding, puffing up with righteous indignation…and then he deflated, “well, she might have other reasons for going there. The message about your location was a might confusing of course, and, well…” he trailed off.
“She, who?! Who have you given my nice, new—and I very much hope, fully repaired—Strike Cruiser to, Mr. Spalding?” I demanded in a stern, raspy voice threaded with wrought-iron.
He looked at me in surprise. “Why, the Lady Akantha, of course,” he said so matter-of-factly, that his very lack of concern made it clear that I was the one in the wrong for assuming it would have gone down any other way.
My throat seized and I started coughing. “Ak-Akantha,” I wheezed around the coughing episode.
“Yes, Sir,” he said nodding his head, “she’s a might shaken up. Thought you were dead, and that if not, it wouldn’t be proper for her to come rescue you. Some sort of cultural log jam,” he shrugged helplessly.
“Well…all right,” I was able to just barely wrap my head around that little tidbit, “but why is she over at Capria, when she could be here, or hanging around Easy Haven, or Tracto, or any one of a dozen Star Systems less likely to view her in a negative light for being married to me?!”
“Ah, well, you see,” Spalding said, turning red in that part of his face still free of metal, “the Lady was a might shook up after the whole Omicron affair, and as far as I can see it, I’m afraid…” he looked at me unhappily.
“Spit it out man; what’s she gone and done this time?!” I cried, feeling like the leftover leavings of a dog after it’s done its business for the way I had failed to keep my ship and protect my wife. Not only had I failed her, I had failed our Lancer force during the assault on Omicron Station.
“Well, her and the Uplifts have gone to Capria to express her…” Spalding went to scratch his head, but his hand seemed to reflexively recoil at the touch of his fingers to the metal surface. “I guess there’s no bright way of putting it: she’s gone to Capria to let Parliament and King James know how she feels about their actions—taking the ship and leaving her stranded in the middle of the fight of her life, I mean,” he said unhappily.
“Saint Murphy, preserve us all,” I muttered, covering my face with a hand.
“She promised to see to the safety of your mother, before doing anything rash,” Spalding hastened to assure me.
Unfortunately, I was anything but reassured. My wife planned to do something rash, and if I knew her, it wasn’t just one something—it was going to be many violent, rash and deadly things. This was a woman who had barely been held in check when I’d been physically present to stop her from taking action against Parliament, my Family, and the entire world of Capria, when Cousin Bethany first came to visit.
Now that they had thrown down the gauntlet—and nearly succeeded in killing the two of us, along with our people—there would be no stopping her. Nothing but sheer, unmitigated firepower might be able to sway her from her course, and I wasn’t even sure of that. This was the same woman that had almost chosen death, rather than accepting my help the first time we had met. She constantly threw herself into battle as if she both enjoyed it and had something to prove.
Ye Space Gods, when my wife and my home world met for the first time…I shuddered involuntarily. Would I still have a wife or a home world to come back to afterward?
“You should have stopped her,” I flared, though I knew in my heart of hearts, that even I might not have been able to do so.
“The Lady wasn’t exactly in a persuading mood, if ye take my meaning,” Spalding retorted, a hard edge creeping into his voice, “I did my best, and the next thing I knew, she was sending me out here to get you, while she bolted off to Capria. And I had to stand by and watch my Clover slip through my fingers,” his good eyebrow lowered thunderously. “She could be anywhere by now!”
A dark silence filled the shuttle as we made a close approach to the Medium Cruiser. The Old Engineer hadn’t overstated the case; this ship was old and recently battered to within an inch of her life, with massive holes in her left facing, and her right side had been damaged by some kind of huge explosion.
“Well, at least Officer Tremblay is still on board; there’s a chance he can get a message through to us,” Lisa said cautiously.
My head snapped around. “Raphael Tremblay,” I said in a quiet, dangerous voice.
Something of this must have crept through my normally controlled exterior and into my posture, because she now looked at me uneasily. “Yes, Admiral; we couldn’t have got the ComStat messages out, and then snuck over to the Dungeon Ship before the Lucky Clover—only, they’re calling her the Lucky Larry now, for some reason—left the system, without his help,” she explained, clearly trying to put things in a positive light.
I glanced at Heirophant and he shook his head minutely, allowing me to see a slightly sour look on his face.
“Interesting,” was all I said in response. I had half a dozen hot and angry answers for anyone who brought up my former First Officer in conversation, but I refrained. I neither forgot, nor forgave, but right at the moment I needed to save my powder for more immediate foes. As for the serpent I’d kept nestled close to my bosom, I had no use for the man. Quite frankly, I viewed it as highly unlikely that he would send us any information whatsoever, and that even if he did, it would only be because he or his new masters desired to lure me into a trap.
Glancing over at Engineer Spalding, I feared such a message would be bait enough to lure us into any trap they might set, which only made my anger toward Lieutenant Tremblay grow even colder. They say revenge is a dish best served cold; well, it’s very cold in space, and I was looking forward to the next time the First Officer and I met—very much indeed.
Chapter 55: On the Bridge
I stared around the cramped, run down, and patched-together-with-spacer’s-tape, old style consoles. They were made of even older materials than I would have believed possible, and were set in a still older room that passed for a Bridge on this ancient Hydra Class Medium Cruiser. It was nothing like my Flag Bridge on the Clover; all it bore was a superficial resemblance to that similarly named place.
The faces that turned my way were worried, but as soon as they saw me, they brightened and filled with hope. This did nothing to bolster my own confidence, but it did manage to stiffen my resolve a bit.
I found myself literally shaking when I sat down in the Captain’s Chair, and I realized that I recognized not a single one of the Bridge Standers manning the various stations around the room. It once again sank home just how many of my people had been killed or captured, and I honestly couldn’t tell you if anger or sorrow was more prevalent in my thoughts.
I realized, on an intellectual level, that there were still hundreds of my men trapped on board the Dungeon Ship. But right here, right now, I was looking at a handful of unfamiliar faces running a Bridge that would have fit inside the Sensor Pit of my old one…well, maybe a touch more than just the Sensor Pit.
I was out of my element; in an unfamiliar ship, swimming in a sea—well, a pond, really—of unfamiliar faces. That they all recognized me counted for something, I suppose. I just wasn’t sure how much.
Then I got my first real look at the main screen, and all the doubts and worries were swept away by the certainty that if I didn’t do something—and soon—we were al
l going to die.
There’s nothing more suited to focusing the mind and pulling you out of a funk, than two squadrons of warships bearing down on your position.
Spalding took one look at the main plotter and scowled. “There’s more of them than when I left; they must have been lying low,” he grumped, indicating the various squadrons of ships.
I suppressed the urge to gulp, and instead leaned back in my new chair, deliberately projecting a confidence and poise that bordered on the indifferent. It was important that my crew think I was unconcerned with the number of warships on the screen, but also know that I could handle anything they threw out.
If every ship on the screen was against us, it was all over but the crying. I had to stiffen my resolve and try to make sense of the current tactical situation.
“I need to know who those various forces belong to,” I said seriously, waving my hand at the screen airily.
Spalding grunted and pursed his lips, then pointed. “That traveling fur ball over there is a Squadron of that Sector Guard outfit. We knocked out a Light Destroyer on the way over here, and the other squadron is towing it back to Praxis, so…” he trailed off, and I got the implication. If the Flagship of the 25th Sector Guard had been taken out of play, that meant I was dealing with someone other than Rear Admiral Yagar.
“If that’s a Guard Squadron, then who are they fighting?” I asked mildly, when the Chief Engineer failed to elaborate.
Spalding gave himself a shake. “That’s the Herrings and Afterburners over there, giving them what for,” the old Engineer said with such pride, that I understood these oddly named formations were somehow part of our force.
I nodded to show my understanding, and then gestured toward the other two Squadrons on my main screen.
Spalding pointed to the nearer of the two formations. “Those are Praxis Border Patrol boys, we led them a merry chase across the system. They got their blood up and pounded this Cruiser something good in the last pass; they’re just coming around now,” he said.
“What about the formation behind them,” I demanded, my eyes skittering from group to group, trying to get a feel for who the players were and what, in Saint Murphy’s sweet name, was going on.
“No idea; they weren’t on the screen when I hopped a shuttle to come grab you,” Spalding huffed, shaking his head irritably, “must have been hiding in wait until now.”
As I watched, the Guard Squadron and our Allied Ships broke apart. I was dismayed to see that more of our ships had yellow icons indicating battle damage than those of the Guard.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Spalding said turning to the exit.
I blinked and froze momentarily, before asking in surprise, “What about your battle plan? I’m coming into this cold.”
“Most of my plan focused on getting here and springing you from the pokey,” Spalding replied, shrugging his shoulders, “we can’t do much as long as the ship’s in its current condition.”
“But I need you; the ship needs you up here,” I sputtered, unable to entirely process it.
“Bah,” he scoffed, “I’ll do more good down in Engineering, than I ever would getting in your way up here in this rattle trap,” Spalding said with finality, and then walked out the blast doors with his uneven gait. “Leave Command to the Command Track Officers, that’s what I always say…” he muttered as the doors closed behind him.
Realizing my mouth was hanging open, I quickly snapped it shut. On the outside, I’m sure I looked concerned despite my almost instinctive urge to hide it, but on the inside I was panicking. The last time I had sat in the hot seat, I’d fouled it all up. For a while, I thought that with the ornery old Chief Engineer having driven this ship all the way across the system, I could ease back into things.
I gulped, as I knew firsthand that there was nothing quite like being forcefully tossed back into the saddle right after getting thrown off the horse.
Then again, there’s nothing quite as painful as being put back in the saddle with your leg still in a cast. I also knew this last part, from grueling personal experience, and it wasn’t a memory I cherished.
“Does anyone know who that third—I mean, fourth?..” I stopped myself and straightened in my chair before continuing. “Anyway, what side is that new force on,” I asked plaintively, my voice closer to a whine than I would have imagined. My sudden reversal of fortune was taking some time to process.
“They’re still running radio silent, Admiral,” the Comm operator said with an excitement in his voice that the situation clearly didn’t warrant. I could only assume this was because of my arrival; now that the Admiral was in back in command, surely I would wave my magic wand and make everything all right again.
How they could still possibly think that, after everything that had happened, just goes to show that a lack of intelligence is hardwired into the subconscious of every member of the human race. It’s not that their leader possessed any of the mythical talents that could snatch victory from the jaws of defeat; it was simply that they believed he could do it. That belief likely exists because if their leader couldn’t fix the problem, they were all blasted.
Now, wasn’t that a wonderful little thought to have?
“Flash the ship by ship profiles of the two squadrons out there, to my Throne—” I stopped, looking down at the very un-throne-like Captain’s Chair I was sitting in, and the lack of a functioning reader built into the side of the chair, “on second thought, maybe just download it into a reader and run it over here.” I tried to project as much cheerfulness into my voice as I could, under the circumstances.
“Of course, Sir,” replied the operator, coordinating with Tactical to quickly load the specs and run a reader over to me.
I looked at the ship profiles of the Praxis SDF Squadron and blanched. A trio of Cruisers and four Corvettes! Well, that sealed it. My new motto was going to be: out of the frying pan, and right back into the fire. For a moment, I was almost nostalgic for my prison cell. At least back in there, while death was certain, I’d managed to get it down to just my death. Then all these ‘Admiral Montagne is a real Admiral’ fools came, and thrust their lives straight back in my hands. The worst part was that I didn’t currently see a way out of this that didn’t involve betraying the very people who had risked their lives to get me out of prison.
I shook my head. If it came to that, I’d put Spalding and as many of the others on the fastest ship I could find, and stay here as they made for the hyper-limit. The inhabitants of this sector seemed to have every advantage right from the start; everything from more than enough warships to make my mouth drool with envy, to access to my personal files for their little junta legislative railroad hearings. I wondered what else they had…
I suddenly smirked. Well, we’d find out soon enough, but either which way, I fully intended to go down swinging!
With this resolve fresh in my mind, I flipped to the mystery squadron. A pair of Corvettes, three Destroyers and a Heavy Cruiser, I saw with a sinking sensation. Between these two squadrons and the Sector Guard, my battered and beat up Medium Cruiser was supported by—I glanced over at the Squadron of Red Herrings and Afterburners…ah, there it was: three corvettes, and five damaged cutters.
I started cycling back through the three main forces out there and gave up, tossing the reader into my lap in disgust. We were outnumbered, out of position, and in a ship too beat up to fight. And judging by the engine profile I was seeing, we were also too slow to run away.
I started to lean my head back when my eye caught on the profile of a heavy cruiser that was on the reader. I did a double take and then leaned closer; I was sure I’d seen this class of Heavy Cruiser somewhere before. Zooming in, I blinked my eyes, as this ship sure looked a lot like that cruiser I had taken off the pirates at AZT-whatever, and then traded to Commodore LeGodat of Easy Haven.
I flipped back through the Destroyer profiles with growing excitement. They matched the profiles of the Destroyers that had still been worki
ng up at the Wolf-9 repair slips precisely! What a break! What a godsend! What a—
I froze. What if the reason these ships hadn’t transmitted anything up until now was because while I was gone Rear Admiral Yagar had taken over the old Confederation Star Base where I’d unloaded them?
My heart sank, as I realized it might not even be Commodore LeGodat commanding those ships.
For a moment, the same crushing weight I had labored under before this latest discovery, returned with crushing force. I took a deep breath and forced despair, fear, and every other emotion roiling in my middle into a little box, and tossed it aside.
If that squadron belonged to anyone other than LeGodat, then we were all dead anyways, and there was nothing I could do about it. So I had to proceed under the assumption that it did belong to one of my allies, and that we still had a chance. The silence up until now was quite frankly ominous, but maybe that was because Admiral Montagne had been seen as a weak reed up to this point, and not to be relied upon while still in enemy hands.
That being the case…
“Open a channel to the mystery task force,” I said in my most carefully modulated command voice. The time for doubts and fears were over; I’d indulged in them while frantically flailing around for a way out of this mess, but there was no more time for engaging in that kind of destructive self-pity.
“Yes, Sir!” the Comm Operator said fiercely. No doubt, he was certain that his high and mighty Vice Admiral was about to brow beat our opponents into submission.
I gazed at the screen with narrowed eyes. The Easy Haven attack force—assuming it was from Easy Haven and still under allied Confederation control—was roughly on par with that part of the Praxis Defense Force barreling towards us. I’d have given the edge to the Commodore’s forces because of sheer tonnage and firepower, except these were older, recently refurbished units with new crews, unfamiliar with their operation. The Praxis force was presumably more updated, and had crews which had been on their ships for a very long time.
Admiral's Trial (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 38
