Albion Lost (The Exiled Fleet Book 1)

by Richard Fox

  “Now, those of us who went to Sanquay know better than to maneuver into the path of an active torpedo,” Arlyss said. “Could you explain why this happened? I would have kept up the pursuit. The lance cannon would have entered effective range two minutes after this…event, ending the engagement in your favor.”

  “And why do you think the Robbins would have been there two minutes later?” Gage asked.

  “The slip nexus to Firenze was at least ten minutes away, eight if the Robbins captain would risk a rough passage,” Arlyss said with a slight roll of his eyes. “The Harlequins have a significant presence there. Of course they’d—”

  “Volera II is a significant trade world in that part of wild space,” Gage said. “We had an away team investigating stolen goods from a merchant ship attacked by the Robbins. Seems the Harlequins had changed the ship’s hull and electromagnetic signature after the attack, which is why we didn’t pick them up during our arrival. I was dirtside with the team when we encountered the Harlequins with stolen goods. After a brief firefight, the pirates retreated to orbit and led us to their ship. We recovered intelligence telling us that the Harlequins had a buyer for items stolen off the merchant ship that weren’t on Volera II…but Deschanel.”

  Gage swiped his fingertips down the holo tank and called up a menu. A moment later, a slip transit point appeared just ahead of the pirate ship.

  “They weren’t running for Firenze,” Gage said. “I had both the gunnery and sensor feeds coming into my station and saw the fluctuations in Robbins’ slip drive as she readied for transit. I made the decision to maneuver for a spine cannon shot. At the time, I didn’t believe there was a risk from that torpedo.” He tapped the exploding weapon in the tank and a screen full of telemetry data popped up next to it. “The Starchaser’s electronic warfare systems read that torpedo as defeated. Seems the Harlequins put in a secondary proximity fuse that wasn’t tied to the guidance computers—an illegal modification in the core worlds, but pirates…” He shook his head. “Four sailors died in that explosion.”

  “Why did you have both gunnery and sensor feeds?” one of the onlookers asked. “Trying to manage both while in combat is insane.”

  “Because Ensign Foche was dead,” Gage said. “Gravely injured on the ground by a pirate murder-construct. She died before we could get her back to sick bay. Commander Darrens was off the bridge at the time I ordered the maneuver. He’d lost suit integrity during an earlier hit on the bridge.”

  Gage twisted an imaginary dial in the holo tank and the replay continued. The Robbins streaked forward just as the Starchaser’s lance fired. The beam clipped the pirate ship’s hull and sent it into a barrel roll, hurtling forward at a much greater velocity than the Albion ship as the slip bubble failed.

  “Remarkable construction,” Gage said. “I doubt even one of our warships could survive a mis-jump like that. But they had enough distance to evacuate their crew into a smaller slip-capable ship and make it to Deschanel before we could catch up.”

  He twisted the dial again and the Robbins leapt forward. The ship exploded just as the Starchaser entered weapon range.

  “Seeing her scuttled was a victory. Shame you couldn’t catch the crew,” Barlow said, “though you did hurt their pride enough for them to declare a vendetta. What’s the price on your head now? Five thousand grams of gold?”

  “Seven,” Gage said. “Seems the Harlequin pirate master that lost the Robbins—goes by the name of Loussan—has come to a higher position since this incident and upped the bounty.”

  “This is why you’re forbidden from returning to wild space?” Arlyss asked with a huff.

  “I’m most eager to return,” Gage said, “but the admiralty thinks it would be better for me to go in something larger than a destroyer. Seems the Harlequins are well known for honoring their bounties. So, Commander Arlyss, how would you have handled this encounter? Four sailors lost their lives. If you have a way to stop the Robbins while paying less of a price, I’d be glad to learn.”

  The assembled officers all looked to Arlyss.

  “Well…well, first I’d…” he stuttered as he wound the recording back to the initial salvo, “…if they really were going for Deschanel, then we could…” His face grew red as a mechanical clock on the wall ticked through the silence.

  Jeneck came through a sliding door and stomped a foot against the deck as she braced at attention.

  “Dinner is served,” she announced.

  Officers pulled away from the holo tank and quickly formed a line by rank. While Albion naval officers might hold the same rank on their uniforms, the order of merit on each promotion list let every officer know exactly where they stood above or below their peers. The custom was a holdover from the old wet navy days of America and the United Kingdom, one the navy had no intention of changing.

  There were some exceptions. As the fleet admiral’s aide, Gage outranked everyone in the room and it was his duty to see everyone seated.

  “I dare say that didn’t go as Arlyss planned,” Barlow said to Gage. “You know he was supposed to be Sartorius’ man on this cruise, until you got penciled in at the last second.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Gage smiled at Arlyss as he shot him a dirty look before entering the mess. “Makes some sense.”

  “Well, you’re one of those Portsmouth barbarians,” Barlow said, wagging his Sanquay-ring-laden finger at him. “Arlyss and his fellow snobs weren’t your friends yesterday. Today didn’t make things any better. Tomorrow doesn’t look good either.”

  “Barlow,” Gage said drolly, “how will I ever survive?”

  ****

  Sartorius drank the last of his brandy and set the glass on a nightstand next to his reclining chair. Albion flag-grade officers had wide latitude in the furnishings for their private quarters. Of all the officers Gage had ever served with, the Admiral’s love for the beat-up chair was one of the odder foibles.

  Gage sat on a couch across from the Admiral, the top and bottom buttons of his dress uniform undone for comfort. He swiped across a data slate and frowned slightly.

  “Captain Simpson had a personnel transfer request for your signature,” Gage said.

  “Ha! Who’s irked him this time?” The Admiral kicked off his shoes and flexed his toes.

  “Commander Price, the Orion’s executive officer. Simpson believes, and I quote, ‘Her mental faculties and decision-making capabilities are best suited to shore duty where she cannot endanger sailors or equipment. Further, should she ever—’”

  “That’s enough.” Sartorius waved a dismissive hand at Gage. “Simpson has never met another officer that lives up to his own glorious example. He went through five different bridge crews while he was on battle cruisers. He’s never written a single positive officer evaluation during his entire career. The Ministry of Personnel automatically deletes his eval letters when they come in. But I didn’t say that to you.”

  “Say what, sir?”

  “Yes, precisely. Simpson’s family may have bought their lordship and greased the wheels to get him this command, but he’ll go no further. I’ll have a word with him about Price. What’s next?”

  “Another brandy, Admiral?” A blond woman in her early twenties with curly blond hair pulled into a bun stuck her head into the room.

  “No, Jeneck, I’ve had quite enough. I’m about to tuck in. See you in the morning.”

  “As you like.” She gave Gage a slightly unprofessional smile and disappeared.

  “That one’s trouble,” Sartorius said. “I had my last steward, Smithy, with me for twenty years. Knew me so well he could have led the 11th in an attack on a Reich’s fortress world and won the day. Then he comes down with some terrible malady weeks ago. Can’t wait to get him back.”

  “Jeneck seems competent. Her tea is outstanding.”

  “No sailor will get through the steward’s course by burning the leaves. She’s just too much of a distraction. I’m loyal to my dear Gracie to a fault, but if anyone sees m
e with a young and pretty sailor like Jeneck, there are assumptions.” The Admiral wagged a finger in the air. “Assumptions. Gracie will have my hide once she sees Jeneck.”

  “I will testify to your good behavior, sir.”

  “You’ve never been married. You don’t know women, my boy.”

  “My time in the King’s service has kept me away from social circles.”

  “Best that you don’t have a lady at home waiting for you. Spending most of any year in the void is no way to be a husband…or a father. How was the conversation in the wardroom before the mess?”

  “The usual minutia,” Gage said. “Nothing of consequence.”

  “That the simulation of the Volera II incident came up was of no consequence? Let me guess: Arlyss tried to trip you up.”

  “An official court of inquiry can find no fault in my decisions, but everyone seems to have an opinion on the incident.”

  “Opinions are like…” The Admiral reached for his glass and sneered at the melting ice cubes. “Bother…You’re much like your father, you know that? He and I were at the Battle of Urien. Different ships, different part of the line, but I remember how he took command of his squadron when the Baron Franks was lost. Shame we lost him. Glad you chose to follow in his footsteps.”

  “I never met him,” Gage said. “Just had the pictures of him and Mother. All the stories of him and then-Crown Prince Randolph coming up through the service together.”

  “The first commoner to ever command a ship of the line,” Sartorius said. “Quite the scandal back in the day. Then King Randolph put out a decree that anyone who opposed the change to naval tradition should bring their concerns directly to him…no one complained after that. After your mother passed, there were those of us in the navy that kept an eye out for you.”

  “I’d rather earn my own keep than rely on the goodwill my father earned.”

  “Don’t be so defensive. You’re an excellent officer with successful commands from corvettes to battle cruisers. That you don’t come from nobility might have kept the best opportunities from you. You’re my aide and a commodore because you’re damn good at your job. Imagine if every officer in the navy had to fight as hard as you to climb the ladder. We’d be that much stronger for it.” Sartorius grimaced and stretched out his right leg. “Damn, I hate getting old. What’s next?”

  Gage swiped again. “Loss report from the Ajax. Three void-proof containers knocked into a decaying orbit by a meteorite.”

  “Blast it. Go to the bridge and have Simpson raise the orbital stockyard another fifty miles. Don’t come back unless there’s something worth waking me up for.”

  “Yes, Admiral.” Gage stood up and buttoned his uniform. Sartorius was snoring by the time Gage made it to the door.

  ****

  Gage felt the tension on the Orion’s bridge as soon as he walked in. Crewmen stared intently at the holo screens around their work pods, heads bent and shoulders slumped as Captain Simpson glared at his executive officer. Both stood on the command dais in the center of the bridge, elevated three feet off the deck. Through the holo tank in the middle of the dais, Gage saw Simpson’s face was red, his hands on his hips and a lock of hair plastered to his forehead.

  “This report is thirty minutes overdue, Price,” the Captain said as he rapped a data slate against the holo tank. “Late reports delay decisions. Late decisions impact timetables. Disrupted timetables cause operational friction and friction is what destroys solid planning.”

  “I’m well aware, sir,” Price said, standing at rigid attention, “but the last detritus scan was fouled by the loss of the Ajax’s cargo pods and a high confidence—”

  “You think I don’t know how detritus scans work to protect our ships from bits of space junk and the mess the exploded asteroid mine left behind? I’ve been in His Majesty’s Navy for twenty-five years and you think I need to be told this?”

  “No, sir, you obviously know the protocol for an orbital radar survey.” Price lifted her chin slightly and Gage suppressed a grin. The bait had been set.

  “Correct. With our satellite coverage and the pause in operations after the Ajax reported the strike and the calculation delay, you should have had this to me…”

  Simpson looked down at the data pad, then snapped his gaze up at Price. He turned to the holo tank and tapped furiously on a control panel.

  “Even if this was done on time, when did you think to inform me of the new data?” Simpson asked.

  “I sent you a text message and a runner to your quarters. Your steward said you were indisposed…in the lavatory.”

  Someone snickered from a workspace behind Gage. Sailors always kept an ear to officer discussions, pleasant or otherwise, while pretending to focus on their other duties. Scuttlebutt would no doubt distort this encounter into something more comical and profane by the time it reached the lower decks.

  “Thank you, XO.” Simpson waved a dismissive hand at her.

  Gage stepped aside from the small curved staircase leading up to the command dais as Price came down the steps. She looked at him and mouthed, “Not now.”

  Gage nodded slightly and took the steps two at a time.

  “Captain,” Gage said politely, “Admiral Sartorius sends his regards.”

  Simpson’s mouth tugged into a brief sneer at the sight of the commodore.

  “Mr. Gage.” The Orion’s master used the more proper form of address for the Admiral’s aide. While Gage was a commodore, technically outranking the Captain, Gage’s position was brevet, not fully endorsed by the admiralty or the King. If he was summoned back to Albion, he’d revert to being a commander, one on the verge of pinning on a captain’s eagle. Despite his rank, Gage lacked any command authority on the Orion and the only orders Simpson followed came from Sartorius. The Albion tradition of frocking an aide to one rank higher than the fleet’s senior-most ship captain kept an air of authority when the aide acted in the Admiral’s stead.

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” Simpson said.

  “The Admiral wants the logistics park altitude increased another five miles.”

  Simpson gestured in the holo tank and Siam appeared in the bottom. The cargo ships AMS Helga’s Fury and Mukhlos sat in high orbit directly over Lopburi. The spine haulers vessels by themselves were little more than engines connected to a long reinforced keel and a square command section where the ship’s drones and crew lived. Spreading out along either side of the spine were hundreds of cargo containers in a lattice of connecting spars.

  The cargo ships arrived with the containers wrapped around the spine and unfurled when the ships took up anchor. With each cargo pod exposed to vacuum, the swarm of drones had easy access to whatever was requisitioned from the relief effort. Watching the drones flit from container to container, then to a waiting shuttle for transport to the planet, always impressed Gage. The sheer precision of the math behind the efficiency of so many moving parts resembled an angry beehive.

  “As the Admiral wishes,” Simpson said through a clenched jaw. “I must realign the screen force to…”

  “I can assist.” Gage traced a circle in the holo tank and a screen of the entire star system appeared in front of him. “Always something to keep operations from moving smoothly, eh?”

  Simpson muttered.

  Gage looked over the patrol schedule of the two destroyer squadrons scanning the outer planets for any remaining pirates and made no changes. He called up status reports on the three battle cruisers and five frigates arrayed in a loose hemisphere over the supply park and the Haephestus, the fleet’s repair ship. The ship’s systems read green, but the personnel numbers were blinking red.

  “Has the Admiral mentioned when I can have my sailors back from the surface?” Simpson asked. “Digging around the mud is something for Marines or soldiers to play at. Keeping my crew on double shifts will lead to fatigue and preventable accidents before too long.”

  “The situation on the ground is tenuous, Captain. But those still bur
ied in the rubble will likely die of thirst or exposure in the next few days. I’m sure we can cut back rescue efforts once the mission shifts to recovery,” Gage said.

  “Command should have sent a Marine division, not our fleet…yes, pirates…” Simpson rolled his eyes.

  Gage prepared new anchor coordinates for the warships, then sent them to Simpson’s cue for approval.

  Simpson huffed at Gage’s changes…then made miniscule adjustments.

  Gage stepped back from the holo tank and looked through the windows surrounding the bridge’s forward half. The Orion was one of the older battleships still in Albion’s service, but her banks of plasma cannons and recessed torpedo tubes along her hull were as deadly as anything in settled space. The hull stretched for slightly longer than a mile, ending with forward launch bays. Starlight glinted off the white and red armor plating as the ship adjusted her position above Siam.

  Commanding warships was a vastly different experience than serving as an admiral’s aide. Gage felt a pang of guilt that he wasn’t somewhere else in the Albion fleet on a bridge leading sailors as a master of a vessel, but every officer that wanted to advance beyond commander was required to have senior staff experience.

  Gage’s thumb brushed against his Portsmouth ring. The chance of him becoming captain of a ship like the Orion was slim to none. He’d come further than any other common-born officer in Albion history, and a great man once told him that only his ambition and ability would hold back his career.

  Why the then-Crown Prince Randolph had made such a promise to Gage was something of a mystery to him. Randolph had come to see him just after Gage’s mother passed away and spent the afternoon with the grieving teenager, sharing stories of Gage’s father. When Gage had mentioned he wished to follow in his father’s footsteps, the Crown Prince promised to cover the rest of Gage’s schooling and see that the young man had a fair shot at entering the academy and then the navy.

  That Gage’s father had died fighting alongside the Crown Prince at the Battle of Urien wasn’t a secret, but Randolph had insisted Gage keep their meeting and the promise of help between the two of them. Being a common-born officer was difficult enough; for his peers and superiors to suspect that Randolph had his thumb on the scale for Gage would have made his career almost impossible.