Admiral's Nemesis Part II

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Besides. Now that I know there’s something to actually look for, I’ll find it before too long. Sooner or later all information comes to your Chief of Staff,” she informed me.

  I looked at her with irritation.

  “If there’s nothing else?” she asked, turning and heading for the door.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I’ve got important files to push around…unless you feel like doing your own paperwork for a change?” she didn’t wait for me to respond before continuing. “I didn’t think so. Toodles!” she finished, waving brightly right before the doors slid shut.

  I gave the door an irritated look before deciding that chasing after my own chief of staff was below my dignity and went back to composing my messages for the Chief Engineer and droids of the United Sentients Assembly.

  After I was sure the messages had been sent and the recipients would know how and more importantly where to find me I drafted a general movement order for the Fleet.

  Enough with the clean up. The First Fleet of the Spineward Confederation was on the move. And this time we were done running from the enemy. It was time to force a fleet engagement and let the chips fall where they may.

  I had a few tricks up my sleeves but, even so, the odds were heavily stacked against us. With the receipt of the droid message, I finally had a glimmer of hope and almost as importantly the need to play for time was over and we could slip the leash.

  It was the duty of the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet to take the battle to our enemies, and I knew I wasn’t the only one tired of trying to drag the Empire into a fight they refused to engage in.

  Yes, the odds were long, but that's what we were created for. Forged in the fires of the Border of Known Space and tasked to defend the Spineward Sectors from all enemies, internal and external, we were as ready to fight as we were going to be.

  If the Imperial Flotilla and Glorious Fleet of Liberation weren’t a threat to the entire Spine then I didn’t know what was.

  “We’re mad as Hades and we’re not going to take it anymore,” I said quietly, pushing the button on my slate that sent all my messages and then shut down my tablet.

  It was time to face our biggest nemesis yet: Senator Cornwallis and the Imperial Fleet. But with the men and women of the MSP beside me I felt like I could do anything.

  “Of course, when you see your fleet—and your Battleships—outnumbered four to one you may start singing a different tune, Jason Montagne Vekna,” I told myself but, at that time, in that exactly moment, I didn’t believe it. Not in my heart.

  The time for fear was later. Right now I was a man, a Grand Admiral, out to save his people from conquest and subjugation and it felt really good.

  Hours later we jumped out of the devastated Central Star System on a course for Aegis. We had to find the Glorious Fleet of Liberation and we had needed to do it before they could destroy any other worlds.

  It required days of jumps before our scouting forces made contact with the Imperial Navy. But this time we weren’t going to just let them attack any more worlds without contest.

  The waiting game was over.

  Chapter 38: Cornwallis Broods

  Cornwallis drummed his fingers along the edges of his desk in dissatisfaction.

  Several days ago the Flotilla’s scouts had regaining contact with the Spineward Sectors Fleet; which was fine as far as it went. However, was it wrong of him to have expected…more?

  “Is he lulling me into a false sense of security or…is a rube always just a rube?” he asked himself. Because no matter how lucky he proved himself to be, this Little Admiral of the Spine was proving to be less than all the hype.

  “A problem, Sir?” asked Cornwallis’s Chief of Staff, stepping into the room to deliver the latest sensor data and observing the dissatisfied expression on the Praetor’s face.

  “I thought he’s supposed to be some kind of tactical or strategic genius,” the Senator grumped, “but if that’s the case why is he doing everything I want?”

  The Commodore looked alarmed. “You think we’re being led into some kind of trap?” he asked urgently.

  The Senator paused for a moment, as if to seriously consider the notion, and then after a good two minutes of contemplation shook his head with certainty.

  “There is no trap. He’s fighting against it but this young Grand Admiral of theirs is clearly inferior to me in both tactics and strategy. Not to mention technology and numbers. The Spineward Sectors Fleet is competent enough,” he allowed, “but the edge decidedly belongs to me,” he paused and looked up and then added, “to us.”

  “That being the case, what’s the problem?” asked the Commodore and then, seeing Cornwallis cock his head, explained. “I saw how you looked when I stepped into the room. Something is bothering you about this situation.”

  Charles Cornwallis harrumphed. “I must be jumping at shadows. I thought I’d be facing off against a tactical genius. Expected to fight tooth and nail for every star system in order to win this war,” he admitted after a minute.

  “And discovering that the wily opponent you came to do battle with was nothing more than a paper panther, a…sub-par adversary, stung your ego?” the Commodore asked insightfully.

  “I wouldn’t say it stung my ego,” Cornwallis rejected after a moment of thought, “but this ‘Little Admiral’ as his spacers call him has been surprisingly innovative. He’s adept at punching outside his weight class and he’s taken down one expert tactician before this.”

  “That’s enough to make a man jump at shadows and question whether his read on a situation is correct,” agreed the Commodore.

  “Not so much jumping at shadows as wondering what it is I could have missed,” Cornwallis mused.

  “Maybe you didn’t miss anything,” said the Chief of Staff and seeing Cornwallis’s nonverbal permission to continue went on, “you said he’s innovative and used to punching up, doing more with less,” he hazarded.

  “Yes?” the Senator said enigmatically.

  “Well either you’re right, in which case I’d take another look at what you know. Such as in your entire description of our foe, this Grand Admiral Montagne, I don’t recall you ever mentioning he was a strategic or tactical genius. Why?”

  Cornwallis paused. “Perhaps it’s because he isn’t a genius. I see two possibilities,” the Commodore continued not wanting the silence to stretch out, he raised a finger, “first is the size factor. Just as a ship captain may be a genius in fighting his ship to the limit, when thrust into squadron command he flounders. The same for squadron or task force commanders when thrust up to the next level of capability. In short, being competent or even beyond competent on one level does not necessarily translate to the next level. Just like some ‘genius’ billionare businessmen who made their fortunes in tech, think that this skill automatically translates over to the medical company they just purchased, and then lose their shorts as their new idea flounders.”

  “So his skills with smaller formations might fail him when faced by a fleet of a thousand warships,” Cornwallis said, “that’s something I’d considered. In the face of ultimate power, all tricks and tactics are ultimately useless. Which brings me to my second point. It doesn’t matter if your thousand warship fleet is an ultimate power or not. What is giving you heartburn, in my consideration, is why the Spineward Sectors Fleet hasn’t tried any of the tricks or tactics they’re reputed for,” he said and then sat back, his bit of wisdom already dispensed.

  “Meaning either they can’t or they’re waiting,” agreed Cornwallis. “But waiting for what exactly?” he muttered.

  “Remember,” the grey bearded commodore said lifting a finger, “you said your opponent wasn’t a superior tactician or strategist. He’s an unorthodox one. Expect the unexpected.”

  “That’s the best you can do? Tell me to expect the unexpected,” Cornwallis was decidedly unimpressed.

  “Hardly an uncommon dictate to consider. Although…I suppose there’s al
ways the possibility that the man we think is in command of the enemy actually isn’t and we’re facing some plodder instead,” said the Commodore.

  Cornwallis gave him a withering look. “As a sounding board or a second opinion, you’ve just succeeded in failing spectacularly. Your advice is all over the map and thus completely useless,” he said disapprovingly.

  “If you’re expecting me to win the war for you, don’t. There’s a reason the Senate, in its wisdom, appointed you to command of this Flotilla and not me,” said the Commodore.

  “I hardly think my political connections are a factor here. It’s my superior military wit and training that will be the key here,” retorted the Senator.

  “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise, Praetor,” said his military Chief of Staff.

  “You’d never admit to it if you did. That would be a career killer,” said the Senator.

  “Far be it from me to tell an Admiral or Senator he’s wrong, especially when he’s both at the same time. But not everyone is as concerned with advancing their career,” the other man said, his eyes turning impassive.

  “I can see why you were assigned to an inactive reserve flotilla,” scowled Charles Cornwallis.

  “If a man doesn’t have the connections to rise higher than he already reached then why continue dancing on a string? My honor is all that guides me. That and a duty to my Flotilla and Empire, of course,” said the Commodore.

  “Somehow I doubt you danced very well even when you were climbing the ranks,” Cornwallis said, shaking his head ruefully.

  The grey bearded commodore gave a ghost of a smile.

  “I’m sure you’d be able to find out anytime you wanted to, Praetor,” said the Commodore. “But if there’s nothing else?” he asked.

  Cornwallis splayed his hands.

  “In that case you have a conference call with the local business leaders. Apparently they want a piece of your time,” said the Commodore.

  “I thought I told you I'm not interested in hearing the locals whine,” Cornwallis said irritably.

  “My apologies, I meant the Confederation businessmen who have followed us for the past months and are eager to begin exploiting the Spineward planets and citizens,” the Commodore replied shaking his head.

  “Didn’t I tell you to put them off? Just do it again, I don’t have time for their whining,” said the Senator.

  “In point of fact, what you told me was to put them off and ‘schedule a meeting a month from now’. Well, Sir, it’s been a month, they’re on your calendar, and your schedule’s been cleared of everything else so there are no worries there,” he replied.

  “Joy of joys,” sneered the Senator.

  “Sorry, Praetor. I just do what you tell me,” shrugged the Commodore, hiding a smile at his boss’s dissatisfaction.

  “This is going to be a completely non-productive meeting if ever I’ve seen one,” he said rolling his eyes, “still, let it never be said that the Charles Cornwallis of House Cornwallis is not a man of his word. Prepare the conference call.”

  The Commodore coughed, suppressing a wince. The Senator looked at him sharply.

  “Is there a further problem?” he demanded, his tone of voice promising dire consequences if there was.

  No, Sir,” his Chief of Staff said stiffening, “I’ll set up the holo-call immediately.”

  “I’ll be waiting then,” said the Senator watching as the other man exited the room at a fast walk. He waited until the call was set up.

  No sooner had the first of the images appeared at the table than he produced a bright smile and began greeting the new arrivals.

  “I’m so glad all of you could be here to attend,” he said graciously once the last person had conferenced in, and the interface between the Confederation and Imperial conference room software had finished syncing up.

  The top Confederation business leader met his gaze stonily.

  “A pleasure, I’m sure,” he replied, his tone making it clear there was no pleasure involved in this meeting at all.

  The Senator allowed his forehead to crease. “There’s no need to start this meeting off on the wrong foot. I’m a busy man but not too busy to entertain the concerns of the business community with anything but the most sincerity. So what is it that brings you here today?”

  “Can you believe this?” asked one of the six Confederation business leaders, this one the CEO of a top mining outfit, her voice rising with disbelief. “We’ve been on the agenda for over a month. A MONTH,” she exclaimed, rising out of her seat, “and the Senator can’t be bothered to find out what we’re meeting for when all he had to do was ask a staffer or read a single message from anyone in this room!”

  “That,” The Senator said flatly, “is hardly the best way to gain my support for your special interests.”

  “Special interests?!” shouted the CEO.

  “Sit down,” Cornwallis said flatly.

  “No. I will not be silenced. After the amount of money we’ve invested in supplying, provisioning and maintaining your fleet it’s time to see what our money has bought us—and I assure you that you will not like the results if we are not satisfied. We have powerful friends in the Grand Assembly and—” she snapped.

  “I said SIT DOWN!” roared the Senator.

  Looking shocked the CEO stared at him for a frozen moment before plopping back into her seat.

  “Good. Now if you people are prepared to sit down like adults I am willing to entertain your petition, but if all you’re interested in is shouting then I’ll take my leave,” the Senator said firmly.

  There was a tense minute of silence as the rich and powerful of the Confederation found themselves without their usual leverage and caught in a hard-eyed staring contest promptly ensued.

  “Look, if all you wanted was to look me in the eyes, then you’ve accomplished your goal and I’ll take my leave,” the Senator said. “I have a fleet to run and better things to do than engage in posturing.”

  “We have friends in the Assembly. The favors we are collectively owed are enough to topple Sector governments. You would be wise—” began a short, balding Chairman of the Board whose company was engaged in fleet provisioning.

  The Senator raised a hand. “I care nothing for your threats. Go back and whine to the Grand Assembly if it makes you feel better. Thankfully I answer to the Imperial Senate, an institution of the Empire not one of your Confederation’s assemblies,” said the Senator.

  The Chairman’s face turned purple. “We won’t be cowed by your autocratic ways, Senator,” the Chairman shot back, “the Confederation is a democratic institution of the highest order; one every bit as potent as your Empire. Also, let me suggest that with more than eight hundred warships and the majority of your fleet and almost your entire supply train fed from and provided by Confederation coffers, you would do well to remember that!”

  “The Grand Assembly granted me full authority to settle the Spineward Sectors rebels and repossess every star system that’s criminally late on its taxes in the name of the Empire. Frankly all I’m required to do is listen to a group of Confederation advisers and seriously consider their opinions before going out and doing whatever it is I please in this region of space,” Cornwallis said pleasantly.

  “This is intolerable,” said the Chairman settling back into his chair, “Bob, can you do something to make him see reason?”

  The leader of the Confederation business community pursed his lips and looked at the Senator as if trying to figure out a particularly difficult puzzle.

  “Yes, Bob, why don’t you join the conversation?” asked Charles Cornwallis, shooting the top Confederation business leader in the fleet an amused look. “Since I’m here already I might as well listen to everyone’s concerns before I go.”

  The other man narrowed one eye, a faint smile appearing on the corner of one side of his mouth and his fingers started drumming on the top of the desk.

  “Well if there’s nothing else,” the Senator said, turning one
palm of his hand up, “let me assure you all that I take the concerns of our mobile little business community with the greatest of respect and that, as soon as the Spineward Sectors Fleet has been crushed and the Region lays open before our feet, each and every one of your contributions to this fleet will not be forgotten. You have my word as an Imperial Senator.”

  “I see,” said the other man before nodding, “let me introduce myself: I am Roberto San-Pablo of the Pan Galactic Entertainment Corporation.”

  “The inestimable PGE,” Cornwallis said, already knowing full well who each and every person in the conference room was, “I’m flattered.”

  “Don’t be, because while the inestimable Rod may be more than willing to put up with being ignored, his job description is the entertainment side of the business and there are plenty of things in this fleet to…entertain him,” San-Pablo said by way of subtle threat. “I, on the other hand, have to figure out how to pay for everything. You could call me the business side of our entertainment-based Corporation.”

  “Eviscerating me on the Confederation holo-waves might be personally satisfying but ultimately all you can do is inconvenience, not damage me. Be careful; I make a powerful enemy, Mr. San-Pablo, even for PGE,” warned the Senator, all levity and attempted amity dropping from him in the face of even a subtle threat.

  “No threats then. Just a statement of fact: you’ve been ignoring the Confederation military and political establishment, which is all well and good as far as it goes, but you’ve also been ignoring us and that’s something else entirely,” said Roberto San-Pablo.

  “I hope this is going somewhere,” Charles Cornwallis said coolly.

  “If you expect to continue receiving our support then you’re going to have to make concessions, and I don’t mean a pat on the head 'you’re all good boys and girls' concessions,” the two men locked gazes and held them. “I’m talking real substantive changes to show us that you not only realize what we’ve done for you already, provisioning your fleet out of our own pockets and dropping a string of billion credit FTL relays and supply dumps all the way across the Overton Expanse and well into the Spine, but that you appreciate it as well,” said Roberto San-Pablo.