“Man not Machine!” spat the over aged junior petty officer, “this fleet is rotten to the core, filled with a bunch of machine loving bootlickers who don’t know how to do anything other than use their tongues to shine their Little Admiral’s backside until it gleams.”
“Man not Machine,” said senior petty officer looking unsettled and the others echoed him, the Big Gun Chief with an angry satisfaction as he said the words.
“We’ve got to talk him out of it. The Little Admiral has to see sense!” said the senior petty officer his nose dripping as he spoke.
“The likes of Vice Admiral Montagne are not about to listen to us,” Malcolm Sagittarius said sadly.
“Agreed any rumblings from the lower decks are just as likely to see those genetically engineered super freaks landing on us with both power armored feet,” the gunnery chief said angrily, “the big bellied dastards may not be useful for much else but the one thing they know how to do, other than speak with that atrocious almost non-understandable accent of theirs, is fight!” He spoke like a man who knew what he was talking about and, given his big size the Gunnery Chief, he might actually have gotten into a few scrapes with the Tracto-ans along the way.
“Well if he’s not going to listen to us then what are we to do? Just stand here with our fingers in our ears and thumbs up our bums until the machines decide it’s high time to pull a mickey and get rid of us?” demanded the old junior petty officer.
“An interesting question,” said PO Malcolm with a serious expression, “a very serious and interesting question but one I think more appropriate to another time. Why don’t we all sit down, think about things in the cold light of day, and then get back together with anyone we feel might have something positive to add on how we can all work on saving this fleet from itself—if in fact it needs saving from itself? I mean maybe the Admiral’s just biding his time. I don’t agree with the thinking but maybe he thought he needed to get rid of the sector forces trying to blow us all the way to kingdom come before dealing with the blighted machines. But then again I’m not the admiral.”
“Alright we’ll break then,” agreed the gunnery chief.
“Just so long as the machines got what’s coming to them or at least long gone. That’s all I care about,” the old junior petty officer said sourly.
“I’m sure the Little Admiral will do the right thing,” said the senior petty officer, using the back of his sleeve to wipe his dripping nose, “we just need a little more patience. You’ll see.”
Chapter 25: Interviews with Security and the Opposition
The door swished closed behind me after a long strategy meeting with my command staff and, after scanning the room for threats, Sean D’Argeant turned to leave.
“Stay. I have a few questions,” I said, my back still to the head of my personal team of Armsmen.
“What can I do for you, my Lord Prince?” he asked.
I went to my desk and sat down facing him. “Please, have a seat,” I gestured toward one of the chairs set aside for visitors and then waited until the Armsman had been seated.
“Sir?” D’Argeant said, turning serious as he saw the mood I was in.
“I want you to tell me everything you know about potential agitators on my ships,” I informed him.
Sean D’Argeant frowned. “We are mostly concerned with your current location and those places you are most likely to go, your Highness,” D'Argeant said after a moment. “The flagships, Gambit Station and so forth. Due to our limited numbers we are forced to rely upon Fleet personnel and reports for any other information.”
“Your clarification is noted. Continue,” I said, giving him a level look, “I am most particularly concerned right now with anti-machine agitators but, considering my most recent troubles prior to this have originated from Tracto, I am not ruling anything out.”
“On the Flagship there have been a few incidents aptly handled by the chain of command. Although nothing I’ve heard of has risen to the level of the ship’s Captain, at least not officially,” D’Argeant explained, “all of them minor level as far as we could tell.”
“So you’re not concerned?” I asked.
The Armsman stiffened. “When it comes to your safety, I am always concerned. But the Royal Armsmen have been pragmatically dealing with threats to the throne and the Blood Royal since King Larry founded of our world. Anti-machine bigots, while potentially alarming, are nothing new to us,” he said seriously. “If and when they rise to the level of alarm, we will notify you.”
I steepled my fingers. I was tempted to say that wasn’t good enough, but I forced myself to take a step back. My Armsmen were my personal protective detail—my bodyguards, if you will. Their job was to keep me safe from any threat, not to head them off at the pass, although they were clearly ready to do that if the occasion called for it. In short: they were a personal security service, not a fleet-wide one.
While potentially helpful and needing to be linked into whatever I did, they by themselves were not the answer and I did them a disservice by treating them as such.
“I understand. I just don’t want this lost in the shuffle and so I’m reaching out to all my sources of information right now,” I said.
“We are here to serve, my Prince,” D’Argeant said pointedly, and I wanted to shake my head.
I had no interest in being a Caprian Prince, or rather I had no interest in being one who returned home to fight for the crown. I was more than content to be a Caprian Prince married into what passed for a local Tracto-an royal family. Or would that be more of a ducal line, since there were so many different city states? I wondered.
At least, most of the time I was content. None of which was relevant to the issue at hand: my incipient little would be rebels or rather potential rebels. The restive elements of the population, as it were.
“All right, keep your ears to the ground and please show Lieutenant Steiner in as soon as she arrives,” I said.
“Of course, Sir. Is there anything else?” D’Argeant asked, and I started to answer in the negative when something occurred to me.
“You know what, there actually is something else,” I said, surprised that I had let it slip until now. “Call Gants and tell him I want to talk with one of our prisoners, and that I’d like him to escort me personally.”
“A prisoner, my lord Prince?” D’Argeant said with a hint of disapproval. “Who is it, and are you sure this is strictly necessary?”
“I’ve decided now that things have settled it’s high time some would say pastime I spoke with Mr. Shrub personally,” I said.
“As the head of your personal protective detail, I must strongly recommend against any such meeting, your Highness. It simply isn’t safe,” said Sean.
“You’re telling me our most secure brig, in our most secure star system, combined with your own team of highly-trained men, isn’t capable of protecting me from one single prisoner?” I asked scornfully.
“I’m saying it’s a risk and an entirely unnecessary one. You have brig personnel and interrogators for a reason. If you have any questions, relay them through those channels. Letting them do their jobs frees you up to do yours,” Sean D’Argeant pointed out.
“Objection noted,” I said with a nod, “now summon Lieutenant Gants.”
Sean frowned. “Or, you know, I could always just call him myself,” I said, reaching for the desk console.
“No, it's better if I speak with the Armory Lieutenant before he arrives to make all necessary arrangements,” D’Argeant said, turning to stalk out the door.
“Thank you,” I said perfunctorily. Having to wrangle with my security team every time I wanted to do something the least bit productive was challenging. But I was doing my best, just like I knew they were.
Ten minutes later, the door to my ready room chimed. “Come in,” I said.
Lieutenant Steiner strode into the ready room and drew herself up to attention, “Lieutenant Lisa Steiner, reporting for duty, Sir.”
&nb
sp; I raised my eyebrows. “A little on the formal side today aren’t we, Lieutenant?”
“Sorry, Sir, I’m just not used to…I mean, I heard—that is, what did you want to see me about, Admiral?” she finished weakly, sounding flustered.
“I see...so word leaked about my new plans?” I inquired deceptively mildly.
Her brow furrowed and she looked uncertain. “Plans? I thought maybe you were going to take me to task for proposing we give away our warships in the last meeting, Sir,” she finally hazarded.
“Take you to task?” I asked with surprise.
“Well I did speak out of turn, and I could tell you weren’t happy about it. Then before I even left the room after the meeting, you asked me to see you in your office so I just sort of assumed, Sir,” she replied, her brow wrinkling.
“Now why would I want to take you to task when I’m about to offer you a job as my new Chief of Staff?” I rolled my eyes.
“Wow, that’s a relief—” she said and then stopped her eyes widening with surprise, “pardon me...b-b-but did you just say 'Chief of Staff'?” she stuttered
I smiled broadly. “That’s exactly right,” I agreed.
“C-Chief of Staff...for you, Admiral? Not Commodore
Druid or one of the others?” she clarified.
“My Chief of Staff,” I nodded.
“Squee!” she cried, pumping a fist and jumping into the air.
“Squeee?” I pursed my lips and forced a disapproving look on my face.
She froze mid-jump and then landed back on her feet with a dull thump, after which she immediately colored.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I was just so excited; it won’t happen again,” she told me seriously.
I eyed her, suspicious of whether more sudden outbursts were still in the offing. It’s not that I was some old stick-in-the-mud who couldn’t handle a little joy or excitement in my life. It’s just that this was serious business and…
I paused.
Was I turning into an old stick-in-the-mud? No, I decided, I most definitely was not!
It was just unprofessional and, being as how I was an Fleet Admiral with an honorary commission…and an acting rank……
Well enough of that. I was a Protector of Tracto, the Admiral of the Tracto-an SDF—or at least the Messene SDF—and, yes, the only recognized Confederation Admiral left in the Spine, as well as a Tracto-an Warlord. So expecting a little professionalism from my hopefully soon-to-be Chief of Staff did not make me a hypocrite or old fuddy duddy.
At least, that’s what I assured myself.
“Well let's at least try to act professional, Lieutenant,” I suggested.
“Of course, Sir,” she acknowledged, the twinkle in her eye giving the lie to the serious tone of her voice. But if that was the worst I had to put up—someone who liked their new job—then I was coming out ahead in the deal, “Now, about the position as your new Chief of Staff. I think I have some idea but is there anything specific you were looking for me to do?”
“I think I have a job description in here somewhere, but basically you’ll need to help me with the paperwork and coordinate with the rest of the Fleet,” I said fumbling around on the console before finding what looked like the relevant files and shooting them over before looking back up at her. “Mainly I’ve come to the realization I can’t work with a temporary staff any longer. I feel like I’m starting to miss a step and when it comes to keeping up on everything it's time to finally admit we’ve grown too big—and I’m swamped. Anyway, you’ve worked with me before and have served in a number of staff positions from Communications to Personnel. Having someone with your skills in secured communications as my Chief of Staff is a big plus.”
“I’m familiar with the basics of the job. I’ll try not to let you down,” Steiner said.
“I wouldn't have you in here if I didn’t think you could more than handle the job,” I said seriously. I’d gone through a number of supportive staff in my time out here in cold space and with the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, from Tremblay and Science Officer Jones, to Laurent, Hammer and their command teams. So I had some idea of who I wanted to work with. Besides, it was time I finally owned up to what everyone else already knew: we already had a real fleet, I was a real Admiral, and the Admiral needed a real staff to help cope with the load.
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
“So you’ll take the job?”
“I’d be a fool not to,” she said, and I wondered why it was only now that she didn’t look excited then I shrugged it off.
“That’s hardly a ringing endorsement for the job but, given your former enthusiasm, I’ll take it,” I snorted.
Lisa Steiner rolled her eyes. “So what does your wife think of all this?” she asked.
“My wife? You mean Akantha? Why would she be involved in me building a proper flag staff?” I asked, idly wondering if the two of them had been in secret communication. It was possible I could be dealing with a feminine conspiracy here.
The Lieutenant eyed me and I broke down. It’s not like it was some a big secret after all.
“All right, after seeing how buried I was under the workload after we returned to Gambit and reconnected with the rest of the fleet organization, she was actually the one that suggested I build a proper staff,” I explained.
“So she knows you picked me for your Chief of Staff,” the Lieutenant said releasing a pent up breath.
“She knows she made a few suggestions, but I’m the one that ultimately decides who is on my team,” I said, my brows wrinkling.
“So she doesn’t know you were going to choose me?” Lieutenant Steiner asked—relentlessly as far as I was concerned.
“This is a fleet staffing issue, not something she’s directly involved in. Why does it matter what she thinks?” I asked irritably.
Her face instantly blanked. “Of course it doesn’t,” she said in a way that appeared to agree with me, but made me think that secretly she thought it was a big deal. It made me want to growl at her, but I manfully kept my cool and simply rolled my eyes.
“Well, now that that’s out of the way-” I said.
“But she does know I was on the short list, doesn’t she?” she burst out cutting me off.
Meeting her eyes, I silently tapped a finger on the desk. “Not that it’s any business of yours, but to answer your question she did think you were someone able to reliably fill one of my staff positions. However, I’m the one who decided on you for my Chief of Staff position. Please don’t make me regret that decision.”
“Thank you, Sir. I just wanted to be clear,” she said, smiling with relief.
“Now that that’s cleared up, let’s turn to filling the other positions needed for an admiral’s staff. What are your thoughts?” I asked.
Lisa Steiner’s face scrunched up causing her nose to wrinkle. “Well, traditionally we’d also need at least a Tactical Officer, an Operations Officer, and an Intelligence Officer. Fortunately we’ve already got a Flag Lieutenant who’s already familiar with the job and has been with your for a while now,” she said.
“Ensign Jones,” I said darkly, my eyes dropping down the glower at the table. After a moment I looked back up at her, “I’m not sure the good Ensign is a proper fit for my staff,” I told her quite frankly, “but let’s put a pin in that for the moment and circle back around to the subject of Ensign Jones later.”
Steiner signaled her agreement, “I did notice a bit of friction.”
“I’m not looking for a group of 'yes' men to surround me,” I explained to the female Lieutenant, “but at the same time I do expect to stay updated and informed and when I take a stance on a subject I expect support not active opposition.”
“Alright,” she said agreeably, “I’ll talk with the Ensign personally and see what the problem is and if there’s anything I can do to smooth things over or if he’ll just have to go.”
I hesitated, preferring to just fire the man outright but she was supposed to be my Chief of Staff. Th
e person who kept everything running and updated on everything I was going to need to know, and it wouldn’t make a very good start to our working relationship if I shot her down the very first time she tried to do her job.
“Well, take a look and let me know what you think. After that I’ll make a decision,” I finally compromised. It cost me little to allow her the chance to talk with the man and it was true that he could be a veritable well spring of information on how an Admiral’s staff was supposed to set up, run and operate in the real world. It was easy to read a job description and another thing to actually hold the position.
“It’ll be my first priority after we get done here. I won’t let you down, Admiral,” she assured me. “If he’s not a good fit for our team I’ll find him a different position, one that will utilize his skill in service of the MSP to the max.”
“Rick Jones,” I muttered.
Steiner opened her mouth to ask another question when the door chimed. It was the erstwhile Lieutenant Gants, head of the Armory Department.
“Please come in, Florence,” I said, opening the door with the flip of a switch on my desk console.
The other man’s face twitched and Gants strode up to the front of the desk and saluted.
“Lieutenant Gants reporting for duty, Sir,” he said staring over my head stonily.
It seemed my using his first name had achieved the appropriate response.
I looked at my time piece pointedly.
“Sorry I’m late, Sir,” he apologized. “I had to clear up an issue on Deck 2—an issue of an illegal still clogging up the air filters and causing a dangerous rise in carbon dioxide,” he explained.
“Well you’re here now and that’s what’s important,” I said, returning his salute.
Gants dropped his hand and relaxed his body. “What can I do for you, Admiral?” he asked curiously, looking down and meeting my eyes for the first time since entering the room.
“Have you readied the brig for an inspection?”
“I thought you just wanted to see one of the prisoners?” he replied, looking perplexed.
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