Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Of course. Thank you for your advice, First Officer. However, I have the utmost confidence in our Chief Engineer. If he says this configuration will work, then I’m sure it will turn out fine.” I was anything but 'fine' with it, but we had to get moving.

  Lieutenant Tremblay looked worried but didn’t say anything further.

  I suppose the battle armor I had once again donned might have had something to do with my first officer’s lack of continued debate. I wasn’t a trained officer, but even I knew that this bastard abortion the chief engineer had created by hooking up two different parts of two different star drives couldn’t be the best idea in the world. But it was too late to back out now. I was committed.

  I had promised the crew their prize money. I had diverted the ship’s course away the direction advised by trained ship’s officers. I had to succeed and be seen to succeed or I was as good as dead. That’s why I had put back on the power armor for this point transfer and locked down the bulkheads with my command crystal. Nothing was going to stop me or this ship. I would return home victorious with two capital ships in hand, or not at all. It was all down to this moment, victory or death.

  The only thing left to do was wait for the countdown. I sighed as the ship’s Star Drive charged past the point of no return. Everything was set, the Navigator was present and the point transfer calculated hours ago, long before they had even activated the star drive. A few minor calculations after that and there had been nothing to do but wait until they transferred. I was about to return to my quarters and change back into the old Confederate Admiral’s uniform when one of the crew stationed in the communications section spoke up.

  “I have an external transmission from the FTL communications network. It’s an emergency signal, Sir,” called out the communications tech. He paused. “It’s a settlement ship based out of Capria, sir. She says her escort is under attack by Pirates!”

  “What?!” I realized both First Officer Tremblay and I had exclaimed at the same time.

  “How far away is she,” I demanded.

  Tremblay muttered, “I’ll go check on the Settler Manifest,” before heading over to the communications officer for help retrieving the information.

  “She’s within our official range, according to the specs in the Navigation Computer,” the Navigator said doubtfully. “But with the non-standard configuration of our hyper-bubble and the extra load we’re carrying, I’m not sure…”

  It sounded like the communications officer was reporting to Tremblay that they must have lost the manifest on the settlement ship when the Imperials purged the distributed computer system of Imperial software and upgrades. There was too much commotion to hear their conversation clearly, but the First Officer didn’t look pleased.

  “Why does the colonial manifest matter?” I asked, looking at Tremblay. I hoped I wasn’t missing something critical because of my lack of naval training.

  “To find out whether or not the colonists are from Capria,” Tremblay said simply.

  “Why would that matter? Thousands of helpless colonists are under attack. They could be slaughtered, their ship captured or even taken as slaves by the pirates!” I realized I had spoken before thinking. It wasn't as though I was ashamed of the sentiment I had just expressed. As someone who dreamed of shipping out to a new colony, I could identify with the plight of anyone stuck onboard a helpless settlement ship at the mercy of pirates, escort or no escort.

  Tremblay’s face was stiff. “This is a Caprian system defense ship. It’s our duty to defend the people of Capria, not the various populations of the universe at large. Right now we desperately need to get home, not go sticking our noses into every little brush fire out on the edge of known space.”

  I couldn't help but stare at him wide-eyed. I was unable to believe I had just heard those words come out of the former Intelligence Officer’s mouth.

  Looking a little defensive for perhaps the first time, the First Officer added, “They said they have an escort, it’s not like this settlement ship is completely defenseless.”

  I came to a sudden decision and deliberately hardened my face. I didn’t care what it took or what I had to say, that settlement ship needed help. “Mr. Tremblay, and anyone else on this bridge who feels the same way, listen well. I’m only going to say this once,” I raised my voice so everyone could hear clearly.

  “This is the Flagship of a Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, one sponsored and organized by the Confederation. We are no longer simply a Caprian SDF ship. If we won’t go to the aid of an unarmed starship carrying upwards of a hundred thousand settlers and colonist, then who in the whole sector will?” I paused to let the words sink in, then finished, “As long as I am Admiral, this ship will do its duty.”

  I refused to look around and poll the bridge crew. This was the right thing to do and any lingering doubts I might have had about forcing the crew to make a dangerous hyper transfer in the name of prize money were gone. This was no longer about prize money. This was about saving lives. “Navigator, set a new course. We’re going to rescue those settlers.” Suddenly, a tension I hadn’t even known I was carrying melted away.

  The Navigator dragged his heels and Officer Tremblay still tried to argue me out of this sudden course change. But I could tell their hearts weren’t in it. They were mostly concerned for the safety of the ship, not avoiding the pirates, so I tried not to lose my temper. My mind was made up and I was deaf to their pleas.

  After ordering the two medium cruisers to follow us to the new coordinates sent by the settlement ship, all I could do was watch his bridge crew as they made a new set of calculations.

  “Sir,” reminded Officer Tremblay, “our Navigator already ran over to the converted pirate freighter once, to calculate their point transfer. He won’t have time to both plot a new course for us and then shuttle on over there again before we jump.”

  "Tell one of the medium cruisers to send over a Navigator to plot the course," I answered with a wave of my hand. It was frustrating that the Lucky Clover didn’t have the trained personnel to deal with it ourselves but at least we’d still have a small Caprian away crew on the converted pirate ship to keep an eye on the Promethean navigator.

  Navigator Shepherd was sweating profusely by the time he declared the coordinates locked in for the new point transfer. I was thankful for the extended recharge time of the old ship’s Star Drive. It gave us lots of time to make changes to their course, even after we had passed the point of no return and were committed to making a point transfer.

  When I was certain we were actually locked to go save the colonists from pirates, it occurred to me to ask about our missing weaponry.

  Rearming the ship had been a top priority up until I had learned that the pirate cruiser was having trouble with its Star Drive. After that, I had stopped worrying about everything else and suspected engineering had done the same.

  Lieutenant Tremblay looked appalled at the question and immediately ordered a direct line to the Chief Engineer. He had just gotten the Chief Engineer on the line and was still at a com-console with Lieutenant Spalding when the ship broke through hyperspace.

  Chapter 13: Rallying the troops

  He was the very model of an ancient, outdated Space Engineer: They’re all a bunch of fruits!

  “What is it, man? Can’t you see I’m busy trying to pull a pair o' capital ships through the hells of hyperspace with only my bare hands and a few oversized trunk lines?” Chief Engineer Spalding was absolutely snarling. The young pup that somehow became the ship’s new First Officer blinked.

  “How many of the ship’s main weapon systems are now fit for service,” repeated Officer Tremblay, pushing forward in the face of a very red faced chief engineer.

  “The main weapons?! What are you blathering about, man? It's taken all I’ve got just to get the ship ready for this abortion of an operation we’re calling a point transfer. Now you want to know how many weapons I’ve had time to install,” he stuck out a hand and started counting f
ingers to go with his points, “in between hooking together two capital ships for the most risky jump in two centuries, and breaking my blasted leg, I have no idea and no time for this sort of bureaucratic nonsense,” he said, stopping at two fingers before throwing his hands in the air and moving to cut the connection and go back to work on his overstressed and nearly overloaded star drive when the young pup cut him off.

  “Very well, then. Prepare for ship-to-ship combat as soon as we break free of the inertial sump. The Admiral,” First Officer Tremblay shook his head at this, “changed our course. We’re answering a distress call and are taking the ship pirate hunting.” He glared at the chief engineer. “I hope that was a bureaucratic enough explanation for you, Mr. Spalding.”

  “Space rot,” cursed the elderly officer. Suddenly the ship lurched. “I’ll have to get back to you,” he said over his shoulder, abandoning the communication console and running over to check on the Star Drive.

  “Sweet Servants of the Demon Murphy, every blasted one of them,” he despaired after he saw they’d successfully penetrated hyperspace. “They pull the only man on the ship who knows what he’s doing away from the controls. Then tell him he’s got to reinstall every weapon the blasted Imp’s tore out during their so-called refit, and all while we’re under combat conditions to boot.”

  All around him cheers broke out as the engineering crew celebrated the ship’s survival.

  In a sour mood, Spalding glared at the prematurely celebrating crew.

  In a fit of temper he lit his plasma torch and waved it around to get attention. When only those immediately near him responded by looking at the old engineer, he scowled and activated the speaker system. “Alright, my fine young lads. That’s enough goofin' around. It’s time for papa Spalding’s miracle number three,” he roared, shaking his plasma torch at the engineering crew. “So if you were under the mistaken impression that pulling that pile of bolts they called a pirate cruiser through hyperspace with us was a challenge, well my laddies, you ain’t seen nothin' yet!”

  Spalding smiled at the falling faces of the engineering crew as they came to realize the hard work wasn’t over yet. “It's double and triple shifts until we run a new batch of pirate scum out of this system!” He looked around at the now visibly alarmed and shaken crew. “Cheer up, boys. Between the double time and hazard pay, your next paychecks are sure to be all fat and bloated.” He frowned at the lackluster response.

  “To Hades with that,” a spacehand exclaimed from somewhere in the back. “I’ll take it nice and safe any day. Tell the Admiral to just take us home.” Heads bobbed in agreement.

  “Alright you bunch of slack jawed idjits,” he said, waving his plasma torch at the nearest of the complainers. “Enough standing around gaping like a bunch of fools. First shift hit the cargo holds first, I’ve a list with the location of every one of our weapons those runaway Imps tried to jettison for junk. Team leaders come see me for an upload pronto. Second shift, suit up, it's out to the hull for you your job will be reinstalling the weapons systems as soon they’re handed to you by the First shift.”

  Next, he pulled up the DI and rerouted his voice to the cabins of everyone assigned to Third. “Third shift, wake up you bunch of layabouts! It's out of bed and into Engineering for you slackers, this ship won’t fly herself!”

  He watched with deep satisfaction as everyone scurried around with new purpose. He took a step to corral one of the team leaders, and grimaced as fire shot up his leg. “Blasted busted up leg,” he complained to no one in particular.

  With a determined gimp he hobbled off to save the ship.

  Chapter 14: Pirates

  We emerged from hyperspace with another lurch. I was somewhat prepared, gripping tightly to the arms of the Throne, but this transfer worse than the last.

  “Point Emergence,” reported one of the bridge crew. “Looks like we’ve transferred to the system we were trying for,” the spacehand said, sounding sour with the whole idea.

  “Belay that nonsense,” snapped Officer Tremblay. “Helmsman, do your duty.”

  “Main engine is lit and baffling is now physically extended beyond transfer area,” said Helmsman DuPont.

  “Point Resistance,” demanded Tremblay.

  “Engines at 25% of maximum,” said the Helmsman. “The ship is still locked.”

  “Shields at a steady 95% and re-modulated for a sump break,” reported a tactical trainee.

  “I’m amazed we survived the transfer,” declared the Science Officer standing up from his chair. “The inertia on this sump alone is going to be the worst this ship’s ever seen. I warned you that this was a very bad idea.”

  “When I want, or the Admiral wants your opinions, we’ll blasted well ask for them,” shouted Tremblay. “Stay on task, or by all the angry space gods, security will escort you down the brig!” He waved vaguely toward the blast doors which used to have a pair of marine jacks stationed to either side, but no longer sported a security team of any kind.

  The science officer drew his mouth into a thin line but said nothing.

  “Main Engine at 40%. Both secondaries lit,” reported the Helmsman.

  “Shield strength at 89%. We’re starting to feel the drain,” reported the crewman on shields.

  “Increasing all engines to 75% of maximum,” said DuPont.

  “Wait. No!” exclaimed Tremblay looking alarmed but the Helmsman had already keyed in the increase.

  There was a loud bang that reverberated throughout the ship. This was followed by a terrible scraping noise, as the ship broke free of the Inertial Sump.

  “Taking a ship to flank speed outside of a combat situation and without a direct order is a court martial-able offense, Helmsman,” Tremblay said, blood rushing to his cheeks.

  “We’ve broken free of the Inertial Sump,” a crewman at sensors reported in a small voice.

  “I have the Chief Engineer on the line,” reported the communications tech. “He sounds angry. Something about broken transfer cables and trying to destroy one side of the ship.”

  I waved my hand, “Tell Spalding to focus on getting the Lucky Clover ready for combat and not to worry about his precious paint job.”

  “Looks like we’ve left the pirate cruiser behind,” said one of the sensor operators.

  I raised an eyebrow at this.

  “That screeching sound was probably us breaking our connection to the pirate cruiser, and the Helmsman then scraping the two hulls together in his haste to break free,” Tremblay said with a nod in the my direction.

  “What do you think we should do about the prize,” I said, waving vaguely behind myself in reference to the former pirate cruiser and current prize ship they had just left floating in space.

  Tremblay paused for a moment to think, and then turned to the sensor operators. “How far away is that settlement ship, and how many pirates are we looking at?”

  The sensor operators jerked and turned back to their screens, imputing the relevant queries.

  “I read a single cutter and a pair of corvettes,” said the first one.

  “No, there are three cutters, and one of the corvettes is drifting. She’s badly damaged, Sir,” reported another.

  The third gasped, “There isn't just one Settlement ship in the system. There are three, and one of them is breaking up!”

  “Demon-Disciples of Murphy,” Tremblay cursed the pirates. “Either we deploy the bucking cables before we get too far away and take her under tow, or we forget about the prize ship and max out the engines to help those settlers. There’s no way we can do both, since we can’t tow her and make max speed at the same time, Admiral.” He paused in consideration. “I think the away team from Engineering can worry about the prize for a while, Sir. Those Settlers are adrift and dying in cold space,” he finally advised.

  The thought of that broken settler ship was all it took for me to quickly reach a decision.

  “Full speed into the battle, Helmsman,” I said, my voice wobbling with emotion. �
��We can worry about the money later, forget the prize. Those Settlers need our help!” I slammed my fist on the arm of the Admiral’s Throne. The squeal of dented metal sounded and I realized that I was still in power armor. I had forgotten to change back into the Admiral’s uniform before the point transfer.

  “Blast it,” I said, cursing my own stupidity. “Someone put a display of the battle up on the main screen,” I continued harshly, more angry at my own stupidity in damaging the Admiral’s Throne than anything else.

  It seemed like forever as we crawled to the scene of the battle but in reality it was less than fifteen minutes. Thanks to the transponder coordinates included by the Settler Ship in the distress call and a generous helping of luck we had landed, if not on top of the pirates, a lot closer than half a greenhorn crew towing a second cruiser in their hyper bubble had any right to expect. That’s what the Navigator swore to me anyway when I verbalized my frustration with how far away we were initially.