Then I lowered my face to look at the two civilian captains. “The Empire of Man just took the treaty, tore it into little pieces and shredded the Confederation when they did so. In effect, they used the remains of the Union Treaty as toilet paper when they abandoned us, or rather, when they abandoned you and your ships to pirates. In effect, they said that this document and their obligations under it are as nothing to them, and worth no more than the paper it was written on.”
The two captains looked on white faced as I spoke.
“The Confederated Empire’s become a joke. That is, assuming it was ever a serious concern in the first place,” I continued, carried away by the sudden rush of anger. “They pulled out and left you with me.” I looked over at Caprian Captain, “Me. A Montagne. And I’m supposed to mind the store, with nothing but an ancient battleship and barely enough men for a skeleton crew." I shook my head emphatically. “They pulled out of the Spineward Sectors because of intense fighting against the Gorgon Alliance, right? Gentlemen, the Confederation is comprised of 27 sectors. Their withdrawal broke the treaty with the whole Confederation, but they only bothered to pull Imperial assets out of eight sectors. The least developed eight sectors in the Confederated Empire, I might point out.”
I slammed my fist into the table, the rising anger threatening to overwhelm me. “And what about the Ninth Provisional Sector of The Spine,” I demanded, looking at the Settlement Captains, “The 28th Provisional Sector of the Confederation was settled by Imperials from the Core Provinces and funded by a group of influential senators. How much do you want to bet that when the Empire abandoned the Spine because of ‘pressure from the Alliance’ they failed to also pull out of the 28th Provisional?” I paused again, this time simply to catch my breath. One of the first rules of public performance, whether it is singing, athletics or public speaking, is to never allow emotion to overcome your self-control. I wasn't doing a very good job, to be honest.
“At this point there is only the Imperial Navy of The Empire of Man, and a somewhat less-than-robust Confederation presence in the Spine,” I said, suddenly wondering why I was yelling at a pair of civilian captains about this. They weren’t responsible for the current state of interstellar politics, and there was nothing they could do about it. But I shamefully admit that I still felt better for getting it off my chest.
“The Imperial Navy may abandon its people to pirates at the whim of some Triumvir sitting safely in the Imperial Capitol, but the Confederation’s Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet will never do so, at least not as long as I’m here,” I said with a measure of genuine resolve I would previously not have believed I possessed.
“So fill your ship with every Promethean you can squeeze in and spin up your star drives. We’re not leaving anyone behind to take their chances with the tender mercy of pirates. I’ll transmit new jump coordinates from the Lucky Clover as soon as they’ve been generated, so you can start with your own calculations,” I said and promptly cut the connection.
A search of the Lucky Clover’s DI database turned up little in the way of good prospects for the unfortunate Prometheans. They were already out on the rim of known space. So there were no ports of call or developed worlds in the area to take them. Perhaps there were a few black colonies scattered around out here, like in the holo-dramas, but if so I didn't have the faintest idea of how to find them.
I called the Navigator, Helmsman, Science Officer, and First Officer Tremblay into my office for a round table discussion regarding our options. After dealing with the same list of arguments I had just gone through with the Settler Captains, the group settled down to discuss the list assembled by the DI.
"It's bad, Admiral," began Science Officer Jones. "Not only are we trying to retrieve information from a computer system whose database is based on fractured backup copies, but in some cases the information hasn't been updated in over a decade. Even when the records are 'complete,' the information we're looking for is extremely limited. A local system defense library is obviously somewhat limited in its comprehensiveness."
I groaned silently. Yet another example of our having grown to rely too heavily on the Imperial data network which, like every other instance of former over-reliance on Imperial assets, had come back to haunt us.
"However," interjected Lieutenant Tremblay, "we have determined that there is a star system containing a habitable world within range of both the Clover and the remaining settlement ships. The information on this star system hasn't been updated in over seventy years, since before the final union between the Empire and the Confederacy." The First Officer's lip curled in annoyance. I suppose relying on information nearly as old as our Chief Engineer was more than a former Intelligence Officer could handle.
"Fortunately for us, habitable worlds don't generally go bad in less than a century," the Science Officer continued sarcastically, despite Tremblay's interruption. "The inhabitants of the world are listed as primitive, hostile and limited to one continent. However, they are human, which takes a lot of the guesswork out of whether or not the world will sustain the settlers for any period of time. Worst case, we set the Prometheans down on a large island or an entirely unpopulated continent and return later to collect them."
"I don't mean to sound harsh or unsympathetic, Sir, but I would prefer to put them down on some desert world where no pirates would ever think to even look for them," said Helmsman DuPont. "At least until we can come back with a relief convoy to pick them up and transport them to their intended destination."
I shook my head, slightly pleased that I had considered this option already. "We can't even squeeze a fraction the equipment from the cargo hold of the wrecked ship, so there's no way we can bring enough of it to set up portable facilities to keep them supplied with food and other essentials long enough for us to complete a roundtrip and return with more transport ships." Tremblay grudgingly nodded his head in agreement. I continued, trying to build on the momentum. "And that assumes we don't get recalled home as soon as we hit a civilized port of call and the job gets handed to someone else who, under the best of circumstances will be less invested in seeing the operation completed than we are. That's assuming their plight doesn't get lost in some pile of paperwork somewhere and is forgotten entirely."
The discussion continued for a few more minutes, but in the end, establishing a new settlement or colony on an undeveloped world was something I had actually studied intently before landing in the Admiral’s Throne. Since I at least thought I knew what I was talking about, I was firm in my position. In the end, my decision carried the day.
Chapter 20: A Lesson In Piracy
I was back in the Admiral’s Throne a few hours later when Lieutenant Tremblay turned to me.
“I think that’s everything we can squeeze in, Admiral,” he said with a frown. “The final tally from all the ships including ours is…” he glanced at his handheld, “54,341 survivors loaded in various stages of discomfort. Every cargo hold and spare crawl space has been packed to the rafters with settlement gear from the Promethean ship,” he finished, sounding relieved.
“Final sensor sweeps have turned up no life signs and a visual check has been performed by our shuttles?” I asked, still reeling from the disastrous incident involving engineers and an ill-conceived ramming.
“Sensor sweeps are negative and visuals turned up no movement. I think it's safe to say we found everyone who was still alive and transferred them to a functioning ship. By this point, space suits would have run out of power and since we’ve already done a visual sweep of the Promethean settlement ship, we can be confident there’s no one left aboard that hulk,” said Tremblay.
“Alright," I said with more than a hint of relief in my own voice, "then make sure the two settlers have finished their calculations and locked in the coordinates for our new destination. I want to make sure there are no problems like we had with our two missing medium cruisers. Then put me on with the captains in command of the corvettes,” I said with a wave directed to the communications section.
<
br /> “Yes, Admiral,” said Officer Tremblay, turning to the console in the signals section he was sitting at. After a couple minutes he turned back.
“The Setter ships confirm the calculations have been made and course locked into their navigation computer." He sighed heavily before continuing, “they also wish to, once again, raise the point that the system we are jumping into is listed as a Protectorate World and on the Imperial Proscribed List banning all merchant marine and provincial government travel of any kind to this world and system. The Confederated-Imperial Navy and the Confed-Imperial governmental ships are the only ones allowed entry into the system, even in the case of an emergency.”
I waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t give two figs for the Empire’s Proscribed List,” Tremblay opened his mouth to continue but I cut him off again, “as for the more realistic, although remote concern of possible automated defenses for this Protectorate World. That’s why we’re going to point transfer in well away from the world we’re targeting, to give us enough time to scope out the situation,” I finished smoothly.
“Admiral, I know you disagree. But in light of the possibility of automated defenses, I have to once again and for the record strongly urge that we choose another system to jump to, while there’s still time to change course,” said the First Officer.
“Noted,” I said, trying to keep the annoyance from finding its way into my voice. “Noted and noted again. I know you think any risk is too great and maybe you’re right, but we won’t know until we get there. At least we do know this world can support the Prometheans. Remarkably, we have more information in that regard than they do in their more up-to-date database. All they have is a great big ‘restricted’ sign over any useful information. We at least have basic geographical and biological compatibility studies in our files. The same can’t be said for sure about any of our other destinations. We might think they can make it on some sub-prime, marginal world, but who knows.”
“I realize that, Sir. But…” the first officer trailed off in defeat.
“The final determination is mine to make, and I’ve made it,” I said as kindly as I could to a man who constantly disagreed with me.
“It's just that every jump, every single point transfer we’ve made since the Imperials have left has taken us deeper into the Rim and further away from home,” Tremblay said, his shoulders slumping.
I pursed my lips and nodded. I could understand the desire to get home. It wasn’t as acute for me since I fully expected trouble from parliament upon my return. I could sympathize with missing your home world and family, though. It would be nice to see my mother, even if just to touch bases and make sure she was all right.
“I make the best decisions I can in the time I have to make them. I know you don’t always agree with me,” I said, trying to build some positive rapport.
The First Officer snorted.
“Alright, you almost never agree with me,” I said with a cool smile. “Still, I like to think we’ve done some good out here.”
Lieutenant Tremblay gave a reluctant smile. Then grinned, “Admiral, if you keep going on like this, I think we’ll soon fall off the map,” he exclaimed.
I gave him a sharp look, unsure if I had just missed a barb of some kind. I decided to take it at face value as an attempt at humor, and even though it was a poor one, I did my best to smile back.
“I’ll get you home, Tremblay,” I promised, then hastened to add, “Although there might be a few side trips along the way.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, Sir,” said the First Officer. “The side trips.”
An uncomfortable silence followed. It was a relief when routine ship matters (if anything could be called routine in a ship barely half-filled with crew and the other half over-filled to the brim with refugee colonists) called the First Officer away.
Now that every dissenting opinion had once again been heard and its bearer sent away to deal with other matters, I had nothing to do for several hours but sit back and worry that maybe the naysayers were right.
As events with the engineers on the hull had proved, I wasn’t infallible. Unlike in school, when a mistake would only cost me a sharp rebuke from a professor, when I make mistakes as an Admiral, people died.
"Admiral, the Caprian ship is hailing us," the chief communications officer stated matter-of-factly. I gestured toward the main screen and the image of the hatchet faced woman Captain appeared.
“Are you sure I can’t talk you out of this,” asked the Confederate Captain.
In the last hours I had familiarized myself with her name and rank. She was Lieutenant Commander Synthia McCruise, and with the death of her fellow ship captain during the pirate boarding action, she was in undisputed command of the two corvette escort.
I groaned quietly, trying to maintain composure. “If you disagreed with my decision, why didn’t you say something earlier, Commander McCruise?”
“I didn’t say anything before because I’m not sure I disagree with you. Besides, it's not like I could stop you even if I did,” she said with a shrug.
I paused and considered her carefully. “Still, if you thought I could be making a mistake, you should have said something,” I said guardedly. "You owe that much to your passengers and crew."
She looked at me seriously. “Every decision we make as commanding officers could be a mistake. We have to go forward with the best information we have at the time and make a decision. Besides,” she gave a smile, that on any other woman I would have called impish, “if I really disagreed with you, all I’d have to do is say that I thought you were right, and then make sure when you jumped that the two Settler ships and I high tailed it to an alternate location. There’s no point in picking a fight with a battleship,” she said pragmatically.
My mouth hung open, stunned at Commander McCruise's frankness.
She smiled again, “It’s not like you even bothered to slave their Nav systems to your own.”
I covered my mouth with my hand. Then coughed. I hadn’t even known I could do that.
“That and the genuine rescue effort you guys have been running, clued us in that you weren’t just another cagey pirate with a good line to sell,” she said seriously.
“You still think we might be pirates,” I said aghast.
“Nah,” she said leaning back in her chair. “Real pirates would have posted guards inside the bridges of both Settler ships. If you were a pirate, you’ve done a pretty incompetent job of it.”
Incompetent! Is that how she thought about me and my ship? “Well, we did take on around sixteen thousand refugees,” I said, playing devil's advocate in a desperate attempt to regain my footing. “I suppose if we were real pirates, we’d have sixteen thousand slaves and a hold full of settlement gear right about now,” I said with an arched eyebrow.
She threw back her head and laughed. “Real smart there, Mr. Pirate Genius. You just outnumbered yourself two to one,” for a moment she looked reflective, “Your prize ship is empty except for a few engineers. So you just lost that ship right off the bat, as soon as you tell your new slaves what you have planned for them. There’s no way a bunch of settler types are going to take a little thing like enslavement sitting down,” she paused. “I suppose at two to one odds on your own ship, if you armed your crew beforehand you’d have a pretty good chance of putting down the uprising. However, a lot of your systems are going to be destroyed. If nothing else, they'll get shot up by your own men.”
I smiled thinly, but felt absolutely glum. “Yeah, not the smartest move ever made by a pirate kingpin,” I said playfully.
“Really, you should think about slaving the navigation of any ships you are jumping with in the future,” she said. “Just don’t try it with my Settlers. I’ll be following behind in my corvette just as soon as we’re able and will deal with any monkey business upon arrival, so be warned,” she said sternly.
In the end, I didn’t change my mind and when every ship that could make the jump was ready, we simult
aneously point transferred into hyperspace.
Chapter 21: A bad Transition
We emerged from hyperspace with a crash.
“Sweet Murphy, what was that,” said Officer Tremblay as the ship shook.
“Point Emergence,” screamed the Navigator.
“I know that,” snapped Tremblay, grabbing a handhold to steady himself as the ship shook from side to side. “What just happened? Are we under attack?”
“Oh, my gods,” yelled one of the Sensor Operators, who then gave a girlish scream. On the main screen an image suddenly appeared. A large blue-green planet with several large brown patches on its continents dominated the entire screen.
“That’s Tracto VI,” cried another sensor operator.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. The Inertial Sump broke, it just broke. It's gone and I didn’t even light the main engine,” said a horrified Helmsman DuPont.
“This is theoretically impossible,” exclaimed the Science officer, sounding both intrigued and alarmed. “There’s supposed to be no way you can point transfer this deep inside a gravity well and survive.”
Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 18
