So with my new wife at my side, I marched back to the Flag Bridge and to my future.
The End...
The following is an excerpt from Admiral’s Gambit - A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book Two
Chapter 1: Departure and Arrival
My name is Jason Montagne Vekna, although I’m not sure if my new wife agrees with that or thinks my new last name should be Zosime. It’s a long story. I never really cared for the 'Vekna' part, so it wouldn’t be any skin off my nose to switch it out, but it might cause problems back on the home world. So I was deliberately not asking her opinion.
Anyway, I’m currently the Admiral of the ever-so-proudly named Confederation Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, or MSP as I like to call it. Of course, I’m only an Honorary Admiral in my home world’s SDF or System Defense Force, and was forwarded to be the Acting Admiral of the MSP. But don’t tell anyone about that little technicality.
One week ago, the Imperial Admiral in command of the MSP resigned on orders of his Triumvir, and the Empire as a whole abandoned the eight Confederation Sectors comprising what we natives like to call 'The Spine,' or 'The Spineward Sectors.'
Before becoming the official figurehead of the MSP nine months ago, I was a minor member of a nearly irrelevant Provincial Dynasty. The Royal Family on my home world answered to the Caprian Parliament, not the other way around, and the Parliament held our purse strings. So generally, we acted as some sort of glorified galactic butlers, wining and dining anyone Parliament needed to impress or fob off in an appropriately decedent style.
Before leaving, Admiral Janeski of the Imperial Rim fleet turned command over to me and I proceeded to… well, let’s just say I picked up a pirate ship or three - again, a long story.
I also saved a beautiful native from horrible insects. Unfortunately, I was busy ogling her half-naked neighbor and there was a cultural misunderstanding. She thought that by giving her a sword with which to cut herself and the rest of the Bug prisoners free (not coincidentally including her busty neighbor) that I was proposing some form of shotgun marriage wherein if she didn’t take my sword and accept my offer of marriage, she and everyone else would die a gruesome death.
I, on the other hand, had no clue about this and was only trying to do the heroic thing. In other words, I had given her my only weapon and, as a result, was being slowly overwhelmed by ravenous insects. The very same ones that were trying to eat us all alive, regardless of potential or real wardrobe malfunctions.
Its safe to say that, as far as romantic meetings go, it was hate at first sight. She wanted me dead, and as far as I was concerned, she had let other people die, and even tried to kill me by deliberately not lifting a finger to help anyone, all after I gave her my only sword.
A series of further misunderstandings followed, but when I found out that a quarter of a million settlers I had rescued couldn’t land on her planet without local permission, and couldn’t stay in orbit without dying of suffocation… well, let’s just say I decided to go through with the marriage anyway.
By this point, we were both generally aware of the situation, and still feeling things (if not each other) out. She was no longer trying to kill me, at least. Instead, she was now determined that I survive long enough to ‘fulfill my obligations,’ which I took to mean I needed to save the entire population of her world from being eaten by semi-intelligent (and officially non-sentient, according to the Empire's propaganda machine) space-faring Bugs in slow driver ships.
After that, I assumed she planned to dump me like I bad habit. I was just hoping I was dumped before she met my mother so I could sweep the whole thing under the rug. As it was, she had recruited around eighteen hundred super-sized native warriors to my 'banner,’, although they sure seemed to listen to her a lot more than me, and she was determined to stick to my side like glue by this point.
In the meantime, I had a Fleet consisting of one ship because, as far as I knew, in the two weeks since everything else had fallen apart, the fleet had fallen apart too and returned home, each ship determined to protect its own home world, rather than uphold its obligations to the Confederacy's charter of mutual defense. This mass egress left no one to prevent piracy, or protect merchants and other civilian ships. Like the ones carrying a quarter of a million settlers I had rescued from pirates.
Chapter 2: Around The Bridge
I was sitting on my bridge waiting as the time officially counted down to zero. This was the last point transfer, the final hyperspace jump to faster than light before we officially returned to civilized space.
To say I was nervous was an understatement. I was petrified, which was a good thing because I couldn’t let any of the half-dozen interest groups on my Flagship sense weakness because as far as I knew, this was the only ship I had, other than a few small warships protecting my wife’s world Tracto VI.
I looked over First Officer Tremblay. He was busy watching a bunch of old royalists who were former Caprian SDF and current members of my Confederation Fleet. A fleet comprised right now of one Caprian Dreadnaught Class Battleship. Confused yet? I sure know I was.
He was one of the ship’s former junior Intelligence Officers. I couldn’t find anyone to make Captain, and I wasn’t about to put a Parliamentary man in command of my ship, so he became the First Officer, and I was currently holding down the Admiral and Captain hats with both hands. Tremblay thought we should make like a lightning bolt and head straight home for Capria, abandoning our duties to the Confederation, now that the Confederated Empire was no more. At least no more in The Spine, the Empire was still very much present in the rest of Human Space, as far as we knew.
I, suspecting Parliament would be more likely to give me a chop to the neck than a pat on the head, was a little less gung-ho for the return to Capria and do it right now this instant plan.
Around the bridge was Helmsman DuPont, a man I’d had to threaten with death to get to save the settlers those pirates were attacking. We were unarmed at the time, so I guess I can’t blame him too much. Ramming is normally a very fatal event, so it’s generally reserved for overly dramatic holo-vids.
I’d never been to a military academy, and all my training was on the job, so ramming had seemed reasonable at the time. But then, like a lot of things in life, it had some unexpected consequences.
The Navigator was present, sweating bullets, as usual. Our Science Officer and the whole entire host of the first shift bridge crew were present for this particular jump.
I had deliberately set the time for our point transfer into the new system, so that first shift would be on duty. Second and third shifts used to be ghost shifts, but with the help of a serious recruitment effort initiated by my loving wife (who I sometimes thought of as a pit viper in human form, when she was mad at me, or my blonde ice maiden when she was just disapproving), I had added my own personal touch and recruited some of my fellow Caprians, who had been on one of the settlement ships we rescued. So now those shifts were no longer empty but actually almost fully staffed.
Her moves gave me a bunch of enthusiastic, but relatively untrained Lancers and crew, but I liked to think that my recruiting drive, while not netting as many bodies, had more than made up for a lack of quantity by the quality of so many former members of the Caprian military.
You see, despite being seconded to the Confederation Fleet (at least until Parliament got its act together and tried to recall us now that everything was falling apart), this ship was Caprian built and, for the most part, Caprian crewed. Sure, there were several thousand natives of Tracto, the primitive world my lovely new wife hails from, and Promethean settlers looking to get some pirate blood in retribution for all of their dead relatives.
But all the non-Caprians in their several untrained thousands were still outnumbered more than three to one by my native countrymen.
Anyway, I had gotten comfortable with first shift, and wasn’t yet with second or third, especially with all that grey-headed wisdom watching me every second for the slightest mistak
e. I don't enjoy scrutiny. After all I’m the Admiral, isn’t it supposed to be the other way around, me watching them?
So, first shift had the con when the timer hit zero and space warped around us.
Chapter 3: Not So Easy
The Lucky Clover point transferred into a system named Easy Haven. It was the home of an old-style Confederation Star Base, Wolf 9.
For some reason or another, it was one of the few original Confederation naval bases in the sector that hadn’t been scrapped or upgraded beyond recognition by the previously combined Confederated Imperial Fleet.
I had taken some time to look the place up on our trip from Tracto to Easy Haven. Fifty years is a long time for a base to go without a serious upgrade, but to the best of my knowledge it was still an active fleet base. It was home to a squadron of older Confederation corvettes stationed out of it, present mostly for ceremonial duties than anything else.
This original, unmodified Confederation issue part was critically important, because the Imperial Fleet had orders to destroy all of their equipment on the way out of the Spineward Sectors.
“Extending baffling beyond transfer area and firing main engine,” declared Helmsman DuPont.
“What’s the Point Resistance?” demanded Lieutenant Tremblay.
“Engine at 20% of maximum,” said the Helmsman. “We still have a lock on the ship.”
“Shields properly modulated for a Sump Slide,” declared the man at shields.
“This should be an easy one,” said Science Officer Jones. “Resistance is really quite minimal when you compare it to many of our previous transfers.”
I was just happy there were no sudden lurches, jerks, crashes or slams this time, unlike many of our previous jumps. Ever since the former Caprian military crew had joined the ship, each point transfer had gone smoother and smoother, until it almost felt like the ship the Imperials had originally handed over to me.
“I want figures, Science Officer,” the First Officer said exasperatedly. “How many times have I asked for our point resistance and you’ve given me a feeling or an interpretation?”
“Maybe you need a new Science Officer, then,” snapped the other man. “I’m a Civilian with the University of Capria, here to study the cost/benefit of slave-rigging versus not slave-rigging this ship. I'm not here to act as some sort of military automaton.”
“Just the facts, man,” retorted the First Officer, “or is that too much for your scientific brain to process?”
“Alright, cut the chatter you two,” I said, hoping to keep the two senior officers from each other's throats. “Science Officer, prepare yourself so that next time you give us a proper report. Tremblay, focus on the task at hand,” I said, waving at the main screen, which was slowly being populated with system traffic.
“Engines at 30% of maximum,” reported the Helmsman. “Lighting up both secondaries now.”
“Shield strength at 98% and holding,” reported the shield operator. “Shield regeneration is keeping up with the sump drain. We could stay here for days,” he remarked.
“Belay that chatter,” sneered the First Officer, “Only a fool would stay in an Inertial Sump left behind by a hyperspace point transfer, if he didn’t have to.”
“Engines two and three are lit. We’ve doubled our thrust… and there she goes,” reported DuPont. “We’ve broken the sump and are free to proceed throughout the system. Caprian Space Lines would like to thank you for this-”
“Cut that out,” I laughed before Officer Tremblay had a chance to lambast the helmsman. “Just because we’re back in civilized space doesn’t mean we’re home free yet. Keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.”
“Report,” Tremblay demanded after a pause. “How’s the pirate cruiser doing over there? Did they come through the Inertial Sump without any damage?”
“She was included in our shield coverage,” reported one of the sensor operators. “The temporary shield relays Engineering set on their hull worked like a charm.”
“Not even a hint of the drain we experienced to our shields generators with the previous jumps,” agreed the shield operator with a grin.
While the rest of the Bridge Crew went about their duties with a smile on their lips, I watched the main view screen and worried.
First, I worried because there wasn’t anything on the screen. Then I worried because there was too much. In the two weeks since I had taken actual command of the ship, we had never been in a system with this kind of traffic.
In my head, I knew the amount of traffic was normal for this system. This wasn't a thriving core world with hundreds or even thousands of ships present. Even still, the two dozen and counting contacts already on the screen were enough to make me want to bite my nails.
“That’s odd,” said one of the Sensor Operators.
“Fewer feelings and more facts, Sensors,” said the First Officer, striding over to the man’s sensor console. “The other Officers of the Watch don’t have this kind of problem on Second and Third shifts,” he growled. “First shift is first because it’s the best one on the ship. The Admiral and I trust you to do your jobs in a professional manner. Don’t let us down, or I assure you the cushy first shift position might very well go to third instead. Third shift doesn’t have these kinds of problems.”
“Sorry, Sir,” muttered the Sensor Operator.
Then the Tech raised his voice, “What I meant to say is I’ve isolated the readings from two of the ships further in the system. They both match the profile of a Hydra Class Medium Cruiser.”
“That’s Promethean build,” said Tremblay. “What are the odds of two Hydra’s showing up at the only fleet base we know is still intact,” he asked dryly.
I shared a look with the First Officer. In other matters we might be sharply divided, but on this one it was clear we saw eye to eye.
Our suspicions were confirmed a few moments later.
“The computer’s coming back with a match. Those ships match the profile of the Prometheus Fire and Pride of Prometheus. It’s the same two ships that stole our prize ship and abducted our away team, Admiral,” shouted the Sensor Operator.
“Settle down, Sensor Tech,” said the First Officer.
“But, Sir!” said the man at sensors. “We had to ram those pirates because they disobeyed the Admiral and ran away when we needed them.” The sensor man sounded genuinely outraged. If everyone else on the ship felt the same way… well that was good for their Admiral (me), but very unlucky for that pair of ships.
I turned deliberately to my First Officer, “Mr. Tremblay, confirm the identification of those two medium cruisers without tipping our hand, please,” I said, raising a hand and added, “assuming that’s possible. Then, if you would, please inform the Confederation Reservists on the former Pirate Cruiser that we’re going to have to cut them loose a little sooner than expected.”
I turned in the direction of the outraged sensor man and saw smiles on the face of the Bridge Crew.
“Assuming that it's the same pair that left us in the lurch, and in so doing abandoned a ship full of their own settlers to the tender mercy of pirates, all in favor of stealing a captured prize rightfully belonging to all of us in here. Then I’ll tell you what, my boys,” I gave a shark-like grin. “That pair of rogues is about to get some very well deserved payback. Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet Style, courtesy of our very own Lucky Clover!”
The bridge crew roared its approval at this course of action. The Helmsman soon plotted a course and after what could have only been a handful of seconds, the Clover was off.
“They’re squawking Promethean transponder codes as if they don’t have a care in the world,” confirmed the External Communication’s Tech. “It’s the Fire and Pride.”
“Thanks, Ex-Com,” said the First Officer as the battleship accelerated, picking up speed.
“Sir, we’re being hailed by the Star Base,” said an Ex-Com Tech.
“Put it on the main screen and let's hear it,” I in
structed playfully.
“Unidentified Battleship, turn on your identification beacon immediately or System Command will be forced to designate you a Rogue vessel and presumed hostile,” said a middle aged man in a fresh looking Confederation style uniform. “System Command out.”
I looked over at Lieutenant Tremblay.
The First Officer shrugged. “You told us not to give away our intentions to the medium cruisers. If they look at the backlogs, they’ll see we were squawking the Lucky Clover’s ship ID before canceling the transmission,” he said.
I rolled my eyes, stifling a groan. Clearly my silent running idea was already a farce. “I assume that with modern computer systems System Command will automatically know our ship’s ID from the first signal they received. It shouldn’t matter that we’ve gone silent,” I said irritably.
Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 42
