Admiral's Nemesis (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 11) Read online

  Admiral’s Nemesis, Part One

  (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 11)

  by

  Luke Sky Wachter

  Copyright © 2016 by Joshua Wachter

  All rights reserved.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. Respect my electronic rights because the money you save today will be the book I can't afford to write for you tomorrow.

  Other Books by Luke Sky Wachter

  As of 08-06-2017

  SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVEL SERIES

  Admiral Who?

  Admiral’s Gambit

  Admiral’s Tribulation

  Admiral’s Trial

  Admiral’s Revenge

  Admiral’s Spine

  Admiral Invincible

  Admiral's Challenge

  Admiral’s War - Part One

  Admiral’s War - Part Two

  Admiral's Nemesis – Part One

  RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVEL SERIES

  The Blooding

  The Painting

  The Channeling

  RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVELLAS

  The Boar Knife

  Books by my brother, Caleb Wachter

  SPINEWARD SECTORS: MIDDLETON’S PRIDE

  No Middle Ground

  Up The Middle

  Against The Middle

  McKnight’s Mission (A House Divided)

  Middleton’s Prejudice

  Lynch’s Legacy

  The Middle Road

  SPHEREWORLD NOVEL SERIES

  Joined at the Hilt: Union

  Joined at the Hilt: Dross

  SPHEREWORLD NOVELLAS

  Between White and Grey

  SPINEWARD SECTORS: A TRACTO TALE

  The Forge of Men

  SEEDS OF HUMANITY: THE COBALT HERESY SERIES

  Revelation

  Reunion

  IMPERIUM CICERNUS SERIES

  Ure Infectus

  Sic Semper Tyrannis

  COLLABORATIVE WORKS BY LUKE SKY WACHTER & CALEB WACHTER

  SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVELLAS

  Admiral’s Lady: Eyes of Ice, Heart of Fire

  Admiral’s Lady: Ashes for Ashes, Blood for Blood

  Chapter 1: Securing Our Interests

  Chapter 2: Sweeping the Table

  Chapter 3: Face to Face With Governor Isaak

  Chapter 4: On the Bridge

  Chapter 5: Project Green Pea

  Chapter 6: Governing Outrage

  Chapter 7: Now you see it, now you don’t: The Run for the Derelicts

  Chapter 8: The Chase Is On

  Chapter 9: Finished, or the Finish Line?

  Chapter 10: Spalding has difficulties

  Chapter 11: Nothing happened

  Chapter 12: Let the Gloating Begin!

  Chapter 13: To Gloat or Not to Gloat…Let the Gloating Begin Again!

  Chapter 14: Target Practice

  Chapter 15: In Range

  Chapter 16: Strange Bedfellows

  Chapter 17: Confusion and Rage

  Chapter 18: The Tyrant’s Final Dig

  Chapter 19: Gambit and The Future

  Chapter 20: The Paperwork

  Chapter 21: Isaak and his Frustrations

  Chapter 22: Grumbles

  Chapter 23: Listing the Battleships

  Chapter 24: Man Not Machine

  Chapter 25: Interviews with Security and the Opposition

  Chapter 26: A Delay in Interrogating The Prisoner

  Chapter 27: Suspicious Circumstances

  Chapter 28: Imperial Maneuvering: The Cornwallis Initiative

  Chapter 29: Cornwallis Maneuvers in the Background

  Chapter 30: Sending Gants on Assignment

  Chapter 31: Information Gathering in the Grand Assembly

  Chapter 32: Manipulating the Grand Assembly

  Chapter 33: On the Floor of the Grand Assembly

  Chapter 34: Finding a Cartoonist

  Chapter 35: The Cartoonist Arrives

  Chapter 36: Sniffing out the Traitor

  Chapter 37: Conspiracy in the Lower Decks

  Chapter 38: Naming Names

  Chapter 39: On the Senate Floor

  Chapter 40: Cornwallis Reflects

  Chapter 41: Brigga Worshipers

  Chapter 42: Reaction to the loss of Personnel Contacts

  Chapter 43: A Meeting of Department Heads

  Chapter 44: Putting the Pieces Together

  Chapter 45: Akantha and Jason

  Chapter 46: The Conspirators Start Moving

  Chapter 47: Operation: Deception

  Chapter 48: Operation Decapitation

  Chapter 49: Medical Foam and Akantha

  Chapter 50: The Problem with Kong Pao

  Chapter 51: Kong Pao and the New Confederation Convention

  Chapter 52: Akantha Prepares a Delegation

  Chapter 53: Akantha and Polymnia

  Chapter 54: The Spineward Sectors Assembly

  Chapter 55: The Confederation of the Spine

  Chapter 56: MDL Support

  Chapter 57: Voting—and a New Candidate

  Chapter 58: Bad News from the Provisional Assembly

  Chapter 59: The Promotion Ceremony

  Chapter 60: Post-Promotion Meetings

  Chapter 61: Cornwallis' Fleet Assembles

  Epilogue: The Cryo Ship

  Chapter 1: Securing Our Interests

  I was sitting in my private quarters when the com chimed. Only a handful of people—and the ship’s automated battle klaxon—had access to my private coms.

  “Yes?” I flicked the link on as my feet dropped to the floor and slid into my duty shoes. The self-sealing straps activated, snugging tight before relaxing slightly as they adjusted for maximum safety and comfort.

  “Sorry to bother you, Admiral,” said the Engineer on the other side of the link.

  I leaned back slightly and winced at the sight of the blinking red light of his mechanical eye—which had replaced his organic one placed entirely too close to the video pick up.

  “We’re going to have to do something about that eye, Spalding,” I said with a grimace.

  “Oh, this old thing?” the aged engineer flicked the optic with his finger in a way that made those of us with still-entirely-biological eyes want to wince, “nothing doing here, Sir. I’ll admit it was a chore and a half to get used to in the beginning. Not that I needed any of that so called therapy they tried to foist off on me every chance they got, if you know what I mean,” Spalding said hastily. I'd seen reports of his run-ins with past therapy, and that was one fight I was too wise to get into. “But after I got the hang of the blasted thing…you know, it’s kind of nice being able to see outside the usual visual spectrum without going through the bother of finding and then putting on a set of goggles. Found a few stress fractures in the beams of the ship by chance after I started turning the thing on and walkin' around casual-like.”

  “I’ll admit that does sound helpful,” I said doubtfully, “still, I’d like you to go and see the doctor at some point this week and see what it’d take to get you something that—even if it’s not an actual cloned replacement—actually looks close enough like a real one that you don’t give the young boot ensigns a fright the first time they report for duty.”

  Spalding barked out a laugh. “A boot ensign fresh out of the academy or a university—now wouldn’t that just be a fine treat? Scarcer than hen's teeth around these parts lately. Mustangs, retreads and transfers not to mention the occasional new minted petty officers is all we’ve been seeing around here since I can’t remember whe
n… probably since we went confederal,” he snorted happily, “now some officers I know think we should do away with the ham-handed critters entirely but I always said there’s nothing quite like walking onto a deck full of freshies and-”

  “Fascinating, I’m sure,” I said wryly. "Still, I presume there was an actual reason you commed me, other than to just shoot the breeze about our currently non-existent crop of new minted junior officers...?”

  “Why, and I suppose there was,” Spalding said, gradually turning serious, “although I do take your point about checking back in at the butcher's shop and seeing if there’s anything they can do about all these prosthetics they strapped me with.”

  “Good,” I cut in, eager to get the conversation back on track.

  “Anyways, I was just linking in to say that, with the Multiplex and that shipment of trillium that came along with her, it’s time,” he said.

  I rubbed a hand over my cheek to hide the sudden sharpness of my gaze. “No hesitation, Commander?” I asked cocking an eyebrow.

  “Pfft! And why would I want to go and do something like that?” he asked, his brows beetling angrily. “Why, this heart transplant they gave me may be more than a little suspect, but I figured it out all by myself—without any so-called 'help' of the medical department,” he thumped himself on the chest and held up a shot of combat heal, waggling it for emphasis. “One shot of this straight to the abdomen and it’ll take care of anything that ails you in nothing flat. Nothing to worry about here, Admiral; engineering’s got the solution—and your back’s covered as long as I’m top wrench in the fleet,” he declared, jutting his jaw out mulishly. “Although it did take a smart while to figure out a good place in the abdomen to hit myself with, seeing as how I don’t have flesh and blood thighs anymore with these great metal monstrosities they call 'legs' down there.”

  “Not exactly what I was asking, but I appreciate the enthusiasm exactly as it was intended,” I said with a helpless smile at the old reprobate's antics.

  “And besides, why would I care what a bunch of ‘Johnny Come Lately’s’ think when I practically had to come in with the Clover and win the battle all by myself?!” Spalding bragged. “Way I see it, to the victor goes the spoils—and so long as I’ve got enough new hardware to play around with…” he suddenly coughed and quickly corrected himself, “I mean, 'examine and upgrade,' the rest of them can go howl in a vacuum for all I care.”

  I wisely refrained from commenting that if there had been any ‘Johnny Come Lately’s’ in the latest battle for Easy Haven then it would have had to be Spalding and the 2.0 showing up in any suspect lineup. But time and experience had taught me to pick my battles, so this particular time I held my piece.

  “Just give the word, Sir, and we’ll take care of it for you,” the old Engineer added stoutly.

  “Good,” I said instead of any one of a half dozen comments I could have made, “we want to make sure we get all the ships on our list separated and on the move as soon as possible.”

  “That’s what I like to hear, Sir,” Spalding said with an eager satisfaction that gave lie to his earlier assertion that so long as he had enough to play around with he was satisfied. "It’s high time our Fleet got the panther’s share of the profits. Far too often we do enough of the heavy lifting and the politicians leave us with the crumbs,” he shook his head as he shifted gears, “Easy Haven, Omicron, Easy Haven again, Elysium and then Easy Haven third helpings, and each time we’re stuck barely scraping by. Like a drunk man in a bar fight, sometimes it feels like all we do is stagger from stool to stool,” Spalding finished with a growl and then slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand angrily. “Time to make it right—balance the scales, as it were.”

  “That’s not exactly how I would have put it,” I temporized. Actually that’s not how I would have ever put it, at all, but if anyone had earned the right to take liberties with the truth it was the man of hour, Chief Engineer Terrence Spalding.

  “You can consider it as good as done, Admiral. Just keep anyone and his fleet of battleships away from those Elder Tech Jump Spindles until I can get the Imperial captures out to the outer system and those battleships are as good as in Gambit Star System,” he finished with a snap of his fingers, “just like that. You give the word and they’re gone. After I charge up the jump spindles, of course.”

  “You’re sure no one will suspect what we’re up to with them parked that far out into the system?” I asked pointedly.

  Spalding looked at me with disbelief. “With those ships that far inside the hyper-limit, and without so much as the crew for a long jump or enough tugs to move them to the star system border,” Spalding said brows shooting for the ceiling, “they’d have to be mind readers—or already have the tech themselves—to even consider the notion. No,” he said with certainty, “there’s nobody in the Spine that’ll so much as get a whiff of what we were up to until ‘after’ it’s all over but the weepin'.”

  “I still can’t believe those Jump Spindles can do that,” I said with disbelief. “Jump from inside the system hyper-barrier, I mean.” I shook my head, “You’re sure they won’t suspect us?”

  “Well...” Spalding drawled, leaning back with a scowl. “It’s going to look pretty suspicious us hanging our dirty laundry, those ships, out so far away from the heart of our defenses—what little remains of the defenses, of course. So they’ll suspect ‘something,’ probably a mine field or a bunch of ships laying doggo waiting for a chance to rain some pain if anyone gets greedy and tries to swipe something. But I doubt the thought that we could just whisk those ships out from under their noses will so much as cross their minds!”

  “That’s not likely is it? That they’ll try a snatch and grab?” I pressed.

  Spalding shrugged, not exactly filling me with peace and confidence. “Who knows what any blasted admiral or politician will do if he thinks your back is turned, Sir? Present company excepted, of course. All you can do is your best, which is what we’re up to. Give me enough time and it’ll all be academic; getting those ships to Gambit will be as easy as flippin' a switch.”

  “I just hope you’re right about this, Spalding,” I said seriously, “because if we mess this thing up it’ll be a lot worse than just getting a little egg on our face. This has to work and work right—the first time. We don’t have time for trial runs.”

  “As Murphy is my witness,” the old engineer chafed as he drew himself up, “the confounded things jumped us ‘inside’ the Easy Haven hyper barrier easy as you please. Last time I checked, the translator program the interface still says the Jump Spindles could jump us right back out again if we wanted,” the old engineer paused and then started to explain, “really, if you think about it, it’s not so much that the Spindles can make a jump from the inside of a hyper-limit but rather that for those Elder Tech jump engines the hyper limit’s been, let’s say, moved back a smidge. It probably couldn’t do anything from inside the inner system of course or else we wouldn’t have to move the blasted Imperial warships all the way into the outer system. Not that we had time to run it back and forth to test it but…I have good reason to be confident it’ll work, Sir, and highly doubt the enemy will see this one coming.”

  “I know, I know. And it's not that I doubt you, but even you have to admit it’s a lot more ships and weight of metal going back out than came in,” I worried, wondering what might happen if we put too many large ships in between the spindles and asked it to jump everything back out he way it had come in.

  “That’s why we’ve waited for the load of trillium that just shipped in,” Spalding soothed. “Engineering’s got it covered, Admiral. The Spindles can do some amazing things and, yes, they do seem to require an absurd amount of trillium but Tracto has a serious mining setup. Just leave it in my hands, Sir.”

  “Trillium’s one of the few thing we’re not short of, thank the Saint,” I muttered in agreement.

  “And on that note I need to get back to it. Everything needs to be just
right. It’s not every day an engineer gets to plan how to swipe half a dozen battleships right out from under the noses of the Sector Government,” snorted Spalding.

  “Alright,” I stood, nodding curtly. “Good luck.”

  “Aye aye, Sir,” said the old Engineer bracing to attention before cutting the transmission with a characteristic wave of one hand.

  And just like that, my plan to secure the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet’s future and take all of our fates firmly—and hopefully permanently—out of the hands of the Sector Government, Governor Isaak and his Cronies, was launched.

  The space gods help us all if it went sideways.

  Honestly, my main concern right now wasn’t so much the rest of the forces within this system, or even outside of it stopping us from taking those ships. Like Spalding said: so long as we kept them well within the hyper limit, no one was going to suspect what we had planned.

  The main concern was for afterwards. After we succeeded in pulling off the heist, then what? Would they take their losses like the men they were and let things go, knowing that in the long run anything they did would only turn right back around and bite them in the keester after we got those warships back out of the yard?

  Or would they react like the angry spoiled children they so often seemed to resemble because with Wolf-9 in pieces and the defenses of this star system in a shambles they could do a lot of damage? If they did so, I would finally have all the pretext I would ever need to settle their hash once and for all.

  Ultimately I was going through with this plan despite my misgivings because the local and Sector governments had finally proven to my satisfaction that the ungrateful blighters were perilously close to incompetent. Not only that, but by not securing our independence through military power I was risking just as many lives by living on their mercy and sufferance as I would be by finally cutting the cord.