Admiral's Challenge (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 8) Read online

  I ran a hand over my face, wondering where to start, but she reached up and actually caught my hand, giving me a stern look with her drawn and still somewhat cryo-sick-looking face.

  “Maybe you had some kind of question about whether this was a ‘real’ Confederation fleet you had running out here, Admiral. But I have to say that, in my opinion, those doubts you had should have disappeared the moment the Parliamentary Power jumped into this star system, so put them out of your head once and for all. As of the moment the Power joined the battle the ‘real’ Confederation officers in your fleet put the kybosh on that particular argument. We are here to help you and, more importantly, to help every member world of the Confederation that needs this fleet. So remember the next time some jumped-up provincial tries to push you around that you are representing not just your people, but the officers and crews of over a dozen Confederation warships that were captured battling the very droids you helped defeat here—and don’t allow them to belittle our sacrifice,” she finished with finality.

  Taken completely aback, I stood there for a long moment before staggering over to my chair and plopping down. I’d never really thought about it that way, always being more concerned with results than anything and those few times I stopped to think about deeper matters like the lack of respect I was getting, I tended to shrug it off. Lately, I’d been starting to get fed up with the way I was being treated but still, somewhere in the back of my mind, I was the honorary (read: fake) Vice Admiral with a made up fleet. In a way, however, the Lieutenant Commander was right; the fleet I had now wasn’t the one ship, ‘so-called’ fleet, I had started out with. We’d grown beyond that and, more than even the accomplishments of our fleet while under my command, the very moment I’d freed those real Confederation fleet officers and crew and added them to the MSP, in a way I’d taken on the legacy—and with it, the actual legitimacy, not the exists-only-on-paper one I’d been waving around for the last couple years—of the Confederal officers of old.

  Could I justify letting the locals treat this fleet like they had in the past when I was now representing so much more than just myself? Lieutenant Commander Leonora Hammer made a very good point: she and her people deserved better than I’d been receiving.

  Giving myself a shake, I looked up and cleared my throat. It was time to get back to business, but in the back of my mind I was definitely going to remember my new captain’s little pep talk.

  “Could someone give me the latest status update on our fleet?” I requested officiously.

  “I’ve got it; forwarding it to you now, Sir,” Lieutenant Steiner said quirking a smile at me before squirting over the file to my handheld.

  “Thanks,” I flashed a return smile and then pulled up the information on the fleet.

  Let’s see…I’d started out in the battle for this system with: one strike cruiser, one light cruiser, one destroyer, ten corvettes, three cutters and ten remaining gunboats. Looking at our fleet strength at the end of the battle, however, was like a blow to the body—even knowing most of the information beforehand still did nothing to lessen the impact.

  The Furious Phoenix was severely damaged, 34% casualties among the crew with less than a third of them wounded who were likely to recover due to the mechanical’s tendency to kill instead of wound. The Gift, a light cruiser, critically damaged and recommended abandoned in place or hauled back home to be taken apart for scrap. Every single destroyer I’d started out with on this mission to save these Sectors was now gone.

  Of the ten corvettes we’d started the battle with, half of them were destroyed outright. Of the remaining five, only three were fit for anything resembling duty—I noted that two of the three were the surviving Sundered Corvettes, with all five of them requiring repairs of some degree or another. And of the three cutters we’d started out with, only one was still fit for duty, with the other two in need of extensive repairs.

  In short, this fleet had been run through the ringer—and that didn’t even count the remainder of the Grand Fleet.

  In compensation—if you could even call it that—we’d captured four Battleships, two of which it was doubtful were even worth the cost of repairing. We’d also captured one heavy cruiser, one destroyer, and two corvettes—all of which were originally human-built. In addition to ships that we could potentially use, we’d also laid claim to twelve of the Conformity Motherships, just under 400 gunboats, a pair of Harmony Destroyers, and a trio of Harmony Fighters—two of which were literally in pieces.

  I didn’t know what use we could put any of those droid-built hulls to, as they were designed without the sort of environmental systems and internal spaces we humans were used to as a matter of course, but from what I was reading it looked like Chief Engineer, Commander Spalding—Senior, that is—had a few ideas and wanted a chance to strip technology and parts off any of the ships we had to leave behind. That took me aback. Not that we would be leaving some of the droid ship’s we’d laid claim to behind, but that the Chief Engineer assumed we’d be taking a few—or more than just a few—of them back home with us.

  My face scrunched up as I tried to figure out just how I was supposed to take back an additional dozen…or, rather, I took a look at the report and it matched up with my memory: at least four of the captured Motherships were literally in pieces. So that meant we could only be taking a max of eight of them back with us.

  I quickly jotted down an order authorizing Spalding to start stripping those four as soon as possible. We’d just have to see about the rest of the captured droid ships. With two of our new battleships without hyper drives, our towing capacity was limited.

  “Oh well, that’s what we have Chief Engineers for,” I muttered.

  “Sir? Did you say something?” asked the Confederation Lieutenant Commander from somewhere around my elbow. She must have snuck up on me when I wasn’t looking.

  “Just thinking aloud,” I said quickly in order to hide the flash of embarrassment at being caught out talking to myself.

  “Are you sure?” she asked politely and I could sense her drawing back.

  “It’s nothing major, I was considering where to send Chief Engineer Spalding,” I admitted.

  “Ah yes,” she frowned, “I heard that he was exposed to a gas leak on the Furious Phoenix.”

  I blinked. “No I mean the older one, Chief Engineer Spalding, Terrence Spalding, not his son,” I said.

  The Acting Captain’s brow furrowed, “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that officer.” Now it was my turn to be surprised as she continued, “And the only Chief Engineer Spalding that’s listed is the one from the Phoenix,” she continued looking off intently into a point of space, “I haven’t had time to go through more than the Captains and top ships officers yet.”

  “Well, I guess technically he isn’t a Chief Engineer anymore—or, rather, at the moment—but he’s one of this fleet’s top officers. I literally wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for him. Just look up Commander Terrence Spalding or ask pretty much anyone in the MSP,” I said with pride.

  “Will do, Admiral,” the Acting Captain nodded.

  “Oh, and I was thinking that as soon as we’re done with the last big push on the recovery operation for our damaged and captured ships, to bring him over as this ship’s Chief Engineer,” I added. “So you’ll probably want to look him up.”

  The other officer gave me an enigmatic look. “I haven’t been working on anything other than getting this ship back up to speed since I transferred over from the Power,” Lieutenant Commander Hammer finally admitted, “we can use all the help we can get.”

  I stopped to give her a look and she still looked like she was suffering from some residual cryo-sickness.

  “Make sure to take care of yourself, too,” I reminded her, “we wouldn’t want you collapsing on the job because of overwork.”

  This time, the look I got was like I was some kind of bug to be scraped off her shoe. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said with a touch of frost.r />
  Oh well, you win some you lose some, I thought, shrugging it off. I didn’t like someone telling me what to and not to do when I was sick or injured, so I could hardly get upset when I did the same thing I didn’t like to someone else.

  Turning away I decided to cut my time on the bridge short and return to my quarters for a short break.

  Chapter Four: Hunger Pangs

  “But, my dear, we don’t have any fermented greff-paste,” I said rapidly scanning through my data slate in the increasingly faint hope that the ‘greff-paste’ had simply been labeled under something else.

  “I don’t care,” she snarled clutching her ever-enlarging belly and then groaning, “I want greff-paste!”

  “I’m sorry—” I got cut off.

  “Morning sickness isn’t supposed to last all day—every day—for weeks on end; the least you could do is get me the one thing I want to eat since it’s the only thing I can even think of stomaching” she snapped.

  I looked at her helplessly; no matter how much she wanted her pregnancy comfort food from ‘back home’ on Tracto, if it was physically impossible then there’s nothing I could do.

  “Look, we’ll be back home in less than a month,” I said, fudging the numbers, as it would more likely be well over a month’s journey to get there. “I’ll make sure to get you your paste as soon as we get back,” I made sure to finish on an upbeat note.

  Akantha snorted derisively and then rolled off the bed, one hand holding the baby bump protruding from her abdomen. She then strode over to the table and snatched a packet of dry crackers and a small pot of fermented shrimp sauce.

  At least, I think it was made from fermented shrimp.

  “Are you sure that’s the best thing to be eating if your stomach is feeling delicate?” I asked, distracted by trying to figure out exactly why she was slathering her dry crackers with a fermented mini-shrimp when she gave me a withering look and defiantly crammed a shrimp covered cracker into her mouth.

  “Don’t you start with me,” she declared after swallowing, “this is your fault—you did this to me!”

  “Me?!” I exclaimed, genuine outrage escaping my mouth before I could stop myself. The injustice of that last declaration was just too breathtaking in its scope.

  “Yes, you,” she crammed another shrimp covered cracker in her mouth before stopping to wash it down with a suspicious-looking drink.

  Suspicious because I thought it might have a slight alcoholic content, which I was certain wasn’t good for the babies. Mouth opening and closing, I floundered as I wondered just where to start in the face of such failures at logic. I mean, how do you have an argument with someone who changes the facts to suit her whim?

  “If it weren’t for your incessant demands for a male heir—” she blithely continued and then stopped and looked at me sharply, “then I wouldn’t be in this condition!”

  “ME?!” I repeated. “I didn’t have anything to do with it!” I exclaimed with outrage. “You’re the one who got daughter-crazy and decided to get pregnant all on her lonesome.”

  “Oh, I think you were more than happy to do your part,” she mocked with a sideways derisive look at me. “You don’t do what we’ve done without expecting issue.”

  “Issue?! Sure, if it had been just one—or even two—I might be to blame, but eight?” I shook my head at her, “There’s no way it’s my fault; this took the help of a doctor and a petri dish and, again, I wasn’t—”

  “And that’s exactly the problem,” she retorted cutting in hotly, “a real man would have been pressuring me to bear his sons at least a year ago, if not back when we first were joined! As it is, I had to take matters into my own hands and now you want to blame the results on me? What kind of man are you anyway?!”

  “Sweet Murphy; there’s no talking with you,” I threw my hands up and turned away not wanting to continue escalating the situation.

  “Don’t you walk away when I’m talking with you!” Akantha shouted.

  “Talking at me maybe, there’s very little with involved here,” I snorted but turned back, mentally preparing myself for more abuse.

  “It’s as if you don’t even want your sons,” Akantha demanded, but then as per usual didn’t let me get a word in edgewise before cycling off the deep end, “and if that’s true, is that all I am to you: a bed-warmer and a political convenience. I know that the loyalty of my world and people are all you desire—” she continued bitterly, but I couldn’t let this stand any longer.

  “What are you talking about?! I look forward to all of our children, even if I think only an insane person would put more than a half dozen of them in her tummy at one time,” I complained, then quickly added, “not that I’m trying to call you insane…”

  Akantha looked up at me and then burst into tears. For a split second I was overcome with shock and surprise, at times hot and others cold, never in my experience had I ever seen her like this.

  I may not be the best of husbands, but even I could take a hint when my wife’s tear-streaked face was right in front of me and I hurried to her side. Draping an arm over her shoulders, I pulled her close.

  “Sshhh; there there,” I said, muttering meaningless words to try and calm her down.

  “Curse these emotions; mother warned me they would sometimes come while carrying,” Akantha uttered while leaning into me for support.

  “Look…I’m sorry about the paste,” I tried to reboot the conversation.

  “Oh, toss the paste,” she said irritably and then ran a sleeve-covered arm across her face.

  I wisely refrained from saying anything.

  “I’m dripping,” she complained scrubbing at her still wet face.

  “You do know I’m looking forward to being a dad to all those kids—sons and daughters alike—right?” I asked seriously.

  She heaved a sigh and nodded.

  “And you’re more than just a political convenience that shares my quarters. You’re my wife,” I added fiercely, still more than mildly offended at the accusation, “you stood by me when everyone who was supposed to be on my side turned against me.”

  She placed an arm around my middle and squeezed, while still leaning into me for support.

  “For you, there isn’t a lot I wouldn’t do,” I said firmly and then semi-seriously added. “I would conquer worlds for you, Akantha—and that’s not something you just do for some political, bed-warming convenience.” And in that moment, I meant it. There were enough worlds and leaders of worlds who had treated me poorly and/or tried to kill me that—

  The squeeze around my middle increased until the air was literally forced out of my lungs.

  “Careful,” I wheezed reaching down to try and pry her off before I was in active distress.

  “I should get changed,” Akantha said releasing me, “I have a meeting.”

  Too relieved at being able to breathe, I didn’t immediately reply. Then my eyes distracted me further, as the Hold Mistress I was married to began shedding clothes on her way to the closet. Apparently she was planning to change outfits for whatever meeting she had.

  Lustful eyes on her side—and backside—despite her growing middle, turned into action and before I knew it I had crossed the distance between us. As soon as she straightened up with her new set of clothes, my arms went around her to reach the baby bump on the other side of her body.

  Akantha snorted, shaking her head but when my hands started to creep upwards she pushed them and me away and turned.

  “I’m not in the mood,” she said firmly.

  I opened my mouth but she glared at me and, when I looked about to continue despite this rejection, she growled.

  Finally taking the hint, I went back to sit down on the bed dejectedly.

  Shaking her head, she finished getting dressed and then headed out the room.

  With a sigh, I silently observed that pregnancy really did cut down on the libido. Grumbling, I straightened my uniform and prepared to head back out myself. There was much to be done a
nd very little time to do it in. I wanted to be out of this system before the majority of the Grand Fleet battleships were back in fighting condition.

  There was no point in tempting them beyond their capacity to withstand. Gratitude was great and all but there was suspicious little of it these days and the temptation represented by my new battered and barely manned battleships might prove too much to resist.

  Chapter Five: Engineering Solutions

  “What can we do for you, Commander?” asked the droid, his spindly thin arms ending in an oversized forearm attachment that doubled for a hand and a multi-tool device.

  Spalding scowled. “I’ve got me a problem and I came here for an engineering solution,” the old Engineer informed the machine.

  “You’ve come to the right place then,” the Droid nodded its neck servos whining as it moved.

  “Might want to get that looked at,” Spalding said, pointing to its neck.

  “I have more important things to work on,” the Droid said irritably, “anyway, what did you want to put in queue? I cannot start a design and allocation phase until you establish the parameters.”

  “Oh, I don’t need help with the figuring out the fix; I’ve got all that worked out myself already,” the former Chief Engineer blustered. “All I need is a few work crews.”

  “If it is just work groups, assign them from your own labor pool,” the Droid said, shaking its head and drawing back.

  “But that’s the problem, see,” he said leaning forward with fire in his eyes, “it’s droid laborers I need. This is a task you lot are uniquely suited for.”

  The droid stiffened. “If what you need are droids, I understand there are any number onboard your captured battleships to be used,” the machine said, its voice synthesizer down grading from almost human to blatantly machine-generated as it made clear its disapproval. “The United Sentients Assembly is composed of free units, not to be slave-tasked at the whim of any biological unit.”