Admiral Invincible (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 7) Page 3

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Druid replied evenly.

  “I’ll prepare an honor guard,” said Slater.

  “I doubt the entire ship’s compliment could save me from a brigade of Marines if that’s what it came to,” Druid shrugged.

  “Caprian Marines with dubious loyalties aren’t the only threat on this former pirate’ station,” Executive Officer Slater said sternly.

  “Even so, only send a pair of quads,” the Commodore instructed.

  “And what are the rest of them supposed to do? Sit there and twiddle their thumbs with the rest of us?” the XO asked wryly.

  “Since you seemed so concerned for my safety, we’ll take your paranoia to its logical conclusion,” Druid replied lightly.

  Slater frowned, “Meaning?”

  “In addition to stowing the supply, I want you to come up with, and implement, a plan to hold the ship from any faction on this station that might think a Battleship which is absent its Commander too tempting to ignore.”

  “It’s the low-hanging fruit that is the most tempting,” Slater said with a scowl. “Barely a skeleton crew aboard, with three quarters and more of them worse than green; they haven’t even had basic space training, and we’ve only a hundred Marines for internal defense.”

  Druid’s face hardened. “That’s why it will be your job to raise those branches up above easy reach. Worst case, if there’s an attack I want you to break the docking clamps and immediately push the ship away from the station. Get far enough away that there is no risk of a space-jump through the dark. Then you can leave, reduce the station, or wait until whatever internal difficulties are resolved,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” the XO said evenly.

  “Good man,” Druid said, clapping him on the shoulder.

  When they arrived at the station, Druid made his way to the docks where the Marines were waiting to escort him to their Colonel.

  **************************************************

  “Greetings, Commodore,” said the aging but still powerful Marine Colonel coming around the metal desk that dominated the center of his office.

  “Colonel,” Druid said shortly.

  “Tea?” the Marine offered pointing to a cheap looking instant tea machine set up on a table running against the wall.

  “I’ll pass,” the Commodore said looking at the tea maker skeptically.

  “I never was one much for small talk, even after they promoted me,” the Colonel said with a shrug. “So now that that’s out of the way, let’s get down to brass tacks.” “Let’s,” Druid agreed dryly.

  “How are the internal defenses of your ship?” Wainwright demanded.

  Druid’s back stiffened. “We have a few surprises ready to stand off any attack and not just ship to ship, hand to hand at the airlocks if need be,” he said harshly.

  Wainwright waved his hand irritably. “That came out wrong,” he said shortly.

  “Then what did you mean to say?” Druid glared as he leaned forward.

  “What I mean was this,” the Colonel said, thrusting two fingers down onto the desk and leaning on them so hard the fingers turned white and bent sideways, “how would you like to embark the better part of two regiments of Marines onto your battleship.”

  Druid’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure if that’s the wisest move right now,” the Commodore said evenly.

  “For me, or for you?” Wainwright grumbled.

  “Either…both,” Commodore Druid said with a shrug, “take your pick.”

  “Bah!” the Marine Colonel thumped his fingers into the desk again before turning and packing back and forth behind his desk.

  Druid watched the other man warily.

  “The way I see it we’ve both got problems and we’re each the answer to the other,” the Colonel said, stopping his pacing to turn a level gaze upon the Commodore. “This station practically runs itself, true enough. But even with a brigade of Marines, if they ever got their act together and united against us, we’d be more than just hard-pressed to hold out.”

  “We each have our own tasks,” Druid said neutrally, not at all wanting to be sucked into the local Station Commander’s problems, “you’ve got this Station and I’ve got a priority mission to carry out.”

  “A mission to carry out,” Wainwright nodded, “but to carry it out with what…the most accident-prone battleship in the Fleet?” he paused and then added with more certainty. “And a skeleton crew of hastily trained replacement crew?”

  The commodore’s lips thinned. “By ‘Fleet,’ I assume you are referring to the Power’s previous designation as a member of the Caprian SDF,” he said politely.

  Wainwright blinked. “I forget that you lot aren’t all from the home world,” the Marine Colonel grunted unconvincingly, “look, I didn’t mean to insult a captain’s ship, I just call it like the old, half-blind warhorse that I am, sees it.”

  “Commodore,” Druid corrected.

  “Whatever,” the Marine shook it off. “The point is that you’re short on crew and I’ve got the better part of two thousand marines I can shake loose on a moment’s notice, and all of them are cross-trained as entry level crewmen and women. I’ll wager you need the manpower, and me and my men sure as all get out need to get off this rotating tub before we lose our minds.”

  “I wouldn’t think a former Black Port would lack for recreational activities,” Druid suppressed a smirk. “And I somehow doubt you’re half blind.”

  Wainwright scowled at him. “We’re a Marine unit intended for combat duty, not a garrison force. We’ve been posted out here so long you’d think we were regular Army!” the Colonel flared. Then glaring at him the marine pounded his desk for emphasis, “I tell you, the men and women of this unit are going to seed while around us the galaxy is falling to pieces!”

  The Commodore coughed and covered his mouth with a fist. “Somehow I find that even more doubtful than your fading eyesight,” he said with a straight face, “and the galaxy seems to be doing just fine at the moment.”

  For a second the Colonel looked put out and then he shook his head. “Look. I’m not trying to put you in a bad position here,” Wainwright said with a heavy sigh as he sank back into his chair. “But the honest fact is the uplifts—those Sundered gorilla people—they do a better job of patrolling and keeping the peace than my Marines. The pirates, smugglers, and outer rim drifters that call this run down monstrosity home see us as the enemy and an occupying force. I say we should get this Brigade out here. It will reduce the tension and make it easier to hold onto this station long term.”

  “And just incidentally get you and your people out of an assignment that’s no longer appealing?” Druid inquired leaning back in his chair.

  “Saint Murphy knows that’s true enough and I’m not going to try denying it,” Wainwright said lifting his right hand with three fingers lifted pointing up to the ceiling. “But it’s also the smart thing to do. Send in some of those overgrown Tracto-ans; they’ve clearly been genetically engineered somewhere in their past and the liaison officer we have here has done well enough—if you’re worried about having a loyal human presence here.”

  “I’m sorry, but this is way above my pay grade,” Druid said with a shake of his head.

  “This Brigade was only ever a stopgap measure,” Wainwright growled, “and I’m here to tell you this stop’s done being gapped. One way or another it’s time to get the blast out of Dodge before we stop being part of the solution and start being part of the problem over here.”

  Druid stilled in his chair, then opened his mouth but was cut off.

  “And before you start getting all high and mighty over there,” the Marine said, bestowing a level look upon the Commodore, “this is a Caprian Brigade, not yet—maybe not ever—a Confederation one.”

  The Commodore scowled, “I understood that Capria refused to repatriate you. The King refused you and Parliament has been silent on the matter,” he said.

  Wainwright’s eyes burned. “W
e’ve been disavowed, all right; declared Montagne loyalists back home and officially exiled,” the Marine Colonel rumbled.

  “Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,” the Commodore shrugged.

  “We hold to our oaths. The safety of the Home world and its people is our primary concern,” Colonel Wainwright said bestowing a level look. “That’s what being a Marine is all about.”

  “I admire your principles, even if they do nothing to convince me to take your brigade onboard my ship,” Druid said evenly. “I’m afraid my answer is no.”

  “This new Machine threat is a threat to us all and more specifically if its allowed to spread from our sister sectors like the virulent cancer it is, our home world of Capria will be under threat,” the Colonel said leaning forward, “while exiled we can do nothing to directly help our troubled homeland. However, fighting a threat like the Droids—before it has time to get into a position to attack Capria—is exactly what we joined up for.”

  “Even so…” Druid said, shaking his head.

  “We hold to our oaths and to our honor in this Brigade, which is why we’re here. So whatever our relationship with the Patrol Fleet, if I give my word then it will be upheld by the rest of the Brigade,” the Colonel said sternly. “Take us with you and help us get back in the action, this time against the machines, and I swear to you that you and your ship will have nothing to fear from us. In fact, we will only be a boon to your under strength ship.”

  The Commodore wished he could believe it, but the risks were simply too great to ignore. On the other hand…with only half a crew—a thoroughly untrained half—his ship was not just seriously undermanned, it was dangerously shorthanded. Having one to two thousand marines trained in basic operations and maintenance tasks would be a godsend.

  “Honestly, I’m conflicted,” mused the Commodore, knowing that if he let the Brigade in under his ship’s skin there would be no stopping them if things turned sour.

  “Plus,” the Marine Colonel added, clearly leaning in for the proverbial kill, “I happen to know that this Brigade isn’t the only group interested in getting off this station.”

  “Oh?” inquired the Commodore.

  “Come with me,” said the Colonel.

  **************************************************

  “Hello Captain,” said the large Tracto-an Lancer standing in front of him.

  “It’s Commodore,” Druid corrected easily.

  “Of course, Commodore,” the other man said speaking with an accent. The Tracto-an accent was barely discernable under that Outer Rim, space-trashy accent he’d somehow managed to pick up on the Omicron.

  “So the Colonel,” Druid said sliding his eyes over toward the Marine, “says he’s not the only one wanting off this Station.”

  “That is truth,” the Tracto-an said firmly in his heavily accented confederation standard. “I have heard the Mistress of Messene and Omicron goes out to battle the machine Droids, and I have raised a war-band to follow her and my Warlord into battle.”

  “Why do you want to go, and when you say you’ve ‘raised a group of fighters,’ how recently are we talking?” Druid asked with some concern.

  “I have been looking to recruit a fighting tail ever since being assigned here,” said the overgrown, yet not-quite-muscle-bound Tracto-an warrior, “although recruiting here proved difficult before I took the head of Warlord Yagar.”

  “Rear Admiral Yagar, you mean?” the Commodore said his face hardening at the talk of how this man had killed Druid’s former commander.

  “Yes, that one,” nodded the Tracto-an.

  “What’s your name, Lancer?” he asked stiffly.

  “Nikomedes, Commodore,” the Tracto-an declared simply. “Warrior of Argos and Messene, and at this moment I have over 180 warriors under my banner.”

  “180 former pirates?” Druid asked.

  Nikomedes nodded. “They are former pirates, former slaves from the gladiator pits—or, rings,” he corrected, “as well as some smugglers. And, of course, fighters from the other…races,” Nikomedes said stiffly, “the ‘others’ make fine hunters but lack in discipline.”

  “An oversized company then,” Druid concluded.

  “We all wear repaired pirate battle armor,” Nikomedes said, his eyes narrowing. “And I know there are even more Sundered who are interested in leaving the Station for some battle.”

  “uplifts,” Druid frowned, the gorilla people had proven themselves tenacious fighters both in person and with their refitted old warship but even so, the thought of such creatures—well, people, really—didn’t sit easily with him, even less so did the idea of bringing them onboard his ship.

  “They have skills,” Nikomedes shrugged as if to say the ultimate decision about the uplifts didn’t concern him greatly. The Tracto-an was clearly focused on his own company’s fate.

  “Just how many of these gorilla people are we talking about?” the Commodore finally asked.

  “One to two hundred of the younger males, and an equal or greater number of unbound females,” Nikomedes replied.

  “Equal or greater?” Druid grimaced. “So you’re talking about anywhere from two hundred to half a thousand.”

  “These are my best numbers,” the Tracto-an said, splaying his hands.

  “If I take on all the rats trying to jump off this station, my ship would be full up in no time,” he muttered.

  “Hardly rats, and even if you took all of us you’d still have a large tithe of that battleship’s berths left empty, Commodore,” Colonel Wainwright said pointedly.

  “I don’t try to tell a Marine how to handle his detachment; don’t try to tell a ship’s Commander how to do his job,” Druid scowled, and then reluctantly added, “I’ll consider it.”

  The Tracto-an stepped back.

  “For both of you,” added the Commodore.

  “Don’t think about it for too long, for all our sakes,” Wainwright said with heavy emphasis.

  Grunting, the Commodore turned away.

  Then gathering up his guards from the ship he turned to the docks. It was time to return to his ship and if he made it back to his ship safe and sound, then he had a few things to consider.

  Chapter 3: A Staff Meeting

  “Let’s call this meeting to order,” I said, leaning forward and thumping the table before taking my seat.

  Chairs rustled as Phoenix‘s Department Heads, Ship Captains, and Lancer contingent commanders took their seats.

  “We have to come up a plan for when we arrive at LaMere,” I said, sweeping the table with my gaze.

  “Plan, sir?” asked Chief Gunner Lesner with concern. “Do you mean for the upcoming battle, or the meeting itself?”

  “Both,” I smiled tightly.

  Glances were exchanged around the table—uneasy looks that didn’t inspire confidence in me, and suggested that I’d failed to install confidence in them.

  Then Eastwood took a deep breath and leaned forward. “We don’t have a battleship,” he said finally.

  My face hardened, and I wondered if this meant what I thought it did: that my people were starting to lose their spines.

  “This Strike Cruiser packs a pretty stiff punch, and I’d hazard to say that this fleet has more than proved itself,” I said coolly.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Eastwood said, giving his head a quick shake.

  “Then please…elaborate,” I said mildly.

  “We,” he reemphasized, “don’t have any battleships. I’m pretty sure that whoever shows up to this meeting will. You have to factor that in for when you meet the ship and fleet commanders, or whoever is running the rally.” He then leaned back in his chair, as if this explained everything.

  “Well, blast it all anyway,” I grunted as I worked through the implications.

  “We’re the Confederation Fleet!” exclaimed Archibald from his position down and across the table from me. “I looked up the regulations; that means the Admiral is in charge so long as it’s an at
tack by external enemy forces. Droids are the very definition of an outside force!”

  I suppressed a wince, as the very fact that an eager young officer thought it was a no-brainer that I should be automatically placed in charge of the joint defensive effort of the two Sectors. It pretty much indicated that the politicians who actually held the purse strings of the SDF forces were going to want to disagree.

  “Kong Pao promised us the support of the MDL,” Laurent pointed out. “He all but begged us to come out here and lead the defense. Surely the support of a large number of the worlds who are part of the League will help smooth our way?”

  I started to nod and then it hit me: I was relying on the words of a politician to guide me—a politician whose home world was under active threat and would likely say anything and do anything to save his people. My face hardened.

  “The words of Kong Pao and the support of his MDL did very little to help organize a joint defensive effort in Aqua Nova,” I pointed out a sharp edge to my voice that I couldn’t quite suppress. “In fact, if I recall correctly, they fired upon us as soon as we got to close to one of their population suppression bases.”

  Winces popped up around the table, and faces other than mine started to harden.

  “No, I fear that relying upon Representative Kong to ensure everything goes our way would be the height of folly,” I decided.

  “Makes a man wonder why we’re out here in the first place,” the Chief Gunner grumbled.

  My eyes zeroed in on him like a laser. “We’re here for the people,” I snapped, and the other man’s gaze lowered with embarrassment, his face starting to turn red. “The innocent civilians of these two Sectors have done nothing to deserve our ire or abandonment, and unless or until they do we will unflinchingly put ourselves between them and harm’s way. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Aye aye, sir,” the Chief Gunner sighed.

  Murmurs of agreement and understanding swept round the table.