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

  “Link established, Admiral,” reported Comm. just as the ship began its final approach on the mass of ships within the Elder Tech jump spindles.

  “Thank you, Coms,” I straightened in anticipation.

  “Captain McCruise here, Admiral,” reported the Captain as the Furious Phoenix slid into position to the side, in front, and slightly below the Lucky Clover 2.0.

  I nodded with satisfaction at the deftness of Laurent’s helm. “I just wanted to offer one more time, Synthia. I realize it’s too late for you to join us here at the waypoint for Green Pea, but you could still load your remaining people up onto that pair of freighters you're holding onto as working quarters for your yard reconstruction crew,” I offered.

  McCruise shook her head in negation. “Thank you for the offer, Sir,” she said dipping her head, “but other than the few remaining serious cases that have been transferred to your flotilla for transport to medical facilities over there none of my people are interested in leaving Easy Haven.”

  “Are you sure I can’t convince you to leave?” I pressed. “I know I offered to evacuate everyone but I feel like I’m playing with people’s lives here. Governor Isaak is not going to be happy, your people will be easy targets of opportunity. I’d like to think that he’ll see reason and leave you alone once he realizes he can’t stop us—and that infuriating me would only bring the MSP back down on his head as soon as we’ve got the new battleships up to speed—but…”

  “Even if he strikes us down, you’ll come back stronger than he could possibly imagine, is that it?” McCruise’s resulting smile pulled her hatchet face into what would otherwise have been called an unseemly grimace. “Well don’t mind it—or us, Admiral. You have to do what’s best for everyone, and if that means leaving us hanging in the wind then—”

  “That’s not my intention at all!” I protested.

  “Oh and I know it. Just like me and everyone here knows that we’re taking our lives into our hands by choosing to stay here. But,” she scowled angrily, “at this point you couldn’t order us to leave… sir,” she added belatedly, “nope. Our orders were to hold Wolf-9 and that’s exactly what we aim to do. We’ve lost too many people protecting this system to just give it up at this point. Especially to a passel of traitorous curs determined to bite the hand that feeds it!”

  “I understand your feelings on the subject,” I said, “but now that Colin’s gone you’re in the driver’s seat for your people and that means—”

  “With all respect, Admiral,” McCruise cut in, “no, you don’t understand. You weren’t out here back when we had a real fleet presence, you weren’t here when everyone else pulled back to the Core Sectors or retired, and you certainly haven’t been out here standing your post tired, hungry and alone while the rest of the Fleet and everyone back home seems to have forgotten you even exist. We haven’t seen a relief fleet that didn’t originate from the MSP for more than four years. Everyone back home seems to have forgotten we exist while their lives just go on. Well blast them, we’ll still be waiting right here ready and demanding answers for when they show up.”

  “While I respect your resolve, that is neither here nor there as it concerns living long enough to rebuke your superiors, Captain McCruise,” I said.

  “What? I’m supposed to just up and run after LeGodat gave his life holding this place?” McCruise’s brows rose for the rafters before crashing back down thunderously, “and not just him, but dozens of people I’ve known for decades—as well as thousands of green trainees? Over my dead body!”

  “I’m not going to try to convince you further except to warn that it may in fact come to that,” I said.

  “While I might have come to a different conclusion regarding the distribution of prizes if I was in command, that is neither here nor there. It was your decision to make and you made it. If that causes those Sector blighters to raise the flag of rebellion and attack us, so be it. We have sacrificed too much of our blood, sweat, and weight of metal for them—and we've been the only ones doing so! Here we are and here we’ll stay and if need be we’ll go down swinging and cursing those rebel dogs…assuming it comes to that which, honestly speaking, I don’t think it will,” she said seriously. “Not after the Governor calms down enough to realize you’ll be strong enough to take on the entire rest of the Sector combined by the time you fix up and repair those Battleships.”

  “Betting your life on the restraint and intelligence of any politician, let alone this one, is a fool's game in my experience. But as the new System Commander of Easy Haven, that is of course your call to make,” I said helplessly. I really wished I could have convinced her to pull up stakes and follow us back home. Tracto, to say nothing of the Gambit Yards, needed all the hands we could lay hold on. Sadly it didn’t seem destined to be and because of that—and because I wasn’t willing to give into sector extortion—McCruise and the much-expanded stalwarts of the Wolf-9 defense squadron risked not just defeat and capture, but total annihilation.

  “You do what you have to, Admiral. And we here at Wolf-9 will rebuild and do the same...assuming the Governor and his Sector Guard will let us,” McCruise said unhappily.

  It was a grim realization, to know that when it came right down to it I wasn’t willing to hand my captured Battleships over to Isaak in exchange for the lives I was leaving behind at Easy Haven, but there it was. In the end, and after all the sophistry, I was a right bastard who placed my own power over the lives of my people.

  I clenched my fist angrily. Blast it all, I wished there was another choice but if there was I was too stupid—and too late—to winkle it out. I wasn’t ready to give into the Governor’s sector terrorism and hand over the battleships. I mean, we were talking about more than ten potentially repairable Battleships here. His 'split them how we decide or we’ll rebel and you’ll lose them all anyway, oh and along with all your lives too' just didn’t sit well with me.

  Not that it made me any less the blighter but…curse it all anyway. No! On one level I was totally responsible because I could have avoided it. But on another, smoke the Governor, his entire posse, and the whole herd of metal horses they rode in on. I was not the man pulling the trigger or pressing the button.

  If he was going to pull the trigger then that was on him not me, I had not attacked the man and my threats had only been in direct response to his and for all of that I was still a terrible leader for not finding a better way around it.

  I looked up with burning eyes to meet and hold Synthia McCruise’s gaze. “There’s something I want you to remember. No matter what happens in the future, you have an ally in me, Captain McCruise,” I said, silently vowing that if they survived Isaak’s fit of rage,

  “I’ll pass on your sentiments to the crew, Admiral Montagne,” McCruise said formally, “now if that will be all, I need to get back to it.”

  “I think there’s still one last thing that still needs doing,” I drew myself up. Standing up from my chair I braced to attention, “Attention, Captain.”

  I waited until a now-frowning McCruise slowly pushed herself up from her command chair. “Admiral,” she acknowledged.

  “On this day I hereby promote you, Captain Synthia McCruise, to the rank of acting Commodore in the Confederation Fleet and confirm your position as system commander until ratified or relieved by the Confederation Grand Assembly. The electronic paperwork to follow,” I said formally.

  “I’m not sure if I deserve or should accept a promotion from you, Admiral,” McCruise said with a persistent frown.

  “I’ll tell you the same thing I told LeGodat: at the very least, you’ll need the rank if you’re going to do your duty out here,” I said, suppressing a twinge at the less than enthusiastic reception.

  “I understand, and as the senior surviving officer I will hold this post to the best of my abilities, Admiral,” McCruise said, snapping a salute.

  “Carry on, Commodore,” I nodded as she started to sit back down and then cut the connection. For a long moment I
stared blankly at the screen depicting Governor Isaak’s oncoming wave of battleships. “Well then,” I said heavily.

  “It needed to be done, Sir—if I may be so bold as to say,” Laurent observed.

  “Indeed it did, and while I have no doubt McCruise will do a decent job of running the place I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m going to miss the steady hand of Commodore LeGodat,” I took a deliberate moment to again mourn the loss of one of my earliest and closest allies. Once again, a strong supporter was gone and things would never again be quite the same. But life goes on…until it doesn’t, but in the meantime I had more immediate concerns.

  “I completely understand, and even share some of the same concerns,” Laurent admitted. I looked at him with surprise. “You were not the only person to interact with the Commodore. He will be missed,” Laurent said simply.

  I sighed and then shook it off once and for all.

  Times were hard all around but that’s how it was. At least I was alive and intact. Colin LeGodat had been crushed when his bridge collapsed during the battle; Glue’s ship had been shot out from under him resulting in burns over 80% of his body, along with forced amputation of an entire arm and one hand starting from before the wrist; Kling had been cut in half trying to make it to an escape pod; and Bottletop had suffered some kind of last-ditch viral attack during an internal droid mutiny, requiring his immediate return to Tracto for defrag and backup program re-installation The droids I’d spoken to were cautiously optimistic that his personality matrix would be entirely unaffected. Captain Rampage had been in and out of the tank and was currently in physical therapy, forced nerve regeneration, and rehabilitation services back at Gambit in our most high tech, top of the line medical facility, along with the other critically injured survivors of his crew. His ship, of course, was now a total write off for anything other than scrap metal and spare parts.

  The list went on and on, and we were certainly lighter on the ground than I would like but at least things were better than back in the days of Tremblay as my First Officer when I’d had to constantly watch over my shoulder for actual mutinies.

  I looked back up at the battle screen projections. Those lead Battleships were getting a lot closer than I was entirely comfortable with.

  “What’s the status on the spindles?” I asked, turning to Captain Laurent. “How long before we can jump?”

  “I’ll get Commander Spalding on the line, Sir,” Laurent replied.

  I leaned back as the Com-Department tried to raise the Chief Engineer.

  We were here. We were waiting. Now it was time to see if all of Spalding’s big talk of jumping inside the hyper limit was bluster or if mankind was going to break through the hyper barrier for the first time in history.

  No matter what happened, we’d either reached the finish line or we were finished. But I was confident. After all, the Chief Engineer hadn’t let me down yet…well, I mean, not in any major ways.

  Chapter 10: Spalding Has Difficulties

  “I won’t do it! Do you hear me? The answer is 'no!'” shouted an Engineer standing protectively in front of a junction box with what looked like half its internals spread out across the floor.

  “You’ll do it and right blasted now or you’ll be confined to quarters and I’ll bloody well do it!” bellowed Parkiney.

  “Over my dead body!” yelled the Engineer.

  “That can be arranged!” roared Parkiney.

  Spalding broke into a run, his legs clanging thunderously as he charged down the hallway.

  “What the blazes is going on here?” he demanded, slamming hip-first into the wall to bleed off momentum with an audible boom before bouncing and staggering back into the middle of the walkway, “I ordered an increase in power, and the generator stepped up but the power reaching the Spindles cut in half!”

  “This engineer is refusing orders, Sir!” Parkiney declared, pulling out a blaster pistol and pointing at the engineer in front of the junction box.

  “I’m telling you, you’ve got to reroute and install a new junction relay two decks up or the whole ship will blow,” the other man argued stridently.

  “Preposterous,” Spalding declared dismissively, “this is just one of thirteen working junctions. We only need 11 to relay the power levels we need but you’ve somehow taken three of the relays out of the network by shutting this one down.”

  “Just put the box back together, Tucker,” Parkiney said angrily.

  “Listen, you imbecile: the power system won’t bear the load—the ship will go,” Tucker rounded on Parkiney.

  “Then just replace it,” cried Parkiney.

  “This is getting us nowhere,” Spalding snorted, grabbing Tucker by the front of his shirt shoving him aside and reaching toward the relay’s control box.

  “Hands off that control panel!” Tucker shouted, grabbing Spalding’s arm at the wrist.

  Shaking his head and sneering, Spalding shrugged him off and reached…except somehow instead of breaking the other engineer’s hold, his arm didn’t move.

  “Blast it all,” Spalding swore, reaching over with his mechanical hand. But even with the mechanical assist, he wasn’t able to break the other engineer’s grip.

  Servos whined back and forth and the pain in his still flesh-and-blood arm started to grow.

  “I said 'I won’t let you!'” Tucker shouted.

  “It’s a brave thing you’re doing here, lad,” bellowed Spalding, “I’m the Chief Engineer of this warship!”

  “I don’t care if you’re the Chief, Captain, and God-King of the universe all rolled up into one,” grunted Tucker, “I have no desire to be atomized, which is what’ll happen if you pull those relays off the grav-system for our single remaining antimatter generator!”

  “Preposterous,” cried Spalding, “they have their own dedicated generator.”

  “It was overloading the power distribution system between it and the grav-plates, which is why I had to reroute it through the series I pulled off line,” the other engineer shouted.

  “The generator was tested and was working fine up until someone manually took it offline despite being within tolerances,” interjected Parkiney.

  “Why wasn’t I informed? Everything was working just fine five minutes ago,” Spalding growled.

  “There was a spike in the system. And while that might not matter with a fusion generator, we’re not dealing with a fusion generator here—we’re dealing with antimatter, the stuff that immolates everything else in the galaxy,” Tucker retorted angrily.

  “Look, I’ve got a pair of Battleships about to enter firing range and right now I can neither jump this ship using the Spindles nor fire the main cannon because of the way you’ve been monkeying around with the power system. Something’s got to give—and I assure you that it’s not going to be the Lucky Clover!” Spalding snapped.

  “If wishes were fishes, all engineers would be rich—but I’m still working for a living. So find another that doesn’t involve interrupting the power flow to the only thing keeping this starship from blowing sky high,” Tucker said. “If you try to bring this relay back online it’ll send a surge into the other two that could cause a wobble in the grav-plate system, resulting in a chain reaction that’ll destroy the ship,” Tucker retorted. “The thing may have passed all its load bearing tests with flying colors five minutes ago, but when it was put under actual pressure if almost killed us all!”

  “Blast it. I put in triple-quadruple redundancy, and now this? Blast-blast-blast!!!” Spalding said, tossing Tucker up against the wall with the other man's feet two feet off the ground. Then he let the other man go and broke into a run.

  “You’re welcome!” Tucker cried out behind him. “I’ll stay here and make sure no other well-meaning morons try to blow us all sky high…ya blighter.”

  Parkiney belatedly broke out into pursuit. “Where are you going, Sir?” asked the crew chief.

  “Get me that engineer’s name, rank and serial number. After this is all over I
’m going to tear into that relay with a fine-toothed comb and either give that engineer a commendation and a promotion or I'm gonna kill him,” Spalding growled.

  Parkiney blinked. “Aye aye, Sir,” he said.

  Up ahead, another man came running in their direction.

  “Thank Murphy I caught up with you,” Bostwell said as he started to slow, “I’ve got the Admiral on the line and—”

  “No time, son,” Spalding shouted, blowing past the engineering com-tech and jumping into the nearest lift, “take me over two decks!” he shouted at the voice activated system.

  “But Sir!” Bostwell cried as the lift doors started to close and it was clear he wasn’t going to make it into the lift on time and no one was about to hold the door for him. “What am I supposed to tell the Admiral?”

  “What do you tell him?!” Spalding shouted back. “Why, you can tell him that 'we’re having a small problem' and that 'making miracles takes time,' is what you can tell him. So he’d better—”

  Then the door closed shut and he really didn’t see the point in talking any further. He had about five minutes to bring one or more relays back online, a solid one hour job each one.

  There was no time for jibber-jabber.

  Chapter 11: Nothing Happened

  “Time to jump…just passed,” the Phoenix’s Navigator said, looking up at the screen as if to see if they had somehow mysteriously jumped without him being aware of it before looking back at us helplessly.

  I put my forehead in the palm of my left hand feeling a sudden headache coming on.

  “Blast,” swore Laurent.

  “What did Spalding have to say again?” I asked Comm.

  “There was a small problem and, I quote, ‘making miracles takes time,' whatever that means,” the Lieutenant said, his lips pursed disapprovingly.