Admiral's Revenge (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 8

  Gants used to be his prodigy but that was before the lad got seduced by the sound of combat and jumped ship for the Armory. The old Engineer wasn’t getting any younger, and someone needed to carry the torch when Spalding finally got too old to properly swing a wrench.

  He stared at Brence with wayward eyes. “Uh, Sir?” the younger man asked nervously.

  “Are you worthy, my lad?” the old engineer asked suspiciously.

  “Sir?” asked Brence sounding concerned.

  “Of my trust,” Spalding clarified, glowering at the former rating and new Warrant through narrowed eyes.

  “Aye, aye, Sir,” Brence said quickly, bouncing back to attention and snapping off another salute.

  By this time thoroughly disgusted by the happy expression and eager demeanor of the younger man, Spalding had to suppress the urge to activate the mini-plasma torches in his hands.

  “Well, go on then—git,” he growled before turning back to the tight little crawlspace. He had a junction box on his hands that wasn’t going to repair itself.

  Spinning on his heels and with a newfound bounce in his step, the young engineer hurried away.

  “Parkiny would have known better than to be happy at the sound of a promotion,” Spalding mourned aloud, wondering why he had been stuck with Brence of all people as his newest understudy. Then he remembered that Parkiny had refused several promotions to a rank higher than command of a work party, which was part of why that man had been assigned to the Clover, and Spalding felt himself scowl. He didn’t have time to mentor men who shirked higher responsibility every chance they got.

  It looked like he was stuck with Brence…for now. At least the other man believed him about the Captain Moonlight missions. That was something at least.

  With a long-suffering sigh, the old engineer quickly started stripping wires and replacing leads. He could only pray to Saint Murphy and hope that no one else came to disrupt him before the repair job was completed.

  Whistling tunelessly under his breath, he discovered a burned-out regulator with damaged ends to its connecting cables. Happily stripping them off and splicing in new wire, he set about getting his current section of the station back on the grid.

  He would much rather be out there working on a ship, but the Hydra was too damaged for anything less than a full service repair job in a ship yard. It was probably better to scrap her, if he was being honest with himself, and he was loath to put an old warhorse like that one out to pasture before her time. So since he was stuck on the station anyway, Spalding figured he might as well do some work—as he had told his men often enough: idle hands were the Demon’s playground.

  Chapter 8: Druid Sets Out

  “Saint Murphy avert; and may the Space Gods speed your journey, Commodore,” I said, speaking into the holo-projector with a genuine smile on my face.

  “Of course, Admiral,” Druid said, I noticed the slightest flicker to his expression. Having had more time to know the man, I took his expression for barely disguised impatience, “we’ll be back before you know it. I just wish that pair of old mothballed freighters were ready to go out with us.”

  My mouth twisted sourly, “There were more reasons those particular two ships were put into space storage than just the extensive list on the manifests,” I said, forcing my expression back under control. “Main life support from the one with the working hyper drive has been stripped completely out, and the other has a life support system we can easily upgrade to carrying passengers but it only has one of its strange particle generators; the others are completely missing, and I’m told the one generator that’s still there is nothing but space junk. I’m afraid we’ll have to ‘rob Michael to pay Merton’, and even then we’ll only get one functioning ship out of the deal.”

  “Well,” Commodore Druid replied after a moment and speaking carefully, “now that Wolf 9’s about scheduled to have another space factory completed, you should have the tools and manpower to fix them up quickly,” he said diplomatically.

  “It’s not a question of capability so much as manpower,” I frowned. “Commodore LeGodat already has a medium space dock and the fully fledged, large capacity shipyard up and running after forty years of being shut down. That’s more than enough for these kinds of repair jobs, especially when you factor in the other two refurbished space factories are ready to go and just waiting for workers. Having a third, newly built yard doesn’t help without having the crew to man it!” I said, fighting the urge to throw my hands in the air.

  “Something we’re trying to alleviate,” Druid’s mouth quirked, “but which we can’t do without the ships we need.”

  “At least you have the Dungeon ship,” I said, shaking my head at the obvious conundrum, or paradox, or whatever it was called.

  “Don’t worry, Sir,” the Corvette Squadron Commander said seriously, “me and my ‘three’ ships,” he said emphasizing the fact that he only had three ships instead of four, “will make blasted well sure that anyone who signs up for the outfit gets back here to where they can do some good!” He was clearly still smarting from the fact that I had I traded one of the corvettes for the dungeon ship. At least the former prison transport would be able to carry large quantities of new recruits within it, to the tune of fifteen hundred souls.

  “Your confidence is reassuring, Commodore,” I tilted my head toward him slightly and then decided to change the subject, “I presume the new command team is up and running over on the Dungeon ship?”

  “My ship’s third officer, who was also doubling as my Fla…or rather, I suppose, my ‘Pennant’ Lieutenant,” Druid smiled, “was eager for the opportunity. Other than three-fourths of the crew being new to the ship…”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” I said dismissively, “Captain McCruise wanted to bring as many of the people she’d been working with this past year as she reasonably could over to her new command.”

  “As the Admiral says,” Druid sighed.

  “Always,” I agreed.

  Druid shook his head minutely at this expression of mine but I let it pass. “With the Admiral’s permission, I’d like to check on the Guard Squadron and get ready for the Point Transfer,” the Commodore said respectfully.

  “Of course,” I replied courteously, “if it’s not too much of a bother, could you please have your communication’s officer patch me over to the,” my lips quirked at the renamed ship, “Recruiter’s Dream? I’d like to speak with our Recruitment Officer.”

  Druid nodded and, with a gesture to what I assumed was his Communication’s Officer, my screen went blank. Two seconds later I was patched over to the RD.

  “Admiral Montagne,” the cute-as-a-button little brown girl on my screen said as she literally jumped to her feet and saluted.

  “Your new uniform suits you, Warrant Officer Lisa Steiner,” I said, grinning at the little former communications technician and making a point to recognize her new rank.

  “Thank you, Admiral,” Steiner replied, looking more than a little wide-eyed and daunted by her new responsibilities, “I’ll try not to let you down.”

  “You have my every confidence,” I hastened to assure her.

  “Sir,” the little com-tech said speaking quickly, “are you sure you don’t want to change your mind? I’m sure there are dozens of officers who could do this job better than I can. I wasn’t looking for more rank, and would be more than willing to give it back if someone else could make better use of it!”

  “I’m sure you would, and of course there are Officers more prepared for this than you are,” I said soothingly, “but don’t worry, you’ll do just fine.” I did my best to assure her with a smile. It was funny, in a good way, to be on the other side of a massive promotion to real responsibility. I could almost feel myself back on the Flag Bridge the very first time I realized that I had been made responsible for the whole ship. I suppressed a shudder at the thought, since those were actually nothing short of terrible times—exciting and more than a little stimulating, I’d grant, but
terrible nonetheless.

  “Why, Sir?” the little Warrant burst out, no longer able to contain herself. “I mean, if you know there are others…real officers who are better for the job, then why pick me?”

  I paused and steepled my fingers while looking at her appraisingly. She must not have liked the full weight of my serious regard, because she looked slightly alarmed and leaned back.

  “Do you want the truth?” I asked seriously.

  The little tech hesitated and then her face hardened slightly, “Yes sir!” she said with military eagerness, “I do.”

  “Very well,” I said gravely. It was important in these situations to remember that to have confidence in an officer or crewmember wasn’t enough—you also had to make them believe they actually were in your confidence. Doing so actually helped bind them closer to you when they emerged victorious of their first tasks. “I believe you are the right woman for the job. That’s not meant to imply anything against those other officers, as each of them is desperately needed in their current postings. Fortunately we have a sufficient number of Com-Techs at the moment and thus can spare you for this job.” I very carefully didn’t add the most important part of this equation: I had read the reports, and I’d spoken with the survivors. This little com-tech had endured captivity and torture like I had, and no sooner had she broken out than she had wrested control of her little insurgent band away from Tremblay. Then, without wavering whatsoever, she had immediately started plotting to free me from my own captivity. Someone like her, with that kind of loyalty, had to be rewarded.

  While I’d been thinking, the little Warrant had visibly drooped on the screen.

  “Remember though,” I said hastily, kicking myself for not paying attention like I should have, “while I may have selected you for Recruitment and heartily agreed with the recommendation, it was the Chief Engineer that spotted you out as potential Warrant material.”

  “Yes, Admiral,” Steiner said, still looking more like a woman who needed a stiff drink than a hardened insurgent who’d hidden aboard the Clover for weeks before sneaking off it on a daring rescue mission.

  “Buck up, Warrant,” I said, putting the faintest edge of steel into my voice, “if I, or the Chief Engineer, didn’t think you could do this then you wouldn’t be in the top slot as Lead Recruitment Officer.”

  Warrant Lisa Steiner quickly stiffened to attention, “Of course, Admiral. You can count on us, Sir!” she said, snapping off a proper salute.

  For a second I was stumped, until I saw the faintest bit of movement in the background behind the newly minted Warrant Officer.

  “Is that Hierophant?” I asked quizzically, as I hazarded the guess.

  Steiner’s brow wrinkled and she glanced over her shoulder, then she turned back and her face cleared.

  “No, Sir, that’s one of the yeomen,” she said with the first genuine smile I had seen on her during our conversation. “Hierophant is over here beside me,” after saying this she adjusted the holo-pick-up until the over-sized Tracto-an came into view.

  “Hierophant Bogart,” I said, cocking my head to the side to make sure I recalled it right, “I see you’ve decided to stick it out with the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet’s newest Warrant.”

  “You signed the transfer orders, Admiral,” Steiner said, as if to remind me.

  I had to suppress the urge to raise my eyebrows, since I didn’t remember signing anything of the sort…not that I wouldn’t have signed them, mind you—an Admiral signs a whole lot of things without reading them over in their entirety. I felt a short sigh escape under my breath.

  “In truth, Warlord,” the Tracto-an said with a sharp nod, “however, if you have need of me…” he trailed off stoically.

  “I need you right where you’re at,” I replied calmly. It didn’t matter if I had unknowingly signed the transfer order or simply forgotten that I’d done so; there was no point in breaking them up. Especially at the eleventh hour right before a point transfer like this for too many reasons to count—not the least of which being that to do so would most definitely smack of amateur hour. “Take care of our new Recruitment Officer and make sure she comes back to us safe and sound.”

  “You can count on me, Warlord Montagne,” Hierophant said with a grim smile, and with the mood I’d been in since my prison break it was exactly the kind of smile I was most comfortable with. So I gave him a hard nod in return before turning to look at Steiner’s ear—the one part of her that was still showing on the screen since she had adjusted the image pickup.

  “Steiner,”’ I said sharply and the little tech quickly reappeared on my screen, “we need more crew, so get me those warm bodies. We’re counting on you—I’m counting on you.”

  “Yes, Sir!” she said snappily, excitement rising in her eyes.

  “Another thing,” I added, my eyes boring into hers, “don’t let anyone tell you this is some kind of ‘make work’ assignment. This is a more important job than most realize,” I paused and hesitated before coming to a snap decision. “I’m going to forward over a signed copy of a new order,” I said as my fingers flew over my virtual keyboard.

  “We’ll take care of it whatever it is, Admiral,” the little brown-skinned girl said snappily.

  “The gist of it is that, if need be, you have my personal authority to requisition anything you need in order to get your mission’s done…within reason,” I added pointedly with a growing smile. “I’m not placing this authority with Druid or the Captain of your ship, but with you, Miss Steiner. That’s a lot of responsibility to take on, but I know I can rely on you.” I switched my gaze over to the side where Hierophant had disappeared to again, “make sure nothing happens to her while you’re out there, yes?”

  “With my life,” the Tracto-an, would-be gunner said, thumping his fist to his chest.

  “Oh, and if he hasn’t already,” I said causally, this time speaking solely to the former Lancer, “tell the Captain of that ship to give you some time on that ship’s gun deck—assuming you’re still interested in striking for gunner, that is—on the Admiral’s orders.”

  “Thank you, Admiral Montagne,” Hierophant said with real enthusiasm in his voice for the first time in the conversation.

  “Excellent,” I said, preparing to sign off, “keep me apprised of any developments, and have a safe voyage.”

  “Of course, Sir,” echoed from my screen right before I cut the connection.

  “Somebody deserves to have a safe voyage, considering what I’ve got planned for the rest of us,” I muttered under my breath as a dark, predatory grin slowly spread across my face.

  Chapter 9: The Commodore’s Riposte

  “Commodore LeGodat, what a pleasant surprise,” I said with a neutral expression—this was most definitely not a pleasant surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you in here so close to the next big sendoff.”

  “Who could miss saying goodbye to the inestimable Commander Terrance Spalding,” LeGodat said, flashing a quick, professional smile, “Chief Engineer extraordinaire.”

  “What can I do for you, System Commander?” I said, forcing one of my patented royal smiles.

  “I wanted to talk, Admiral,” the Commodore said evenly.

  “Alright,” I agreed, “just as soon as we’ve made the rounds…you are aware that this is a pre-launch sendoff; he’s not scheduled to depart until tomorrow.”

  “Yes, in that old courier vessel he’s pulled out of mothballs,” it was LeGodat’s turn to sound neutral, “I have been made aware he’s strapped…something onto the hull.”

  I started to suppress a chortle and then decided not to.

  “Yes,” I laughed with an airy wave of my hand, “some kind of top secret project he’s planning to ‘tow’ through hyperspace.”

  LeGodat’s mouth pinched disapprovingly. “A hyperspace tow,” he reiterated, definitely sounding nonplussed, “we call it hyperspace envelopment and tend to utilize dedicated repair ships for such a task—ships actually designed for the task of enco
mpassing another ship within a single hyper bubble.”

  “Yes, well, the Chief Engineer’s been pioneering the hyper-tow using non-dedicated ships,” I replied easily.

  If anything, the Commodore’s features tightened even further, in clear disagreement with these unprofessional terms I was using. But honestly, I didn’t care; I just wanted this conversation done and over with.

  “We were hoping to transfer one of those Light Destroyers over to the MSP and have it accompany Spalding and his Courier part of the way, but…” I trailed off. I left it unsaid that while LeGodat had actively facilitated the movement of my remaining command teams from the now-lost Lucky Clover over to the Heavy Cruiser, Little Gift, and been willing to transfer Captain Synthia McCruise over to take command of the Heavy Destroyer, he’d been dragging his heels on the transfer of that second destroyer over to my command.

  “Wonderful fruit punch they’ve come up with for this party,” the Commodore said, swirling the liquid around in his cup before taking a sip. His avoidance of my leading question was anything but lost on me.

  “Quite flavorful,” I agreed, holding back a grimace. The man wanted something; I could feel it in my bones. The only question was if it was something I would to be willing to surrender.

  “I understand the personnel transfers to the Little Gift have been proceeding apace, and that your officers and crew have been ‘settled in’,” LeGodat remarked as a few of the other engineers forced Spalding up on the karaoke stand in the middle of the mess hall.

  “It’s been going quite well,” I said lightly. I suppressed a wince as the newly-minted Engineering Commander started singing the words to ‘I’ll take you home, Kathleen’ in a very off-key tone, but when he slipped up halfway through the third repeat switching the titular character’s name of ‘Kathleen’ for ‘Glenda,’ I covered my face with a hand.