Admiral's Nemesis Part II Read online

  “You mean throw away a perfectly good excuse to leave the battlefront and spend some time with my family?” Po’ta opened his mouth and laughed, “I’ve served my time on the front and nearly died recently. I think some time off ‘merely’ dealing with pirates, reavers and corrupt human fringers instead of the Imperial navy will be a relief.”

  Chapter 8: Trouble in Easy Haven

  “It looks like we’re stuck between the proverbial rock and the hard place, and you know what they say? The nail that’s sticking up is the first one that’s hammered down,” McCruise paced in front of her desk with her hands clasped behind her back.

  “What do you think we should do, Commodore?” asked Captain Far-Bright.

  “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” she said, slapping a news report face up on the table in front of Far-Bright, “but it look like it has.”

  The Captain picked up the flimsy sheet. His face blanched as he read it.

  “They’re not just coming, they have Confederation support?” he asked with disbelief. “Is this confirmed?”

  “By CNN news reporters it is. As usual, what little government still exists in the Sector is completely useless. I currently have techs going over the raw data feeds attached to the report and crunching the numbers but so far everything checks out,” McCruise glared at the far wall.

  “This is highly illegal, Sir! What do they think they’re doing? You can’t just hand over seven Sectors of the Confederation to the Empire without a world-by-world referendum of the people inside those sectors,” Far-Bright said and then paled. “But to go to war to stop them and have Confederation Fleet warships firing on one another...what are you going to do, Sir? We’re tasked with protecting the Spine from invaders.”

  “Wrong,” McCruise said flatly, “our orders were to perform PR stunts for Assemblymen and to protect this Starbase. Enforcing Confederation law and control over the Easy Haven Star System is a natural extension of that, but nothing more! We may have a duty to the rest of the worlds in Sector 25 but we were not tasked to patrol this region of space nor any of the other seven Spineward Sectors. Just like we’re not tasked with patrolling the Overton Expanse, nor do we even attempt it,” she said with certainty. “So while failing to stop an Imperial military action aimed at our own worlds may be a gross dereliction of duty—a betrayal and stain upon our honor as fleet officers, even—to go so far as to fire on Confederation Fleet vessels isn’t just wrong, it's treason.”

  Far-Bright’s eye went so wide they bulged. “You’re going to abandon the Spine…betray the Little Admiral?” he choked.

  “We have no choice,” she said firmly, and then scowled as she leaned to the side and thumped the first two knuckles of her left hand into the side of the desk.

  “As for the ‘Little Admiral,’ it would be one thing if Montagne were here with all of his fleet power. Maybe we could back them off without a shot fired, or just focus on the Imperial ships and not actually engage our brothers and sisters in uniform,” she said resolutely, “as just a practical matter, even if we went into this thing on the side of Vice Admiral Montagne, if we fight the Imperials we’ll be crushed to no purpose. Will our dying somehow make their invasion of the Sector more righteous? And that completely ignores that according to the news reports they are acting in concert with Confederation forces and operating under Confederation fleet and Grand Assembly authorization. Which, again, would mean treason.”

  “So you don’t intend to resist at all?” asked the captain, aghast. “After all we’ve been through?”

  “I won’t throw your lives away to no purpose. And I also won’t follow any officer—or Admiral—who would do so. I don’t know if Montagne thinks he can win or maybe hopes to negotiate a better settlement for this Sector. Either which way, Imperials don’t negotiate for squat and facing Imperial soldiers, sailors and marines in a real Imperial fleet, with purpose-built Imperial warships, is entirely different from Janeski’s scratch force mainly consisting of captured Spineward Sectors hulls,” McCruise says definitively. “Again, if he were here it might be different but…”

  “He faced down an Imperial Command Carrier and won,” argued Far-Bright.

  “We faced down an Imperial Command Carrier, and without Wolf-9 and all of our defenses he would never have managed to get close enough to ram the thing in the first place,” McCruise retorted and then took a deep breath. “Look, I am not here to argue with you about the merits of my command decisions or Admiral Montagne’s.”

  “Of course, sir,” Far-Bright said stiffly, his eyes burning with indecision.

  McCruise stared at him. “I’ve got a few tough decisions to make. Dismissed,” she said.

  “Aye aye, Sir,” he said, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

  Chapter 9: Commodore Montagne

  “Ah, Commodore, it’s so good to finally meet you in the flesh,” said a black-uniformed Imperial Tribune, stepping out of the airlock coming to a stop and then clicking his heels together before offering his hand.

  “Should I know you?” asked the individual in front of the Military Tribune with a mocking smile on his face.

  The Tribune stiffened slightly before making a self-deprecating smile.

  “My apologies. There is no reason you should, Commodore. I have merely been staring at your holo-image for too long and it’s nice to finally meet the man behind the face,” he said wryly.

  Several of the scruffy looking individuals behind the other man snickered, and the pirate captain’s eyes acquired a steely glint.

  “What’s with this creepy 'Commodore' business?” he demanded evenly. “I think it’s clear from my surroundings that my military days are long past.”

  “Using your last previous military rank is merely a term of respect, nothing more,” said the Tribune.

  “Please get to the point. I’m a busy man,” the ‘Commodore’ said impatiently.

  “The Senator has something he would like you to do for him,” said the Tribune.

  “Not interested,” the ‘Commodore’ said coldly and then turned and started to walk away, “leave the Senator’s payment with the ship’s purser; I won’t be seeing you out.”

  “You can walk away from me, but don’t you walk away from the Senator’s personal representative! You reached out to us, or am I wrong, Agent Judas?” the Imperial Tribune's voice cracked like a whip.

  The other man stiffened. “I would advise you to tread carefully from this point forward, Tribune,” he said, his voice a quiet rasp.

  “Listen, we don’t need to have an adversarial relationship here. The Senator is well aware of your, let’s call them 'extracurricular' activities while he was away from the Sector and he simply doesn’t care. In fact, it’s exactly this prior experience, along with your previous personal relationship, that caused the Senator to think of you first for the upcoming task,” the Tribune said smoothly.

  “I have no interest in becoming a lackey; that’s why I chose the life I did,” he turned around and said mockingly.

  “No one is asking you to become anyone’s lackey. If it helps, you can consider it as entering into a form of partnership with the Senator,” the Imperial said with a knowing nod.

  “Have you looked around lately?” the Commodore asked in harsh disbelief. “I may have an ego the size of a Battleship but even I’m not that stupid. I don’t have the forces to be anything more than an errand boy to the Senator—and I-am-not-an-errand boy!” he roared.

  “Of course not,” the Tribune said hastily, “and that’s not what the Senator is asking for, or even offering—”

  “Our arrangement was a simple one: information for cash. I’m going to make this very simple for you. The Senator already has the information, so do you have that cash: yes or no?” Judas asked coldly.

  The Imperial Tribune reached into his pocket and then leaned forward and handed a duralloy plate to the ship’s Purser who was standing to the side with his hand outstretched.

  “That doesn’t look l
ike any form of lucre I’m aware of, and I’ve seen them all,” replied Agent Judas, pulling out a blaster pistol in one smooth movement and leveling it at the Tribune’s head, “enough with the insults. I don’t care if you work for the Senator—pay or die.”

  “I have something from the Senator that’s even better than credits,” the Tribune said with an instinctive jerk of the head, but when the gun followed and other members of the ship’s crew moved to surround him, he froze with a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face.

  “Wrong answer,” said the Agent, pulling back the activator of his pistol with an ominous click and a high intensity whine started to build as the power capacitor cycled up to a maximum charge.

  “In your purser’s hand is a letter of marquee and reprisal, effectively making you an Imperial Privateer and at the same time legalizing all of your future actions within the Spineward Sectors,” the Tribune said, his voice quickening.

  “No. That is a metal plate that’s too thin to even be used as a hull armor patch. What I was promised were cold hard credits,” he said, making a motion with his head and pressing the barrel of his pistol against the Tribune’s head while on either side of him a burly pirate grabbed the Tribune by each arm and forced him to his knees on the deck. “This is your one chance to make your peace with this world before you leave it. I suggest you make use of this opportunity quickly.”

  “Look in my pocket!” the Imperial Tribune exclaimed, and then grunted while straining against the pirates but was unable to regain his feet. “There’s a chip with the location of a Heavy Cruiser and a small number of lighter warships. It’s a far better deal than any credits,” he grunted, sucking in a breath as Judas' pistol pressed against his forehead with renewed force.

  “So…not a coward,” Agent Judas said humorlessly and then pulled back his pistol with the audible click of the activator disconnecting, “a Heavy Cruiser, and more than that you say?. That’s not the deal I agreed to but in this case…I’ll allow you to live.”

  “Yes…y-yes,” the Tribune said, rising to his feet after the former pirate king gestured for his men to let him up. Angrily straightening his rumpled uniform, he glared at everyone around him—especially the men who had held him down.

  “Even though I’ve let you live...for now...don’t get too comfortable. This still wasn’t the original deal,” the ‘Commodore’ said with a chilling smile, “so what’s the catch?”

  “No catch, unless you consider continuing to do what you’ve been doing all along as a catch,” said the Tribune. “The only difference is that after taking those ships and agreeing to help the Senator, if you suddenly decided to take a six month vacation then that would have more severe consequences.”

  The pirate eyed the Imperial like a hunk of meat on the chopping block. “A detail so minor and inconsequential I wonder why you even brought it up,” Agent Judas said coldly, “you’re very brave for a man who has delivered himself into the power of his enemies.”

  “Forget me. Most people think of angering a Senator of the Empire and, as a result, the Empire itself as something more than just a minor matter,” shot back the Tribune, looking irked in a way that insults to his person had failed to achieve.

  “Most people are not me,” Judas sneered, “after you’ve been literally pulled from the grave there is little that can faze you. So, by all means—keep on digging.”

  “I understand you are familiar with the name Jason Montagne Vekna,” said the Tribune and smiled mockingly.

  His expression turned hard upon hearing that. “Take the Tribune to his quarters,” growled Jean Luc Montagne.

  Chapter 10: The Hot Potato Skirts the Grand Fleet of Liberation

  “Sir, I’ve got—!” started one of the Hot Potato's three operators in the cramped Sensor section.

  “Contacts!” cried the Junior Lieutenant in charge of Sensors.

  Captain Stravinsky’s head jerked over to the Junior Lieutenant and then back to the main screen, but there was still nothing showing.

  “I need better detail than that, Sensors,” scolded the ship’s First Officer.

  “Multiple contacts, Sir,” the Junior Lieutenant said right as the first dot appeared on the bridge’s main tactical plot, “hundreds of them, Sir,” he spoke urgently half a second before the main-screen started lighting up like a Christmas tree with yellow unidentified contacts.

  Stravinsky bolted out of her chair.

  “Take the ship to silent running and start recharging the jump engine—now!” she ordered.

  “Captain, we won’t be entirely stealthy if we try to recharge the jump engine. Despite the Potato’s modification it's better if we pick one or the other, and considering the time frame for charging a new point transfer and a rough estimate on how long it would take them to pin point our location and send a Destroyer our way, assuming they have one…,” said the ship’s First Officer.

  “Of course they have a Destroyer,” Stravinsky snapped and then something about the screen caught her attention. “Sensors, why are those contacts changing positions?” she asked censure in her voice.

  The Sensor Officer tensed for a moment, fingers tapping away on his console and then his shoulders slumped as if a great pressure had been taken off him. He turned to face the Captain. “That’s neither an artifact nor an error, Captain,” the Junior Lieutenant said with relief at being able to report positive news, “it appears from the gravity displacement sensors that the smaller starships in that fleet are jumping out of the system.”

  Stravinsky frowned. “Verify those readings,” she ordered and then turned to Navigation, “Ensign, I want you to work with Sensors to give me a best time estimate on how long before their larger ships jump.”

  “Aye aye, Captain,” piped back the far-too-young-looking Ensign.

  Several tense minutes passed as her bridge crew worked the data. The whole time they were working, Stravinsky had to stop from gritting her teeth. Running a Q-ship with a stripped down bridge crew, compared to the warships she’d served on in the past, was like going from a person with enhanced visual capabilities to someone with myopic vision who needed spectacles to see and didn’t have them. She just wasn’t used to waiting this long during crucial moments for data to be sorted.

  When the time estimates finally came back, it felt like the whole bridge heaved a sigh of relief.

  “They won’t all jump before they see us, but by the time they do they’ll be too far into their jump cycle to abort without risk of a catastrophic cascade event,” reported the Navigation Ensign.

  “Looks like you were right to continue to charge the jump engines, Captain,” said the First Officer.

  “Nothing has changed, XO; continue to charge the jump engines as fast as possible,” ordered Stravinsky irritably.

  “Yes, Captain,” agreed her First Officer, speaking with engineering before turning back to her, “we need to be ready in case they jump out and then send a patrol back to sweep us up, but we should be gone before they can send another ship back on a turnaround, right, Sir?”

  Behind her the Navigation Ensign shook her head in disagreement, earning narrowed eyes from the First Officer before he turned back to his Captain.

  “That might be the best case scenario, First Officer. But we won’t know for sure until it’s too late,” said Stravinsky, and at her First Officer’s surprise she shook her head in disappointment. “I can see that Navigation is already aware,” at this she looked up to include the whole bridge in what she was about to say, “look lively, people, and remember that yes it ‘looks’ like they have to make that jump, but so what? We’re one micro-jump away from a very bad day. All they need is one seasoned Captain and a crack Nav department who can run a new set of point transfer calculations before their countdown is up, and they’ll be right on top of us.”

  Crew members around bridge stiffened and the First Officer looked alarmed and his shoulders hunched.

  “Of course, Sir,” he said lamely.

  From it
s position on the outer edge the star system, the Hot Potato’s captain wiped sweat off of her forehead as Grand Fleet of Liberation slowly winked out, one by one, on the Hot Potato’s sensors.

  “That was one big fleet,” said the Potato’s Tactical Officer as, seemingly in entire battle groups, the Grand Fleet of Liberation blinked out.

  “Good riddance,” said Navigation from behind her console, looking like an oversized child with the way her well-cushioned chair seemed to swallow her in its embrace as the last of the ships finally jumped out of the star system.

  If the Grand fleet of Liberation had stopped to board them things could have gone badly. Fortunately they had jumped in while Grand Fleet had still been in the system but after they were already in a jump cycle.

  “You’re telling me? We don’t have anything much better than popguns on this beefed up freighter,” Tactical said scornfully.

  “That’s enough, Mr. Thornby,” the Captain said, her mouth tightening.

  “Sorry, Sir,” the Tactical Officer immediately wilted, realizing he’d crossed the line. Running down a ship in front of its Captain was an offense not to be taken lightly. More than one officer who otherwise had stellar performance had managed to get into his or her commanding officer’s black book for talking bad about a Captain’s ship. Even if it was a heap of trash it just wasn’t done.

  “The Potato may not be much of a warship when compared to traditional builds, but this is one merchant conversion that has the capability to take a more powerful foe’s head right off and before they even know we’re coming for her,” Captain Stravinsky said archly. “Remember, people: a Q-ship’s job isn’t to look like or even to be the biggest, bad-est warship on the block, her job is to sneak up on them while they’re not looking and take them out in one salvo before they have enough time to fully understand what’s happening to them,” said Captain Stravinsky.