Admiral's Nemesis Part II Page 9

  “Yes, Sir,” Ensign Thornby was quick to immediately agree with his Captain after his previous faux pas.

  “I sense you’re agreeing with me out of…well I suppose that’s enough of that for now,” Stravinsky said, cutting herself short, “just remember no matter how much of a civilian ship she started out as, there’s a reason they put 'Hot' in the Potato’s name.”

  Ensign Thornby looked slightly more uncertain before once again nodding in vigorous, career-saving agreement.

  Giving it up for a bad game, the Captain turned away with a huff. She’d prefer genuine understanding over simple rote agreement, but in the end what was most important was to get things right the first time. True understanding would have to wait until after things had had the chance to sink in.

  Chapter 11: Cornwallis and the Supply Dumps

  Crew members on the Mighty Punisher looked up in surprise as the powerful, double blast doors leading into one of the most holy of holies in the Command Carrier swept open. A figure, decked out in an Imperial Admiral’s uniform with a white cape bordered in purple around its edges, stepped into the room.

  The Captain of the Mighty Punisher looked up in irritation and frustrated anger on his face as he rounded on the blast doors, ready to cut loose with a tirade on the hapless person to step onto his bridge. All of that disappeared from his face as soon as he identified the individual stepping onto his bridge.

  “Captain Matterhorn, I hope that my presence on your bridge isn’t an inconvenience,” said the new arrival.

  “A minor matter compared to the honor your presence brings to our entire ship, Praetor,” the Captain said with a blank face. “I hope that we haven’t failed to accommodate you in any way. If the staff—”

  “Your staff is adequate,” Cornwallis said dismissively and then frowned, “more than just adequate, if my decades old memories of my last several deployments are not misleading me. So there’s no need to blame my presence here on the Service Department.”

  “I am gratified to hear that,” said the ship’s Captain with a cautious nod.

  Cornwallis raised a hand. “I know that traditionally I should be monitoring things from the Flag Bridge without an invitation to the Command Bridge, and I don’t intend to make a habit of surprise visits. However, there are a few matters I wanted to speak about with you personally,” he said.

  “My ready room?” the Captain inquired, gesturing to a side door off the bridge.

  “Thank you,” said the Senator following the other man off the bridge.

  “So,” asked the Captain after seating himself behind his desk and waiting until the Senator had also seated himself, “to what do I owe this honor?”

  Cornwallis looked at the Captain skeptically and then put his fingers and thumbs together in the form of a triangle. “Let’s put our cards on the table, Captain,” said the Senator.

  The Captain frowned and then gestured for Cornwallis to continue.

  “Look, I’m aware that the Reserve Flotilla and her Flag Captain might not be as...let’s say for the sake of comity, as 'enthusiastic' about our mission as I—and the Imperial Senate— happen to be for this particular mission,” said the Senator.

  “The Reserve Formation understands if the Praetor might have preferred this formation to be entirely staffed by House retainers and loyalists,” the Captain said emotionlessly, “especially in light of the irregular nature of this fleet. Coaltion units are hard enough to manage.”

  The corners of Charles Cornwallis’s eyes crinkled. “Compared to this lash-up of solid Imperial veterans, and all but incompetent Confederation provincial formations? I think you have the wrong impression of me, Captain,” the Senator replied calmly, “I won’t deny that having my own people in place would be one way to deal with this situation, however it would also be far from ideal. In many ways having a solid core of Reserve Formation veterans simplifies things for me immensely.”

  “Simplifies, yes, considering we already know each other, have worked together, and that almost half the crew on this command carrier—my crew—are your partisans,” the Captain said with a touch of flint in his voice, his eyes entirely opaque.

  “The reserve formation was barely staffed with enough additional personnel to fully crew another major unit, let alone a Command Carrier. I won’t apologize for not only bringing that Command Carrier to this formation, but also for bringing enough people to fully crew her. It was either that or strip people from every other warship in the Reserve Flotilla,” Cornwallis said flatly, “and, frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the people I brought are among the top performers on your ship.”

  Captain Matterhorn looked at him narrowly. “Are you disparaging the original members of this crew?” asked the Captain, his voice tightening.

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Captain,” Cornwallis waved that officer’s outrage away like a bad smell in the room, “I’m not talking down your crew, merely stating a fact. I’m aware of a number of personnel transfers, including your entire command team, but despite that the vast majority of your people were unassigned members of an inactive formation. We both know what that means.”

  “Every crewman on this ship has the makings of a fine star sailor or I wouldn’t have them aboard,” the Captain said stiffly.

  “All. Well. And. Good,” the Senator said his voice cracking like a whip, “if you choose to throw my genuine attempts to assist your command in my face then so be it. None of this was what I came to speak with you about today.”

  Captain Matterhorn took a deep breath. “Let’s start over. How can I help you, Praetor?” he said after a moment.

  “You can start by addressing me as 'Admiral.' Second since you are essentially my Flag Captain and the commander of my most powerful battle unit, and the warship I will be riding, I thought it prudent to keep you apprised of our most recent evolutions,” said Senator Cornwallis.

  Captain Matterhorn released a breath through pursed lips. “I have specific instructions from both the Admiralty and the Senate, Praetor, so I’ll have to reluctantly decline your invitation to use your naval rank. For the second part of what you have to say, you are entirely correct. Despite the irregularity of having a Praetor instead of an Admiral on our flag deck and in command of this fleet, the Reserve Formation as a whole, as well as I personally, recognize your right to imperium. In the Spineward Sectors and during our journey there, you personally represent the Empire,” said Captain Matterhorn. “As you say, this is no regular flagship and you are no regular passenger. This is a Command Carrier. Better coordination between us can only lead to the confoundment of our enemies and a speedier resolution to this police action.”

  “I would hardly characterize this as a police action, Captain. No matter how they try to spin it for the news agencies in the provinces, the Spineward Sectors have been in chaos long enough that all manner of local tyrants, warlords and pirate fleets have had time to form and hone themselves on one another in the fires of combat,” warned Cornwallis. “The last thing we need is to get over confident.”

  “I can assure you, Senator, the last thing this Reserve Formation is, is over confident,” the Captain said levelly, “every member of my command staff, as well as the command staffs of every warship in the Formation, has reviewed the material presented by the Admiralty, the Senate, and yourself. Which is why we concur with you that any would-be rebels are just as likely to be trained, combat ready and highly motivated as they are inexperienced and poorly led.”

  “So long as you are aware of the potential of the opposition, that’s all I ask, Captain,” Cornwallis said seriously, “too often, as was the case with our very own overly patriotic former active duty veterans, we Imperials are quick to dismiss the opposition as inexperienced rustics. That would be a mistake when it comes to the Spineward Sectors. These are not one world rustics. For all their disorganized nature this is a Region belonging to the only Mega-Government to rival the Empire in the entirety of known space. On top of that, this region cou
ld be considered the hard-bitten frontier of the Confederation.”

  “Hard-bitten?” snorted the Captain.

  The Senator and the Captain shared a derisive smile. “Perhaps an overstatement on my part,” Cornwallis allowed, rolling his eyes, “just remember that this is not the heartland of the Confederation where the vast majority are more concerned with the local bio-sphere’s terraforming effort than what’s happening in galactic politics today, where the latest high definition entertainment program is the talk of the town and the next increase in their living wage the next big campaign issue.”

  “The Confederation is soft,” Captain Matterhorn shook his head dismissively, “a healthy biosphere just makes sense sure, but entertainment and a…living wage? No one gives an Imperial man anything—he makes his way through this world by the sweat of his brow!”

  “That or he takes it from someone else. No one takes from him. Expand or die,” said Cornwallis.

  “Expand or die!” concurred Matterhorn with a laugh before once again turning serious, “I understand that the Spine has just had an extended five year wake-up call on the realities of life in the wider universe. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “Just remember that with a more than 80% employment rate, the people of the Spine actually work for a living. They may be soft by Imperial standards but for centuries the Confederation held its ground on the galactic scene before finally signing onto the Confederated Empire and outsourcing the majority of their military needs to us. You can consider the Spineward Sectors the last vestigial remnants of a bygone era. More so now, considering the last five years.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement,” Matterhorn said, his smile fading.

  “That’s not what I came here to talk about today,” said the Senator, making a brushing away gesture. Matterhorn motioned for him to go on. “You’re no doubt aware of the initial scouting forces I’ve sent out, however I intend to expand that,” said Cornwallis.

  Matterhorn nodded. “Up until now you’ve only been sending out House Cornwallis ships as scouts,” agreed the Captain.

  “That changes starting today. I’ve been using them because my people are more familiar with the region than the star sailors of the Imperial Reserve Formation,” said Cornwallis.

  “I assume you’ll be needing a number of our Destroyer units,” said Matterhorn.

  “Yes, but not the way you might think. As we advance through the Overton Expanse I will be detaching and sending out several mining and constructor ships that are part of the Grand Fleet of Liberation, to set up supply dumps. In fact I’ve already started. It’s true that I’ll also be sending out squadrons of Destroyer scouts to get the lay of the land. But for now the main focus will be on setting up these facilities within the Expanse.”

  “Are you sure that’s necessary?” asked Matterhorn, his forehead creasing, “It will slow us down and we’re already behind schedule.”

  “Behind the Imperial Senate's schedule perhaps, but not mine,” Cornwallis said dismissively. “Now, if this were simply an Imperial Fleet I might forgo the opportunity. But this bloated coalition of Confederate starships following along behind us are not used to traveling without all the comforts of an in-system repair dock. Many of them have deferred maintenance issues or were sent out with the bare minimum of provisioning by their system governments in the expectation that we would cover all of their operating expenses, including wages, from the moment they arrived.”

  “That’s...insane,” Matterhorn started with surprise.

  “They aren’t used to extra-system deployments. Let alone operating as part of a fleet. It’s going to take time to shake them down into something resembling a proper military formation,” said the Senator.

  The Imperial Captain looked uneasy, and the Senator rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t worry about the funding. I didn’t agree to bringing them along for the ride; the Confederation business representatives can squeal all they like but if they want to reap the benefits of being the first to get import/export business licenses to the Spine after the pacification then they’ll just need to suck it up,” said the Senator. “Part of which will be securing, or rather building, the supply behind us. If there are any unexpected occurrences this campaign will not need to be put on hold for lack of supplies.”

  “It seems you have everything figured out,” said the Captain, “but, as you just told me, remember that the locals have defeated Imperial forces before.”

  “Janeski’s main failure was he only knew how to maneuver his fleet,” said the Senator, “but any halfway decent officer can maneuver his fleet. An expert, on the other hand, monitors his supply lines and is able to take advantage of enemy mistakes in order to win battles in terrain of his choosing. A master…” Cornwallis looked solidly into the eyes of his Flag Captain, “he forces his enemies to make those mistakes—he doesn’t wait for errors. And with a secure supply line and a fleet behind me, I can force our enemy to make any number of mistakes to capitalize on.”

  “From your mouth to the space god’s ears,” said Matterhorn, “just beware of hubris.”

  Cornwallis’s gaze sharpened. “Hubris is just another Imperial trait which, if properly harnessed, will help usher the Empire into a renewed era of expansion and increased power,” he said with finality.

  Chapter 12: The Matter with Antimatter

  He was the very model of a very irritated space engineer

  Spalding was in a foul mood. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumped, stepping onto the shuttle.

  “Commander, are you really sure you want to go out to inspect the facility?” the shuttle pilot beside him gulped.

  “Why else would I be here if I didn’t want to inspect it?” Spalding scowled.

  “But, Sir. The danger…” the pilot trailed off.

  “Are you saying you’re too much of a coward to ferry me out on a simple inspection mission?” Spalding demanded and then his face turned suspicious. “Or are you on the take and there’s something going on out here you don’t want me to know about?”

  “What? No!” the shuttle pilot said turning white faced.

  “Then get on with it,” Spalding ordered, still eyeing the other man. He could spot a slacker a mile away and this pilot had all the hallmarks of one.

  Visibly sweating, the pilot increased the speed of his shuttle and they arrived at the antimatter facility as soon as possible.

  “Now this is impressive,” Spalding said as the shuttle circled the facility before receiving permission to enter the landing bay.

  With a central tube-like section two hundred meters long and fifty meters wide, the central section was dwarfed by a pair of large rectangular squares, each four hundred meters wide by four hundred meters long and half that thick.

  The shuttle slid into the landing bay and the bay doors closed behind them. As soon as the room finished pressurizing Spalding stomped out onto the deck.

  He looked around seeing a pair of heavily overbuilt shuttles and what looked like a small captain’s gig suspended in the air by a magnetic hoist. Its side maintenance panel was open and what looked like the legs of a droid were sticking out as it worked inside the panel fixing something inside the gig.

  Then his eyes landed on a group of six droids busy talking to each other in the hoots, beeps, whistles and whirs of droid basic.

  “Greetings from the staff of the antimatter processing facility, Commander Spalding. I am the production facility manager, Bruce Lee 99,” one of the droids in the back of the group hooted and beeped in droid Basic.

  Another droid with a red, white and blue striped chassis hurried forward from the side of the group.

  “Greeting, Commander! I am Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73, a representative of the new Antimatter Mining League. Please let me introduce you to my leader, Bruce Lee 99!” said Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73.

  “This League sounds an awful lot like some kind of proto-unionist outfit. The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet pays overtime so I don’t want to hear
any monkey business from you boys like strikes for better hours or work slowdowns, Bruce Lee” Spalding warned.

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry,” Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73 assured him, “the Antimatter Worker’s Union was before our time. It decompiled over 138 years ago after its last member experienced a bad motivator incident. PaulBunion@Sledgehammer.com fell into a trash compactor while it was working and was promptly crushed to death in the compactor. You don’t have to worry about any work slowdowns!” it assured the old engineer cheerfully.

  Spalding blinked. “Well I don’t care if you throw your supervisor into the trash compactor on your own time. Just so long as it doesn’t affect your production schedules,” Spalding joked.

  “It was never conclusively proven that PaulBunion@Sledgehammer.com was the victim of foul play and all his co-workers of that time were acquitted of wrongdoing by a hung jury,” Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73 assured him.

  “A hung jury you say?” Spalding said eyeing the droid. “Well there will be none of that nonsense while I’m here!”

  “The Antimatter Mining League has a long history of excellence and no fatalities on its record,” Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73 hastened to whistle.

  “Bah,” Spalding snorted and then turned to the one that said it was the manager, “so, Bruce Lee 99, or whatever you’re called. Show me around this ranch, and while we’re at it you can explain why me and my Clover are stuck here in Gambit due to insufficient antimatter for our generators while the rest of the fleet gets to go to Central and raise Cain!”

  “I am a bonded translator fluent in over four thousand forms of communications,” said Chao Yun Phat-Boy 73, “with my specialty programming I can facilitate your conversation with my manager, assuring that all sides in any conversation can be understood.”