Admiral's Challenge (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 8)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Expand on that,” I said neutrally as the gears in my mind began to churn at this unexpected tack taken by the young officer.

  “For instance,” she began passionately, “just how many major threats has this Fleet uncovered in, on, or just outside the border of human space outside of these two Sectors alone? I know we have major commitments in-Sector, but we can’t just close our eyes here, Sir.”

  “Give some examples and, Lieutenant Commander,” I said, looking hard into her eyes, “make them good.” It’s not that I couldn’t see where she was going with this—or potentially going, anyway—but I wasn’t going to make this in any way easy on her. She was going to have to work for it and I was still making no guarantees, even within the confines of my own mind.

  “Firstly, the Pirates of the Omicron; do we really believe that, with the current state of patrols on the border, every pirate in the Sector has just closed up shop and moved on?” she asked rhetorically.

  I gestured for her to get on with it.

  “So Pirates are a first. Then there are Imperial machinations like the Raubach forces raiding border worlds, hunting for lost or alien tech, and pursuing their own agenda. Also, there’s the ComStat network; these are two major pieces of intel we wouldn’t even know anything about if the Pride hadn’t been out there doing its job,” she said ticking off points as she went. “Also, I don’t think I even have to mention the Droids; you’re probably even more familiar with them than I am at this point. To my mind, that’s just another example of why we need a crew out there patrolling the border. How many more threats are out there that we don’t even know anything about? Can we really afford to close our eyes on this, Sir?”

  I ran a hand over my face. She was making far too much sense for the prodigy of a rogue operator like Tyrone Middleton. If it were left up to me, I probably would have washed my hands with border patrols and left at least Sectors 23 and 24 alone to patrol themselves. 25, however…I liked to think I would have sent out patrol forces sooner than later what with the new Border Alliance, but again, she was right: they did know a lot more about things on the ground than a fresh crew and new commander would.

  I didn’t like where this was leading. “What exactly do you envision, Lieutenant Commander McKnight?” I said and then paused. “If, say, you were put in charge of this…border monitoring operation.”

  “We need a ship, and a crew used to independent missions and long cruises,” she said, seizing the bait and running with it. “Moreover, its officers and representatives have to be familiar with the border as well as sensitive to local politics—something the Pride’s crew is very familiar with.”

  “Stop playing up your fellow officers and crew complement; we all know they’re familiar with the area and used to extended periods outside of direct supervision and the chain of command,” I said irritably.

  “The way I envision it is more than just a traditional, one-off independent cruiser command,” she said, sounding ever-so-slightly offended. “I see the need for something more along the lines of a Special Forces group. With the ship—or ships—crew, embarked Lancer forces, and funding to set up a series of informants and automated listening posts all along the border. If we can tap into the local information sources in a systematic way, we can expand on what the Pride and Captain Middleton has already done. Along with access to the ComStat network, these kinds of force multipliers will allow us to arrive with sufficient force, both in time to deal with threats and in such a way as to continue letting us hit above our weight class.”

  “That’s very ambitious,” I frowned, slow playing it as I thought it through.

  “We already have the local contacts, onboard specialists, and even some of the equipment we’d need in the form of that Cutter. I feel confident we can capture, buy, or acquire anything else we’re short of, Admiral,” she challenged me with her eyes. “Also, I and most of the crew already feel like it’s partly our duty to help out along the border regions. The Captain set a hard example to follow, but I think we’re up to the task. I sincerely hope for the Admiral’s support on this proposal.”

  My frown turned into a scowl as the unspoken potential of breaking up the crew and scattering them—even with promotions all around—that they might just leave the fleet and set up their own rogue operation on the border. I wasn’t entirely sure things would turn out that way but, even if it didn’t, she’d just made a lot of good points.

  Being a primarily political entity, the MSP had never developed a proper Special Operations, or even Intelligence branch like a real military organization would have done—an organization like, say, the Rim Fleet. Commodore Raubach had, apparently, acquired a genuine fleet under the old Rim Fleet banner, and McKnight’s report made clear that House Raubach had plenty of intel assets stationed throughout the Sectors.

  I guess the question I had to ask myself was this; did I need an operation like that set up to monitor the border regions? Unfortunately, the answer I kept coming up with was one that dashed my previous designs on what remained of Middleton’s command.

  That being the case, did I really want to risk McKnight following in Middleton’s prisoner executing, order disobeying tracks out there with backdoor access to the ComStat network and literally no oversight? They had a cutter and the remaining virtual assets of the man who had successfully hacked the ComStat network—not to mention all that local knowledge McKnight was so proud of. Written reports could only do so much.

  So even if they eventually slipped my control entirely, there might be a window here where I could make use of their little possibly-going-rogue organization. Perhaps I could bring in another ship and crew to tag along with them and learn the ropes so that if someday, Murphy avert, they followed in the footsteps of their captain and went entirely rogue I’d have already trained a parallel organization.

  Plus, who knew? They might all be loyal MSP followers from this point on, now that Middleton was out of the way permanently. I snorted at that particular thought.

  “It seems you’ve backed me into a corner, Lieutenant Commander,” I said with a smirk to take the edge off the harsh words. “I think I’ll take you up on your notion of a special forces group operating along the border, bringing chaos and ruination to our enemies.”

  “Wha-What? Thank you, Sir,” she said, in her surprise letting loose the fact that she hadn’t considered the idea that I’d agree to let her and the Pride’s people stay together—much less patrol the border—any real chance of success.

  “Have a written proposal drafted and sent to my inbox by the end of the week, and I’ll look into it to see what kind of assets we can shake free for this new group of yours,” I said, straightening seriously. “I can’t promise much right now, but we should be at least able to get you a few gunboats and another warship or two, in addition to that cutter one of your crew’s claiming for salvage. After we figure out what you’re going to have available, we’ll look at personnel and get back to you. Good enough?”

  “Thank you, Sir,” she said, her eyes shining with excitement behind her official reserve.

  “Think nothing of it,” I said evenly. Nothing at all, I thought, since as far as I can tell, it’s literally the least I could do….

  Chapter Sixteen: Sword Practice

  Parrying a blow to the side caused me to stagger as I lost my balance. Moving along with the force of the attack, I regained said balance and brought my sword around for another block.

  “Not good enough! You have to do better,” shouted my beloved wife, who had both hands placed on top of her belly and an angry look in her eye.

  After another parry, I brought the oversized pig-sticker up over my head and went on the offensive, bringing the dark, metal blade down and following up with a flurry of blows. It was still a little large for me, but thanks to my own initial exercise efforts and a recent, intensive training program—aka Akantha’s insistence—I could handle it a lot easier than before.

  However, all good things must come to an end. B
efore long, my flurry had passed and I was once again on the defensive, being pressed around the training ring.

  “Is that how you will fight when your children are under threat?” the Hold Mistress—who I was married to—demanded. “Know shame, Protector!”

  I gritted my teeth. While she had never been one to indulge in the finer points of courtesy, at least when it came to me, ever since our return to her home world she’d become particularly savage in her criticisms—to the point that I was beginning to lose my cool.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about; my sword fighting skills have improved several times since I met you,” I retorted, breathing heavily.

  “All it takes is one loss due to overconfidence; you won’t always have your battle-suit to guard you,” she retorted and then looked over at my opponent. “Put him down,” she ordered.

  After saying this, the Tracto-an I was sparring with changed his stance and started raining blows down on me fast and furiously. Speed-wise, I still had the edge but when it came to raw power even my genetically-modified self couldn’t compare.

  “You’re small and weakly built,” Akantha informed me as I was pushed around the training area barely able to defend myself from this overpowering series of attacks, “you have to use your speed and agility to win. Power and endurance can’t be your strategy.”

  Grimly, I hung on, not wanting to give either of them—my opponent or my lady-wife—the satisfaction of an easy defeat. That she continued to refer to me as ‘small,’ ‘weak,’ or ‘frail,’ was an endless source of irritation for me; just earlier that week I’d gotten to a six hundred pound max lift on squats—a personal best, though Akantha likely still held the advantage over me in that lift. But on the bench-press I had finally hit three hundred fifty pounds, which I happened to know was at least ten pounds better than her best effort.

  It seemed the genetic engineering worked into my own body was more extensive than I’d formerly suspected, and my work in the gym was paying off far better than I could have previously hoped—though I was doing my best to keep my actual strength a secret from everyone, including my wife…at least until I’d built up a more substantial edge over her on the bench.

  “I’d rather use cunning and guile to win,” I gasped out, since winning from afar or using trump cards up close was more my style anyway—and since I was surrounded by warriors who I’d likely never be able to beat on a purely physical basis.

  The next thing I knew, I was laying flat on my back staring up at the ceiling with my opponent standing over me pointing his sword at my throat.

  “Match!” Akantha called out while my training partner looked down at me and shook his head.

  My eyes narrowed and I scowled up at him. Dismissing me with his eye, my sparring partner turned and exited the room, after which I sat up with a groan.

  “Less talk, more training,” Akantha said smacking me on the back of the head.

  “Ow—careful, there,” I protested, guarding my tender head with my hands.

  “How do you expect to win challenges if this is the best you can do?” she demanded sounding decidedly unimpressed—something that had been happening more and more over the past week.

  “I think I’ve done fairly well up to this point,” I flared back at her.

  “I will not have the fate of my House and Hold dependent on blind luck! Demedius is one of the best sword instructors in Argos; you need to take this seriously and apply yourself,” she said strictly and looking as if she were disappointed with me.

  “I have been applying myself,” I said, looking at her with disbelief, “what do you call an hour two times a day, on top of physical training? My lady, I started training when I was young and have rededicated myself to improving these past months, but I wasn’t born to the sword like your people. I think I’ve been doing fairly well.”

  “It’s not good enough,” she said bluntly and turned away.

  “Well, excuse me for living,” I muttered under my breath and turned away to hit the showers. From her increasing emphasis on training I knew something was probably up and, given our return to Tracto and the renewed emphasis on sword training, it didn’t take too many guesses as to what kind of problems they were. A challenge—or challenges—were probably in my future, which was part of why I’d only made the one visit down to the surface to visit the star-born colony on Messene. I figured if I limited the access of people who wanted to kill me to those who could get on board the ships of this fleet, I should be able to minimize any problems.

  Still, my beloved battle-axe was a smart individual and even after the precautions I had taken she was still concerned. So while it could potentially be attributed to pregnancy hormones, the smart money was on not taking any of those kinds of chances.

  Meaning maybe it was time to take some extra precautions above and beyond this enhanced training regimen. I mean, honestly, I didn’t mind the exercise—and improving my close-in fighting skills was something I’d learned that an Admiral was wise never to skimp on. But even still, like I’d just said to her: I’d rather win through the use of cunning and guile rather than basing my battle plan on overpowering or out-skilling the top examples of a people who were born with a sword in each hand.

  That’s why, as useful as it could turn out to be, Akantha’s overbearing training regimen ought to remain as the backup plan…at least for now.

  So, whistling tunelessly, I decided to take a page out of the late and much unlamented Jean Luc’s plan for success in close encounters and headed back down to medical.

  On the trip through the lift, I wondered if Tiberius and the rest of his mutineers were enjoying their stay in the brig. I had nothing concrete on my sister, Crystal, so that had to wait, but there was no need to worry myself sick about the younger Spalding. Far easier instead for them to take a nice comfortable time out behind bars at least until I found a convenient way to get rid of them in a more permanent fashion.

  Chapter Seventeen: A Spot of Trouble

  “You did what!?” Akantha exclaimed.

  “Now, Lady Akantha, there’s no need to get all riled up over this,” Commander Spalding said hurriedly, “consider your condition, I beg of you. This was a simple engineering transaction…a-an equipment exchange, as it were!”

  “You gave away all my slaves and threw your own son in the brig!” the Hold Mistress thundered.

  “Now-now,” he said, sweat breaking out on his brow as he tried to calm the troubled waters he’d just stirred up, “I didn’t give away a thing. I just needed to find a way to get those captured Conformity Motherships out of Elysium and, well, the Droids had us by the short-and-curlies. I had to make the deal, and better eight warships than a few disaffected men press-ganged into service. Don’t you think?” He took a deep breath, “And as for that boy of mine, it was the Admiral who put him there and it’s a mercy besides. Even I can’t say it’s not half as much as he deserves.”

  The Hold Mistress bit her lip and started pacing, and the old Chief Engineer wisely held his peace.

  “These new allies of mine are proving to be quite vexing!” she finally declared rounding on him as if it were somehow his fault. “No sooner do I go down to visit my Holding than every woman—and her mother—tries to bend my ear against the metal demons. Then this! No sooner is my back turned, to deal with the disturbed people of the realm, than I am beset by the very prisoner-stealing demons I have just assured the people are not a threat!”

  “The burdens of command aren’t to be trifled with,” the old Engineer sighed, “I’m sorry to have set your head on its side, lass. I figured two squadrons of the line were better than a mess of prisoners in need of guarding. If I made the wrong call, all I can say is that I’ll try to make it up to you.”

  Akantha’s face reddened and then she waved her hand irritably, and Spalding watched her carefully—knowing the lass could be a mite volatile , given the circumstances.

  “In the end, what are a few thousand slaves here or there,” she final
ly declared unhappily.

  “I’m thankful to the Lady for her consideration,” Spalding said humbly.

  “But,” the Hold Mistress said raising a pair of fingers stopping him in his tracks and giving his heart a small jolt, “if I had to trade these ships for my personal droids then I want to make sure they’re properly named; none of this Rapid Ranger or The Gift, nonsense. These warships should have proper Tracto-an and, more importantly, Messene-derived names,” she declared.

  “Urrr,” Spalding uttered wondering just what he’d got himself into, “what was the Lady thinking?”

  “Lady’s Vengeance, Messene’s Terror, Dark Sword of Messene, Hold Mistress’s Revenge,” she said blithely, listing off a few names as if they came off the top of her head and then her face screwed up as if she’d tasted something slightly bitter. “We should probably have one like Protector’s Might or something along those lines. I’ll have to think upon it in more detail.”

  “I can pass those names onto the Admiral,” Spalding decided aloud.

  “Why would you bother him with that?” Akantha asked, her brow furrowed. “Since they were purchased with my assets, they are rightfully the property of Hold Messene. They will of course be at his disposal, as Messene’s Protector and Supreme military leader, but it is my right to designate their names and such.”

  “Ah, I think I’ll let him know just the same, if you don’t mind,” the old Engineer said, wondering just what he’d gotten himself into and trying to backpedal. “Still…don’t you think naming is a bit premature? I mean,” he added hastily, “I’m sure they’re fine names, but we still have a passel of repairs to get through before we can even be sure they’re space-worthy. Some of them might not even be repairable; we’ll have to put them into a space dock first and see if we can bang out the dents.”