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

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “I’m sure that, if anyone can, you will be able to return my new ships to perfect fighting condition,” Akantha said breezily, “and if it can’t be done then the name can just wait for the next ship to join our army—or Fleet as they call it out here.”

  “I’ll do my best, of course,” Spalding said urgently, “but there are a few structural issues that still need working out—”

  “Details,” Akantha declared, as if this simple utterance removed it from further consideration. “No, the main thing I’m concerned about is what you’ve done with my other wizard! A few slaves—even a few thousand—do not hold a candle to this loss. Are you certain he cannot be brought around to our side and way of thinking?” she asked with concern.

  “Eh,” Spalding muttered darkly, “I’m afraid the boy loves his elections more than he does common, blasted, sense. So long as his tyrants are elected all proper like, with due process and everything, then he’ll want to follow the will of the people and obey them—even if it means he has to turn against us. I’m afraid the Admiral’s more than right to lock him up so he and his men can’t do any more damage.”

  “World of Men…I’d hoped for a different answer from you!” Akantha cursed vigorously. “Well, if it can’t be helped, then it can’t. Just keep an eye on the situation if you can. I have made an investment in that Wizard and I am uneager to let it go easy.”

  “I’ll do my best for you, my Lady, you know that. But I do think that this is all for the best,” Spalding said heavily.

  Looking decidedly unhappy, Akantha nodded.

  Chapter Eighteen: The Reward for Good Work is More Work

  “And that’s how it is, Admiral,” Spalding said with satisfaction, “I wouldn’t say she particularly liked it, but she’s got a good head on her. She may rumble and grumble a bit still, but the Lady Akantha’s onboard with the personnel transfer.”

  I shook my head in partial disbelief and partially because ‘personnel transfer’ sounded a lot better than prisoner exchange—or, worse, slave sale. I clenched my fist. That such words even entered my lexicon thanks to my ‘beloved Hold Mistress’ was enough to roil my stomach and put me on the path to developing ulcers.

  “Good work,” I grumbled.

  “Well and so it is,” Spalding nodded sagely, “but if’n you don’t mind, I think it’s time to get back down where I belong and make sure this ship’s engineering department is still on a level keel—begging the Admiral’s pardon.”

  Not waiting for my reply, the old Engineer started for the door.

  I hesitated and then lifted my hand. “If you could hold a moment, Commander, I have something I want to run by you,” I finally said.

  Back stiffening, Chief Engineer Spalding turned around reluctantly.

  “What can I do you for, Sir?” he asked a touch testily. “I’ve got a job lot of work waiting for me down in engineering, with this new ship you and Captain Hammer dumped in my lap. I’ve got enough work for three men, and only a tenth the engineers I need to do the job done. Why, I’ve got grease monkeys patching and welding battle damage and assistant gunners splicing power lines and wiring junction boxes, and now with all these blasted greenhorns underfoot—”

  “It’s a miracle you’ve managed to keep this fleet running as long as you have,” I cut in seriously.

  “You’re absolutely right; it’s a blooming miracle!” Spalding harrumphed. “Sweet Murphy, a man can hardly turn around now without tripping over some eager, ham-handed groundside mechanic suddenly under foot! What we need are trained engineers, not a gaggle of enthusiasts looking to turn this ship into some kind of suped-up ride! Battleships are not hover cars; you can only tune the engines up so far,” he threw his hands in the air.

  “I’m sure you can handle it,” I soothed.

  “You’re dag-blasted right I can handle it! There’ll be no slackers on my deck plating,” the old engineer said, defiantly jutting out his chin.

  “Which is exactly why I called you here,” I smoothly inserted.

  “What?” Spalding blinked several times, thrown off his usual belligerent stride by praise and agreement.

  “You’ve done a good job—truly,” I continued to praise.

  “W…well of course I have…I mean, it’s not every day you get an engineer of my accomplishments running your ship. Why, breaking in greenhorns and slackers could even be considered one of my special skills,” Spalding nodded knowingly.

  “But you know what they say about the reward for doing good work,” I said warningly.

  Spalding nodded several times and then stopped mid-nod a look of alarm crossing his face as he started to raise his hands in negation.

  “That the only real reward for good work is of course more work!” I said triumphantly.

  “Now, lad, have some pity on an old engineer,” Spalding said pitifully, “these old joints aren’t what they used to be you know!”

  I looked at his not even three-years-old mechanical arms and legs and stared.

  Spalding flushed. “These joints are starting to make noises something awful; in need of a complete overhaul, they are,” the old man protested shamelessly. “Those who are simply biologically-built cannot understand the plight of the mechanical man.”

  “Uh huh,” I said skeptically.

  “Oh, just get on with whatever task you’ve got on your mind and be done with it,” Spalding threw his hands in the air. “It’s not like one more straw is going to break the camel’s back; what’s one more job pushed off onto a lonely old engineer with six jobs and a pile of work orders overflowing the intake bin?”

  “So long as you’re sure,” I said, willingly throwing salt into the wounds. I knew I shouldn’t but it was just too amusing to watch the old man spin himself up into a tizzy.

  “Are you sure this isn’t a mountain you want me to fix instead of an honest battleship?” Spalding grunted, plopping himself back down in the seat.

  “Speaking of battleships,” I said winningly, which caused Spalding’s face to instantly close down, “I’d like you to go over and pay another visit to our mechanical friends.”

  “What is it you want the long-suffering Spalding—a man who’s forgotten almost as soon as he’s out of sight until he’s needed—to do?” Spalding asked with ill humor.

  “We all greatly appreciate your work here,” I assured the other man,. “If I haven’t said it lately, well done, Terrance,” I said with genuine feeling.

  The old engineer looked embarrassed. “Oh, just get on with it,” he mumbled.

  “Right,” I said, deciding to just dive right into it, “the United Sentient Assembly has a battleship—a battleship I need. You’re going to go over there and get it for me.”

  “What the blazes? Do you just think battleships grow on trees?! I’m not such a smooth talker that I can just finagle a full blown ship of the wall out of those mechanicals,” Spalding spouted indignantly.

  “I don’t want you to just up and take it; I’m a reasonable man,” I replied without a hint of apology, and then I smiled broadly. “As I recall, we happen to have a surplus of captured droid warships at the moment.”

  “Now, just hold on; what are you trying to pull here? We need those ships,” Spalding argued, his voice rising with alarm.

  “The way I see it, eight ships with no life support are four more than we need. And besides, weren’t we using droid crews with Droid Assembly officers to run them anyway? I think the Assembly would be most interested in a squadron of ships with antimatter pumped spinal lasers. While I on the other hand am very interested in human built battleships,” I finished with a feral smile.

  “But a squadron of cruisers for a battleship…” Spalding said doubtfully.

  “They know the ships intimately, they have experienced crews already trained and ready to operate them, and they’d be doing me a big favor,” I said, ticking the points off on my hand.

  “But the antimatter,” Spalding said despairingly.

  I gave him a hard look. �
�I know you squirreled away a large amount of equipment from the droid derelicts that we couldn’t take with us. So you may want those extra ships, but you don’t need them. Make the deal, Commander.” I instructed.

  “Aye, Sir,” the Chief Engineer said, looking like he was tasting something sour.

  “Good man; I knew I could rely on you,” I said with satisfaction.

  The old cyborg harrumphed, but his face relaxed fractionally. Then his eyes shot back to me and he glared. “I may be a master when it comes to machines, but that doesn’t make me some kind of infernal droid whisperer,” he warned, leveling a finger at me. “What if they won’t go for the four Mothership deal?” he demanded placing his hands on his hips.

  I opened my hand and shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned we really only need one of those Conformity Motherships, and since that’s just for study purposes, ‘need’ is a very strong word,” I shrugged.

  The old engineer’s eyes widened with alarm and he practically choked. Recovering after a few seconds, he frowned thunderously as a fire lit in his eyes.

  “Unless of course you think someone else could do a better job of prying that battleship out of their metallic hands…” I trailed off suggestively.

  “No!” Spalding said, literally jumping out of his chair and clanging his feet against the deck. “You send someone else and those droids’ll fleece him or her in no time. Why, sending anyone else would be the same as giving away free equipment; is this some kind of space-based yard sale, giveaway, swap meet?” he smashed his hands together. “You just leave this in my hands, Admiral. Old Spalding will take care of everything.”

  “Alright then,” I agreed, hiding a grin behind a cough into my fist. I liked it when a plan came together just like I’d hoped it would. Once the Chief Engineer got his hands on a piece of equipment—much less a fully-fledged warship—he never willingly let go. By tacitly saying I’d give the negotiations over to someone else after indicating how free handed I was willing to be I’d suspected it would get the Chief Engineer invested in the hoped for project. From the looks of it, I’d been right.

  “Two squadrons of cruisers for a single battered, wreck of a battleship…ha!” Spalding was obviously speaking to himself as he headed out the door. “What’s next? Trading away trillium for space ice at a pound for pound ratio! Why, the number of times I’ve seen flag-ranked—” he continued his grumbling as the door slid shut, cutting him off—at least from my perspective—mid-tirade.

  I leaned back in my chair and smiled. Now hopefully the Droids would be just as reasonable as the Chief Engineer. Fortunately, there wasn’t a better man for the job in this Fleet than Chief Engineer Terrance Spalding.

  Chapter Nineteen: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

  There was a high-pitched buzzing sound after Spalding had finished with his carefully-considered proposal.

  “If you just came here to insult our processors then I suggest you re-embark the shuttle you arrived on!” exclaimed the Droid Overseer he’d spoken with last time.

  “It was an honest offer,” Spalding snapped.

  “Maybe you are one of the so-called middle management executives who use the company starship for private jaunts at corporate expense!” cried the machine, its voice synthesizer cutting in and out toward the end of its accusation.

  “I don’t know about your processor—the jury’s still out on that one—but your vox-box needs some work,” the Chief Engineer shot back. “Don’t worry, though; I’ve got plenty of spares back on the flagship. Just give the word and I’ll send some over—install it myself, I will!”

  “An insult,” shouted the droid, waving its hands in the air, “and from an expense-account-exploiting, Senior—”

  “Hey, now, I’m not some joy-rider out visiting you for the fun of it; I’m a hard-working professional without the time to fiddle-faddle around here! You think I catch a ride across the system every day of the week just for fun?” the Chief Engineer demanded, genuinely outraged. “What kind of engineer you take me for? Lining my pockets with Fleet credits—bah!”

  “Clearly you have no interest in a reasonable exchange,” the droid said coldly, “this negotiation is over!”

  “Alright, three of those Mothership class cruiser platforms,” Spalding grumped, and then leveled a finger at the machine and waggled his finger at it, “but I get to pick which ones that go!”

  “This is an outrage!” the Droid jumped to its feet, “even if I was going to agree to such a trade, if I exchanged a battleship for only three Mothership vessels I’d be disassembled and my spare parts auctioned off to the highest bidder just to pay off the massive discrepancy in value!”

  The droid leaned forward and Spalding bared his teeth matching the machine glare for glare. He’d spit blood and sell off his right and left leg before he gave away one ton of equipment more than he had to.

  “No less than seven of the Conformity cruiser platforms—and all of the gunboats you have acquired,” the Droid snapped.

  “Seven?!” Spalding cried, reeling back as a great pain built in his chest at the mere thought of it. “What do you take me for, a used starship salesman? These warships are in top condition—your own crews that rode them here to Tracto can tell you that themselves! Why don’t you just ask for an arm and a leg while we’re at it—and as far the gunboats, those are non-negotiable; I’ve got plans for those babies.”

  “Seven,” the droid insisted, “and those spare parts you looted from the broken derelicts of the same class back in Elysium.”

  Spalding hid a smile; he had him now. At this point it was just a matter of bringing things back down to a reasonable number. Of course, he couldn’t let the fool-headed machine know that. So he pasted on an outraged look and quickly shook his head.

  “Saint Murphy of the Deep but what do you take me for? I’m an engineer, not a production facility. What’s your name anyway?” the Chief Engineer asked belligerently. “I want to have a talk with your supervisor—someone with real authority—so I can get this ironed out before time runs out and the Admiral trades away those Motherships to someone else.”

  “You can call me ‘Negotiating from a Superior Position,’ and the only one you’ll be speaking with is me,” the Droid declared. “As for the idea of trading away those Conformity warships to someone else, I can say with confidence that it is an utterly laughable proposition. Who would take warships without life support systems—warships designed for direct machine interfaces? The lack of sufficient manual controls alone would cut their value in half, at least!”

  “I can think of a few monkey boys over in orbit, with more gear in their head than common sense, who might like the idea,” Spalding grunted skeptically and then bragged. “Why, I bet I could even hook them up with some portable life support systems. Have to be external, though, so I don’t know how well that’d work in combat. But for a cruiser…” he trailed off, lost in thoughts of retrofitting the droid ships for Sundered crews.

  “And you reveal yourself to be a biased, discriminatory unit of the first rank!” exclaimed the Droid glaring at the old engineer.

  “Just who do you take me for…Droid?” he started with a good head of steam, but was unable for the life of him to remember the mouthful of a name the droid had bestowed upon itself. “You’ve got a few screws loose if you think I’m some kind of—”

  “Monkey boy—screws loose! It seems that Captain Moonlight is not just anti-machine, but anti-uplift as well,” the droid declared self-righteously.

  “Now, hold on just a minute,” Spalding protested angrily.

  “Wait until word gets around the Star System; you’ll have a visit from groups of outraged workers eager to learn your position on the subject directly,” the droid said.

  “My position? Outraged worker? You’ve got sprockets for brains, machine. I’m here to peddle warships, not be wrongly accused as some kind of closet bigot,” Spalding said angrily. “One more word out of your mouth and I’ll—” his fist clenched.

 
; The door behind him swished open, and a floating, black metal ball at least two feet in diameter with blinking lights all over its surface rushed into the room.

  “This is Report Camera #2 – The Discerning Gaze – part of Tracto Star System’s very own third established news network The Daily Update. We are transmitting to you live from Assembly Constructor: The Non-Partisan Non-Denominational Assembler,” declared the two foot diameter ball of blinking metal, and Spalding noticed a small microphone extended toward Spalding from the floater’s main body. “Commander Terrence P. Spalding, Chief Engineer of the MSP Flagship, this is an exciting time for The Daily Update news network; we’d like to thank you for joining us!”

  “Hold on,” Spalding said, pushing the microphone away, “I’m here to cut a deal, not go on a news interview.”

  The droid gasped with joy. “Ah! A secret meeting! Negotiating from a Superior Position didn’t even intimate that you were taking part in secret, under the table news negotiations,” the ball squealed. “What a scoop!”

  The Overseer Droid he’d been negotiating with gave Spalding a glare, which the old engineer returned with interest before quickly turning to the metal ball.

  “This meeting is on the schedule, and all the appropriate permits, authorizations, and mass citizenry notifications have been taken care of before time,” Negotiating from a Superior Position said righteously before stopping to give Spalding yet another glare.

  The metal ball beeped and hummed to itself. “This is The Discerning Gaze speaking; I see that this meeting has, in fact, already been registered…however, I have found it under a misleadingly named file header!” it declared triumphantly. “I am transmitting this false file name to our viewing audience right now.”

  “This is turning into a circus,” Spalding growled, getting to his feet and preparing to leave.

  “Commander Spalding,” the ball that was The Discerning Gaze whipped around and once again extended its microphone, “despite your cybernetic implants, I see that you are not set up for a wireless interview. Therefore, because it is the maximum that your biological systems will allow, I will proceed with this interview verbally. Do I have your permission?”