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

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Go away!” Spalding shouted, but the door swished open despite his protests. “Oh, aye, just come on in like as if you own the place,” snarled the old engineer, “it’s not like I put a privacy lock on the door—and then shouted for you not to enter!”

  “No need to get so touchy over a simple mechanical override of your door,” said the Yard Manager as she stepped into the room. Then, seeing the look on the old Engineer’s face, she ground to a halt. “Is this a bad time?” she asked cautiously.

  Spalding purpled, his already red face turning a dangerous shade of puce as he rounded on her. “Go away, witch!” he snapped.

  “What did you call me?” Glenda Baldwin stiffened.

  “Come back to the scene of your crime to gloat, have ye?” he ground out.

  “I beg your pardon,” she demanded, her hand dropping to her tool belt.

  “You know what you did,” Spalding spat, “don’t try to hide it behind a mask of ignorance; it doesn’t suit you.”

  “I’ve heard of waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but this is extreme—even for you—and especially after the way I saved your life,” Glenda shouted back.

  “You led me into an ambush,” Spalding glared right back. “All I did was drop a stitch for half a moment, and you’re leading me on and turnin’ me over to the butchers like a lamb ready for the slaughter. Well, let me tell you something, woman:, this old man isn’t some helpless lamb you can run over at will.”

  “Lost a stitch? You couldn’t even remember an anti-gravity system you—yourself, with literally no outside help—already installed on a high-performance lander. What if you had taken out the inertial dampeners instead and then forgotten about that? Everyone would have been killed the moment you took the shuttle to full power,” Glenda said, turning red.

  “I tried to do the mission on my own, but those blasted Lancers wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. But don’t worry: next time I’ll install anti-personnel defenses and that way I’ll only get myself killed, as you seem so certain I’d do,” the old engineer barked.

  “See?! Even in your own mind. you know that being around you while you were losing your mind was dangerous,” sneered Baldwin. “You just can’t admit it to yourself. So my methods may have been underhanded but, while you’re cursing me for saving your life, you can in the same breath thank me for not letting you get anyone killed.”

  “I am not some hazard! Everything I’ve built has worked to specifications! Being around me was perfectly safe and fine,” Spalding growled.

  “You were losing your memory, and your mind was the next thing on the list to go. I knew you wouldn’t go over to Medical so, yes, I tricked you. I did it to save your life, you ornery old windbag. Can’t you see that?” Baldwin asked, more than a touch emotionally.

  “I would have rather died than go back under the knife,” Spalding said angrily, “but you took that decision from me. If you were so concerned then you should have just locked me in a maintenance closet and left me to starve. It would have been more humane,” his face took on an ugly look, “they did everything I feared they would after you delivered me into their clutches—every blasted thing. I’m the victim here, but no one seems to see that even when it’s shoved in their faces!”

  “Oh, boohoo, cry me a river. ‘They saved me life against me will, they did’,” Baldwin sneered. “You didn’t want to live because you were afraid of treatment? What are you, a man, an engineer, or something less deserving of respect? Where is the man I first met—the fearless one who made very little sense when you talked to him, but for whom no challenge was too difficult for him to handle?”

  “Just how many fusion generators have you walked into? How many rides on untested equipment have your taken into battle? Come back and talk to me after you’ve done even a tithe as many,” Spalding spat. “I’m not afraid to die…I’m not afraid to do my duty. Who are you to judge me?”

  “Yes, it’s clear you don’t value your life. I don’t have to walk into a fusion generator to see that. But a little trip to Medical and you act worse than a little kid after a trip the dentist. Throwing tantrums left and right,” Baldwin mocked. “’No job too small, no fee to high,’ I believe you once joked at me. Well, I may not have risked my life lately but I wonder where that man went, because I sure miss him. It’s clear to see that he’s not here; he’s been replaced with this quivering pile of outrage, indignation, and fear.”

  “Fear? So you think I’m a coward, is it? Old Spalding’s lost his nerve? ‘He’s not half the man he was since he lost his heart and started to lose his mind’,” the Chief Engineer said furiously. “Well, I’ll show you a thing, missy.”

  “That’s not what I said—” Baldwin started icily.

  “But that’s what you implied: that I’m a little child who can’t get the job done anymore, too afraid and too shaking-in-his-boots after a simple trip to Medical to get the job done. Well, let me tell you, I’ve forgotten more than most men, most engineers—and certainly most trained women,” he gave her a scathing look, “ever knew in the first place. You think I’ve lost my nerve, that I can’t hack it anymore? That I’m nothing more than a whining, mewling, slacker living on his past laurels.”

  “I never said that; I said ‘get over yourself, get ready to go back to work, and stop acting out’,” Baldwin growled.

  “You’ve made yourself clear,” Spalding gritted his teeth. “Well even if I’m only half the man you thought I was, I’m still twice the man the rest of you’ll ever be. A coward shaking in his boots, am I? A tantrum-throwing child? Well, blast all of you! Any liberties you think I take, I’ve earned with my own two hands in the blood I’ve shed, the blood I’ve saved in this fleet, and the enemies I’ve destroyed,” he stood up to his full height and snatched up his tool belt from the personal effects bin—where they’d been languishing in since he’d been sucker-punched in Medical.

  “Yeah, you’re the real poster boy for recruitment,” Baldwin snapped, “yes, you’ve done a lot and I’m not trying to detract from that one bit. But you’re half off your rocker—as usual—and you’re as certain as anything that the world is out to get you when it’s not. Can’t you see that the only thing I’ve ever tried to do was help? There’s no need to insult me for making what might have been the wrong call by trying to save your life you old fool,” she finished, the hint of wetness in her eyes.

  “I am not senile. I am not a coward. And I will not be doubted!” Spalding retorted, strapping on his tool belt determinedly. “I’ll show all of you doubters that I still have what it takes. My name is Commander Terrence P. Spalding, and I’ve got more grit in my little pinky toe than the whole blooming lot of you put together—and that’s a fact. What kind of man am I, you ask? Well, let me show you,” he snorted fearsomely and then pushed past her towards the door.

  ****************************************************

  “Out of my way, you lot,” Spalding barked, pushing men to the side as he stormed through the Engineering compartment.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Glenda demanded, having started from at least a hundred paces behind him as she hurried to try and catch up.

  “Gather ‘round, men,” Spalding called to the work crew he’d assembled on the way over to the battered battleship. His numbers were a little light at the moment, but he had twice as many techs and engineers on the way as had already showed up.

  The engineers—all of them men or women who’d served with him on the Clover, stout lads and a few lasses who would follow him into the pit if he asked them to—came over and surrounded him

  A simple but telling look at them, and then at the Yard Manager, caused them to close ranks, keeping her on the outside—and far enough away to keep her from bothering him more than he could stand for right now.

  “What do you need, Chief?” asked Parkiney.

  “Now, I know there’s been a lot of rumors floatin’ around about why I was in Medical,” Spalding cleared his throat and swept the crew w
ith his gaze one by one. “Well I’m here to put those rumors to bed.”

  “We’re with you, Chief!” shouted someone in the back.

  “Just so as you know I’m fine—I was always fine!” there was a loud snort from the direction of Baldwin, who was still forcibly kept at the back of the circle, but with a scowl Spalding kept focused on what was important: inspiring the work crew. “As I was sayin’, those idiots in Medical decided they didn’t do a good enough job the first time around and shanghaied me for a follow-up so they could cover their backsides if anything happened.”

  This time the snort was even louder, but he gritted his teeth and continued.

  “Any which way, I’m here now and as good as—or better than ever…although, as we’ve learned from the Clover, it’s hard to improve perfection!” This time there was laughter as he continued, “But while they might be good at cutting up a man’s body and rearranging the pieces inside, those quacks don’t know a round-bottom credit when it comes to running a ship and a Fleet. Which is why, during my forced confinement—while they saved themselves from prosecution over installing a bum pancreas and faulty spleen—I took a look at some of the engineering jobs that have been piling up and decided the surveyors made a mistake!”

  Several of the crew started to look knowingly at the ship around them.

  Spalding raised his hands. “Now, it’s not their fault entirely for making a bad call—after all, even I signed off. my own self—so we can’t blame them too much. We can blame it on a lot of post-battle work in Elysium…and that bad spleen of mine,” the old engineer said pompously, “but while you all have been working fast and furiously, I had nothing but time on my hands. So as I did the paperwork and, since it became clear to me that no one had the time to do a proper follow-up, I decided to look into it myself. Which brings us to why we’re here today.”

  “Just tell us what to do, Commander, and we’ll make it happen,” Parkiney nodded.

  Spalding started pacing back and forth and then turned abruptly and leveled a finger at the crew, “Any fool can see this ship has taken too much damage to get back into service for anything less than the cost of building a brand new ship entirely. However,” he shook his finger at them, “if we can get at least two of these fusion generators in here back in business then, while she’ll never fly as a battleship again, I think—”

  “The fusion generators were down-checked for a reason, Commander. They were assessed as too dangerous to—” the Yard Manager tried to interrupt, but Spalding talked over her.

  “But!” he repeated loudly. “If any crew can do it then it’s this one. Afterward, it’ll be a relatively simple job to tear out most of her innards, swap the good pieces over to her sister ships—or even the Clover—and put her back in service as a dedicated Gunboat Carrier. And all we have to do is bring two of these fusion generators up from a cold start which, with a little repair, I believe is doable,” he finished thunderously.

  “Gunboats?” the crew around him seemed surprised, but slowly started nodding.

  “As Murphy is my witness, it’ll be time to bring out the Gorgon Iced Ale after we’re done here…I might even look the other way if it was cut with a little something extra,” the Chief Engineer said, trying to finish on a triumphant note.

  The cheers that erupted at the tacit admission—which suggested he’d allow his people to imbibe something other than meads and ales—made him wince at the potential hypocrisy of his statement, but right then the most important thing was letting everyone in the Fleet see that he was still large and in charge after his trip to Medical—and that he was just as competent as he ever was, despite whatever rumors the Yard Manager might have been perpetrating against him.

  “Blast it, Spalding; these fusion generators can’t survive a cold start-up,” that very thrice-accursed witch shouted above the joyous din of the celebratory engineers. “I looked at them myself. Two of them are missing their cores and the other two need full rebuild before I would trust them.”

  “Out of my way, woman,” the old Engineer shouted, even though she wasn’t anywhere close to him; it was more the instinctive, reactive, principle of the thing. She wasn’t going to stop him from proving to everyone—even, and especially, the Yard Manager herself. “Bostwell, you’re on the Coms; keep the yard monkeys and sensor operators from havin’ a heart attack when we fire up the generators.”

  “No problem, Chief,” said Bostwell.

  “Parkiney, I want you and Hatterson to take a look at the two fusion generators I’ve marked in the file I sent you. Then cannibalize anything and everything you think you might need from the ones without cores. It’s not like we’re planning on repairing them, anyway, and they should be compatible so take what you need and get back to me with a time estimate on the breakdowns,” ordered Spalding.

  “Yes sir!” said the two team leaders in unison.

  More engineering techs and crew started pouring in, and the group began to break up now that they had specific tasks, with the ones who’d been here for the speechifying updating their late coming fellows as to why they were here.

  “Blast it, Engineer, you know better than this,” the Yard Manager said, finally slipping up next to him. “If this doesn’t work then you’re going to get a lot of good people killed. And for what, pride?”

  “Ms. Naga, you’re with me,” he said coldly, ignoring the Yard Manager at his elbow, “we’re going to go over every inch of the interior of those generators with a fine-toothed comb.”

  “On it,” said the specialist.

  “Planning to throw your life away to prove something with another crazy stunt, is that it? I knew it,” the Yard Manager flared.

  “Not at all,” Spalding said, nodding towards where Ms. Naga was setting up the equipment, “maybe it’s not true of other engineers, but if you show me something that works then this old dog can learn a new trick. We’ll be using Tiberius’ remote-controlled heavy work suits to scan the interiors of those generators. And if they prove too damaged, the repair job will be modified or aborted.”

  “Even if you believe this isn’t ego-driven, you’re pulling people off of assignments all over the Yard. How are we supposed to keep on schedule when you just pull top specialists and crew leaders off priority assignments willy-nilly?” the Yard Manager protested.

  “If you have a problem with my personnel requisitions, take it up with the Admiral,” Spalding rounded on her. “But barring a surprise attack on this system—or a war breaking out—I aim to prove to you, and to everyone in this star system, that Terrance P. Spalding can fix anything made by man or beast.”

  Throwing her hands in the air, Baldwin stood to the side and watched as the repair team Spalding had assembled started working fast and furiously. After fifteen minutes or so of observing his lads and lassies hard at work, just as he had trained them to do, she stormed out of Main Engineering.

  “Alright, lads, don’t waste time—but we don’t need to rush, neither. This job will be done when it’s done and not a second sooner; I don’t want anyone injured,” he ordered, and then headed over to take a good hard look at the monkey suit Tiberius had fixed up. It needed a good going over before he’d trust it inside any fusion generator of his—Murphy knows he was uniquely qualified to conduct such an inspection.

  Chapter Forty-two: Jason and Gants

  There was a chime on the door to the ready room, and with irritation I looked up with a frown at the door.

  “Come in,” I said, unhappy at being interrupted in the middle of writing a report.

  “I hope this isn’t a bad time, Admiral?” said Gants hurrying into the room and plopping down in a seat before being invited to do so.

  “You look to be in something of a hurry, Mr. Gants,” I replied, giving the other man an assessing look and toying with a stylus between my fingers.

  “Don’t worry on my account, Sir,” Gants said hastily, “I’m fit as a fiddle and fine as can be.”

  I tossed down the stylus. “That b
egs the question of why are you here, then, Mr. Gants,” I explained. Gants looked around the room as if for eavesdroppers and then lowered his voice. I leaned down in imitation and whispered, “What is it?”

  Then, rolling my eyes, I leaned back in my chair mockingly and stretched my arms and legs as if I didn’t have a care in the world.

  Ignoring my antics, Gants gave me a serious look. “I think we should change the guard on your door, Sir,” he said, sounding deathly certain.

  I froze and then sat back up straight. Even though it was Gants—and it had been melodramatically carried out—I was too familiar with Palace politics to dismiss his worries out of hand.

  “I think we should replace them with an Armory team,” he explained, his head nodding up and down knowingly.

  “Is that all?” I asked, giving him a searching look.

  “No! We probably ought to do something about your personal protective detail—make them Armory also,” he continued.

  “Which begs the question: why?” I said, still appraising him with slightly narrowed eyes, “is this just an attempt to return things to how they were before you were assigned to Gambit Station, or is there a specific concern I should be aware of?”

  “Me? No, Sir!” Gants said, looking alarmed at the notion that he was trying to seize power.

  I relaxed fractionally. Whatever was up, Gants at least seemed to be unaffected by it. Or, rather, he was the same as usual—which was comforting in a fashion, and disquieting in another. I motioned with my hand for him to go on.

  “Well, since I’ve been back…well, before that even—anyway, the boys I’m talking about joined since I took back over control of the Armory team on your ship, if you follow what I mean…” Gants said leadingly.

  “Not really, but hopefully as you keep speaking I’ll follow the gist of it. You have some new team members who are causing you some alarm,” I said, doing my best to reiterate what he had just said.