Admiral's Fall

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “Oh, that. I had a couple of boot ensigns in at Gambit Station for training run some jump calculations for me and double check each other’s work. After that it was just plug and play,” said the old Engineer.

  “I’m surprised we’re not dead then. Stellar drift alone could be enough to cause you to miss a star system if you wait too long between calculations,” he scolded, “that’s why you run the course calculations immediately before you jump: to cut down the risk.”

  “I’m an engineer, not a navigator. And besides, we got here just fine, wherever here is. Getting back home’s your problem,” Spalding said with a wink.

  “My problem?” Shepherd snapped and then a look of panic crossed his face. “Wait, I have a date for tonight! I don’t know if we’ll make it back in time!”

  After so saying, the young navigator turned to his console and began working with a vengeance.

  “No need to be in such a rush,” opined Spalding, “I mean to say that you’ve been unconscious for the better part of two days.”

  The Navigator froze and turned to look at the old engineer coldly. “Two days, huh? So why am I just hearing this now?” he asked.

  “You woke up practically hysterical. When exactly was I going to tell you?” Spalding said, throwing his hands in the air. “Besides, it’s not my fault it took you two days to wake up. When you didn’t wake up on your own after a couple hours I just followed the directions in the med-kit’s built-in medi-comp and put on the patch it said. How was I to know it would knock you out for this long?”

  “So, in short, you bashed me over the head and conscripted me against my will, and without asking so much as a word for some crazy mission of yours—a mission which, taking your track record into consideration, is probably a rogue operation of some kind and certainly not authorized by anyone but yourself. Is that it?”

  Spalding irritably waved away his whining. “You complain worse than my ex-wife. I get this is a shock, but don’t worry. I’ll square everything with the records and make sure you get hazard pay for your time spent out here,” he said.

  The Navigator glared at him. “First it’s an error, and then it’s a mission. But knowing you it’s probably a mission in error. I honestly don’t get why you picked me. I mean do I have it written on my face somewhere that says 'abuse me, I’m up for it'?” he demanded.

  “You know what? I think all that time in rehab has rotted your brain. So I’m going to put that outburst down to yet another case of medical-induced psychosis and let it pass,” growled the old Engineer. “But I want to be clear here: your job is to get us home, nothing more. Got it, boy-o? Now enough with the bellyachin'; it’s time to get cracking.”

  “This can’t be regulation,” Shepherd repeated, “you know something, you may be the great and powerful Commander Spalding but I’m the Fleet’s top navigator...or at least I was before I had to go into physical therapy.”

  “You look much better than the last time I saw you,” Spalding said solicitously.

  “Thanks,” Shepherd said absently and then immediately scowled, “but that’s beside the point! I’m not going to let you get off scot free. When I get back I’m filing a formal complaint with Fleet Legal. See if I don’t.”

  “Now don’t be hasty lad,” Spalding said warningly, “everything here is perfectly legal. Fact is I’m on a mission for the Admiral himself. He doesn’t know you’re involved because he told me to take care of it and I, apparently mistakenly, thought you were an MSP man through and through. A man who could be trusted and relied upon. I apologize for being wrong about you,” the old engineer finished with an overly exaggerated frown.

  “I see what you’re doing,” said the Navigator. He paused for a minute and added, “And it won’t work. Besides,” he continued righteously, “I’m a Patrol Fleet officer. I’ve been here from the beginning same as you.”

  “Anyway, it’s no point complaining. I believe you. Just remember this is a secret mission, hear? That means it’s a secret. Can’t have you going around blabbing your mouth to all and sundry now, can we?” he ended with a significant look at the younger man.

  “That’s still no excuse for bashing me over the head,” burst out the Navigator, “you could have killed me.”

  “Papa Spalding knows how to tap a man so he recovers eventually, don’t worry about it. That’s all in the past,” Terrance P. Spalding said soothingly.

  Shepherd gave him a disgusted look. “I’m not some boot Ensign straight out of the academy on a fresher cruise. You owe me, and I won’t forget that,” warned the Navigator.

  “You drive a hard bargain,” the old engineer said, pulling out a flask and offering it to the other man.

  “Poison?” Shepherd scoffed before snatching it out of the other man’s hand and taking a swig.

  He immediately started wheezing. “What is this?” he demanded.

  “Just some of the finest liquor known to man. It’s Gorgon Iced Ale, lad. I’ve been saving some for a special occasion. I figured I owed you after hauling you all the way out here without asking you to help save the Fleet,” said the old Engineer with an unhappy sigh when the younger man proceeded to chug more than half the flask, “careful now, we don’t want you so drunk you can’t manage the calculations.”

  “You made me miss a date. The least you can do is not complain about getting back late,” shot back the Navigator and then he reluctantly added, “save the fleet, you said?”

  “Fine, fine there’s no call to get jumpy,” Spalding said, showing his hands, “and yes sir that’s what we're on about. Why? You don’t actually think I’d drag you out here on a whim do you? You lot always wonder how an old man like myself manages to get as much done as he does, well here you are. It’s a lot of hard work and unhappiness,” he looked pointedly at the navigator, “everyone wants to take a look behind the curtain but they’re never happy afterward. Give,” he said, pointing to the flask.

  “I think…well, I’m pretty sure you don’t want to hear what I think,” Shepherd said, taking one last sip before reluctantly handing it back. “Anyway I don’t know what we’re going to do after I finish these calculations,” the Navigator said looking around the cramped lander in concern.

  “Ever hear of five card shuffle?” asked the old Engineer, producing a pack of cards.

  “The ones with the scantily clad saints and goddess on them?” the Navigator perked up.

  Spalding immediately scowled. “These are playing cards, not some kind of swimsuit edition pornography in disguise. Saints and Goddesses indeed!” he harrumphed.

  “Too bad,” Shepherd said heavily.

  Later, when they were waiting for the Elder Tech Spindles to cycle up, the old Engineer looked back at the younger man over a handful of cards.

  “So where did you say a man could get a deck of those new cards?” he asked casual like.

  Shepherd blinked and then shook his head firmly. “Like I’m going to tell the likes of you,” he scoffed.

  “What, me? A lonely old engineer?” Spalding ask piously.

  “An old reprobate who isn’t above tucking a pack of confiscated playing cards in his back pocket after he’s finished shutting down the supplier,” said the Navigator.

  “You’ve got me all wrong, lad,” Spalding protested.

  “The answer’s still 'no',” said the Navigator.

  “Hmph!” Spalding snorted, and they went back to playing.

  He’d have to keep his eyes open. A little diversion here and there was good for a crew, but too much of a good thing led to the inevitable high stakes gambling games. Before a man knew it, half his crew was at the throat of the other half and inter-departmental rivalries took on an ugly edge.

  These cards were probably nothing, but a wise officer knew how to keep his ear to the ground and a finger on the pulse of the crew.

  “How about I raise two hundred credits and all you have to do to match them is give me a name if you lose. No one has to know you sent me and I promise not to bust an
yone…this time,” the old Engineer schemed.

  “The answer’s still 'no',” said the Navigator.

  “I’ll work you down eventually,” challenged the old Engineer.

  “You’ll try,” said Shepherd, deliberately reaching up and running a finger around the knot on his head.

  Spalding leaned back in frustration. “There’s still a lot of hours to go before the jump,” he warned.

  Chapter 23: Concern in Gambit

  “What do you mean Commander Spalding is missing and no one has seen him for days?” I asked, my head snapping around to track on a concerned looking Yard Manager.

  “Sorry, Sir, but it’s true. Commander Spalding went to work in the Yard in that personal lander of his, The Fix, and apparently never checked back in,” Glenda Baldwin said, her eyes fixed at a point somewhere over his shoulder as her neck colored with embarrassment.

  I frowned at her. “Is that all?” I asked leadingly—because with Spalding it never was.

  Baldwin gritted her teeth. “No, Sir. Somehow the Elder Tech Spindles have disappeared as well,” she informed me.

  I sat bolt upright in my chair. I thought I knew what was going on but Spalding was supposed to be there and back, done with the whole project before he could be missed.

  “What exactly happened, and why was I not informed about this before now?”

  The Yard Manager gulped. “You know that old reprobate- er I mean Commander Spalding effectively has free rein to do whatever he likes in the shipyard. You signed the orders yourself,” she reminded me.

  “I’m well aware of the Commander’s privileges,” I informed her coldly, “but I’m still curious why I’m only finding out about this now.”

  “A day without the Commander jogging our elbows is usually a good one, and I didn’t stop to look a gift horse in its mouth. Either he was with you or out playing in the scrapyard where all the hulls are being stripped, or he was out in the boneyard where anything we don’t have time to work on gets stowed. That’s the usual case,” she said and took a deep breath, “I only thought to look for him because…well, he’d been gone so long. And a day or two off is fine but if it goes on longer than that and he’s in-system it usually means he’s scheming something that’s going to cause me a headache. I did a search so I could run him down and nip it in the bud and…he was gone.”

  “How 'gone' are we talking about? And please don’t hesitate to get back to the part about how one of the fleet’s top secret weapons—the Jump Spindles—is missing. I’m particularly interested in that part,” I said.

  She looked back at me levelly. “As best I can tell, Terrance Spalding, using your authority, moved the Spindles as well as a number of heavily-damaged warships intended for breakdown in the orbital furnaces from the scrapyard to a position somewhere behind Pandora’s Box,” she informed me.

  “Pandora’s Box?” I asked.

  “It’s a moon, one ironically enough named so by Commander Spalding while he was stuck in Gambit medical. Apparently there are a number of other asteroids and moons also named by the old reprobate from that time. Presbyter’s Folly and Medical’s Doom in particular stand out,” she said.

  I closed my eyes.

  “And those are just some of the more tame ones,” she added, getting her revenge when and where she could.

  “I’ll have my staff look into the matter of these names and…review any of the ones that might need to be altered,” I said, and then opened my eyes pinning her with my gaze.

  “The name of the moon is suggestive in and of itself,” Baldwin paused, “considering what the Commander appears to have been up to before his disappearance.

  “None of that matters. I want my Spindles back. Remind me again why I wasn’t informed of the Spindle’s departure from the star system?” I said.

  “First, they were behind one of the larger moons in the star system. Second, traffic control was notified the Spindles were scheduled for a test jump. It was logged by the Commander and countersigned using your authority,” Baldwin gave me a searching look, as if to see if I was aware of this.

  I just looked back at her impassively and she hurriedly moved on.

  “Finally, I’m not sure because even with that there should have been some kind of signal however,” she hesitated before continuing cautiously, “there are fourteen artificial constructs of some kind orbiting an area the size of which makes me think they were placed outside the spindles’ transfer area. It’s possible they are jammers of some kind.”

  “Possible? Let’s be clear: my Spindles are missing and all you have are a triple handful of satellites you don’t understand?” I said in an overly calm voice.

  “I have people going through the sensor logs now and three of my best teams working on the constructs. I’m hoping something will shed some light on where he’s gone,” she said.

  “Presumably Spalding filed a flight plan?” I asked.

  “Yes, Sir. He reported a jump to Omicron and back,” she said, “I’ve already sent a request via the FTL network.

  “Yes the FTL network,” I muttered and shot her an assessing look, “speaking of which, I want your team to look into the feasibility of building our own FTL network after this current emergency is over. Right now we’re using Old Confederation buoys and transmitters and, quite frankly, we don’t have enough of them.”

  “I can have a team look into it but I know that even with the complete tech specifications I’m going to need to bring in a sample to look at. Even then it’s going to take some time to build one of our own, even if we just copy the Old Confederation version. If you want us to try and improve it, that might be beyond our capabilities and it will certainly take longer. I'm talking about years here,” she said and then added as an afterthought, “we’ll also need a certain amount of trillium both for testing purposes as well as for each buoy we build.”

  “Trillium's not an issue, but I don’t have years to fool around trying to perfect something new when there are already working versions out there. Any improvements I’m thinking of would be in computer systems security. Cosmetic changes aren’t an issue, but I’m not looking to reinvent the wheel. What I want is to extend our communications network,” I said.

  “Okay. But what do you want me to do about the Commander? And do you happen to know anything about where he might have gone? I thought maybe he was on a mission of some kind for you,” she said.

  “The Commander was working on a project for me, which is why I doubt he was going to the Omicron. However, anything is possible as he had mentioned stopping there before going to Tracto for more trillium. Considering the fact he chose to disappear from behind a moon, I highly doubt I know anything more about where he is currently than you do. If he was working for me he’d have already returned with the trillium,” I said, deciding that telling a version of the truth was better than denying it outright.

  Glenda looked pale.

  “If there’s been a malfunction with the Spindles he could be anywhere! Even the range on those things is variable,” she actually seemed to choke as she spoke.

  “Let’s give it another day to track down what he was doing before we panic. For all we know he might have landed within range of the FTL network and a message might be beaming its way back to us right now,” I said, trying to project a calmness I didn’t feel. Blast it, Spalding, you were supposed to hide a pocket fleet of warships, not get yourself lost or killed—especially not with my Jump Spindles!

  I immediately repented that last thought. As far as I was concerned, yes, the Spindles were probably worth a fleet of warships in their own right, at least until they broke down like they very well might have here, but I’d still far rather have my Chief Engineer back.

  Spalding was the man who had believed in me when no one else had. Or rather, he’d believed in the ship and didn’t want to be captain, which probably meant in his slightly crazy mind that so long as he did his job the ship would take care of the rest. But somewhere along the way he’d given me r
eal loyalty.

  Even when I’d offered a chance for him to return to Capria, he’d turned it down. I wasn’t so foolish to think that if he set his mind to it he couldn’t figure out a way to jump the new and improved Lucky Clover to Capria and disable its crew long enough to work a deal with the government back home.

  King James would fall all over himself offering Spalding a pardon, or simply declare he’d been a Royal loyalist all along and offer him a patent of nobility instead. The fact that Spalding would probably insist on staying aboard a ship he’d just effectively pirated from his previous employer might be a sticking point…

  I shook it all off. The important thing wasn’t Spalding’s loyalty, but his life. Hopefully he’d just experienced a minor mechanical problem of some kind. If so there was literally no one I’d sooner trust to fix it and come back home in one piece.

  It was only as I sat there staring the loss of the old man in the face that I realized just how much I’d miss him when he was gone.

  I looked back up at Glenda Baldwin. “Don’t worry about Spalding for now. I’ll look around and see if he left me a message of some kind,” I told her sympathetically, “even if it is some kind of breakdown or other issue, you couldn’t conceive of a man more likely to survive it and make his way back home.”

  “I don’t know why anyone still thinks I care about that man,” she said, furiously wiping away a wet spot at the corner of her eye.

  “Sure,” I shrugged, everyone was entitled to their own little self-deceptions. I certainly couldn’t cast any stones. I mean who was more jacked up on self-deception than a man who’d thrown everything away for the survival of a people who seemed determined to spit on him, call him tyrant and kick him when he was down?

  Fortunately for them, I had grown up a Montagne and was used to the spit and name calling. Even more fortunately, for them anyway, was that I’d sworn a solemn oath. I would never start down the seductive path of reasoning that had created true Montagne tyrants like my ancestors. As far as my younger, less world-wise self had been concerned, it was my job to make up for the sins of my ancestors.