Calls of, “Yes, Sir,” and, “Yes, Admiral,” swept round the table.
“Good enough then,” I said sweeping the table with one last steely gaze. I couldn’t have them get into the habit of questioning me, or being allowed to derail my meetings. Constructive forward output, that’s what I needed from these gentlemen and women, not running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Thank the angry gods of cold space for that lancer contingent.
I felt compelled to turn and give Akantha a smile of gratitude at the thought of her kinsmen. Her forehead furrowed and she looked slightly perplexed but that didn’t matter. I was reluctantly thankful all the same.
“Very well then,” I said and pressing a button on my desk, I signaled for the Lancers outside to escort in exhibit A for my presentation.
On the outside I was the image of calm and control, on the inside I could feel myself clench up. This was a crucial part of my plan; if exhibit A didn’t pan out, it could all fall apart and leave me scrambling.
The main doors to the ready room slid open and a pair of battle armored Tracto-ans escorted my main exhibit.
“Ah, Primarch Glue,” I rose from behind my desk and gave the creature…or rather, man, a formal half bow, “so good of you to join us.”
I gestured to an empty chair I had instructed brought in but had deliberately left unfilled.
“Please have a seat,” I said, utilizing my royal training to its utmost to project a sense of unruffled civility and manners.
Eyebrows raised and in a few cases crashed back down thunderously.
Glue stared at me with those big, dark eyes set in a grayish black face for several seconds before moving around to take his seat. Backs stiffened as the gorilla man maneuvered around behind several of my command staff to reach the chair I’d indicated.
Tremblay opened his mouth, no doubt for another one of his bigoted ‘monkey boy’ comments, but I was wise to him by now.
“You have something to add, Chief of Staff,” I asked, my tone making it clear that if he valued his new job he’d better not, especially after the way he’d been so ‘helpful’ thus far.
He slowly closed his mouth and shrugged as if the matter was of little importance to him before leaning back in his chair with a martyred sigh.
As soon as Glue was seated I struck while the iron was still hot. I pulled out a standalone holo-projector not connected to anything else in the ship except a power outlet. I then handed Glue a data jack with a universal adapter.
There was a muttering of unrest among my staff as they watched the Primarch first plug the jack into the holo-projector and then the other end of the cable into the side of his head.
“Never thought I’d see such a sight, unless I was busy trying to put a stop to it with a blaster pistol,” growled the Chief Gunner. He was greeted with muttered agreement from around the table.
“We’ve opened Pandora’s box,” Science Officer Jones said his voice rising.
It was time to nip this little side chatter in the bud.
“For reasons of operational security, other than the coordinates for the Pirate Lair — which I have personally memorized — the entirety of the digital information we currently possess on our target is contained within the Primarch’s head and will continue to be so,” I said my voice rising.
“Disgusting,” muttered the Chief Gunner.
I met his eyes with a hard stare and he returned my gaze stonily, but I wasn’t about to surrender in this battle of will and after a moment he turned his glare on the table.
“At the moment the table isn’t open for questions. We will all await the Primarch’s presentation,” I said grimly, “and let me assure you, any qualms you have about the presenter or his manner of presentation will seem like a comfortable little baby’s blanket compared to how you’ll feel after he’s finished.”
I was going to say more, but Glue took it upon himself to activate the projector and launch into the presentation.
“As you now visualize,” the ape-man rumbled, pointing to a large cylindrical object that appeared in the middle of the table as it sprouted little arms with what looked like circular disks on the ends of them. “Omicron Free Port, or The Omicron as called by its inhabitants, is large Black Port five miles long and twice that in the wide.” The Primarch popped his lips as he exhaled a long, deep breath, which seemed to rattle my teeth.
“She’s huge,” exclaimed our Navigator, “almost large enough to generate her own gravity field!”
Glue turned to stare at the Navigator. From my time with him I realized he wasn’t intending to be intimidating, but Shepherd obviously didn’t know this because he paled and his mouth snapped shut.
“Omicron Port is large repair and transshipment point, also has big Trillium reserve: sell to pirates, smugglers, rogue worlders and genetic variants who make port or call home,” Glue answered still looking at our Navigator.
For his part Shepherd looked like he wanted nothing more than to sink into his seat and disappear.
“Excellent,” I said clapping my hands together once, to draw the Primarch’s attention back in my direction and away from my now pasty faced Navigator.
“Defenses?” I inquired when Glue turned to look at me with narrowed eyes.
The Primarch turned back to the holo-projector and the image soon filled with hundreds of flashing red icons.
“Dozens of ships in port at any time, and Omicron boasts several hundred point defense and large beam arrays. Heavy lasers, turbo-lasers, and Ion Cannons for capture pirates disturb the peace, Omicron also equipped with massive sensor arrays. Anything jump within point blank range immediately targeted and destroyed by automated turrets,” growled the giant Primarch.
“Automated turrets,” snapped the Chief Gunner incredulously.
“You can’t risk fire-linking that many computers together,” protested Tactical Officer Laurent, “What if they started going sub-AI during the middle of combat and suddenly crashed!”
“Intelligence taken from the Imperial Strike Cruiser, before it was destroyed,” Tremblay said with a pointed look in my direction before continuing, switching his gaze back and forth between my Chief Gunner and 1st shift Tactical Officer, “would seem to indicate they have the ability to run everything fire-linked to the main tactical computer. I don’t know about you, but my analysis of the Battle of Easy Haven would seem to indicate they had no difficulties with AI induced computer crashes,” he ended with a smirk and derisive look in the direction of our head of Gunnery.
“Madness,” growled Bogart, shaking his head.
The Tactical Officer opened his mouth for an angry retort but Glue headed them all off with a big grunt.
“Port Omicron been active almost fifty Terra-cycles,” he growled, “they have two parallel system, only one is hard plugged in at same time. If it starts go AI, unplug network link, swap chips and go manual with second system. Takes twice the space but on big Space Station…” he shrugged.
It seemed to make sense to me. If an AI started to rise up, the Elder Protocols that had infected our computer networks ever since the fall of the AI’s would activate and crash everything it was connected to. So if an AI started to form, simply unplug it and plug in an uninfected computer to run the battery.
My officers on the other hand looked like they’d tasted something foul.
“Well that’s just bloody great,” snarled my Chief Gunner, “pirates with a practical fire-link that encompasses over 238 beam weapons of varying sizes, that are all able to focus on a single target in the time it takes a human gunner to even realize there’s a target. If they hit us with that kind of firepower, we’ll be blown away in short order as our shields overload and our hull cooks off!”
Warrant Officer Laurent slowly nodded his head in agreement, “Although in fairness, they can only focus something like half of that on us at any one time.”
“Not like it matters,” snorted the Gunner, “Why I bet with a station of that size they’ve got the f
usion power to fire every weapon continuously, as well as the extra arrays to swap the focusing crystals out when they overheat!” He frowned fiercely, “we’ve got what, 60% of our max fusion power and a third the broadside they can bring to bear?”
“What about shields,” demanded Tremblay looking genuinely engaged in the conversation for the first time. Engaged and alarmed.
Seeing all my officers looking worried, I was also starting to feel a rising sense of concern.
Glue pointed at the holo-projector and several different areas were highlighted.
“It is having multiple shield generators; take out one and they still able provide coverage to the area until the backup generators come online,” the Primarch grunted. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say he looked and sounded smug.
“Counting whatever ships are docked there, this pirate base is strong enough to hold off an entire squadron of battlewagons,” Tactical Officer Laurent said shaking his head in negation.
“It would take an entire fleet to go up against this beast the conventional way,” agreed the Chief Gunner, shooting me a knowing look.
I didn’t like that look. It was a look that said he expected me to pull some wild rabbit out of my hind quarters, one that would hop all the way to victory. He of all people ought to know better; I was no tactical genius, as our last grand tactical session with the Imperial Cruiser proved. That, followed by the mostly failed Patrol for Pirates along the border should have illustrated the point clearly.
My navigator and helmsman were also looking at me with eyes that all but screamed their sudden confidence in my non-existent plan. I mean honestly, that was why I’d summoned the whole command team! To make a winning plan!
“Uh…how about we jump in close. I mean really close, right on top of them even, and cut loose with everything we’ve got? Take out the Omicron’s broadside and shield generators on whichever side we appear and then send in the Lancers to take control of the station!” I said starting to get excited at the prospect of this plan. As far as plans went, it was simple. It counted on the element of surprise, something crucial in most of my battles so far and it ended with a rosy outcome, i.e. the pirate base neutralized and us standing triumphant over our enemies.
“It’d be hard, but we can pull it off!” I said, happy for once to have come up with something that didn’t sound like a complete disaster as soon as it popped out of my mouth.
“If we’ve got precise coordinates we could get in close,” Shepherd said looking excited, beside him DuPont nodded in agreement.
“A fool’s plan,” sneered Tremblay while at exactly the same time Officer Laurent shook his head. “You’re all forgetting the massive Trillium deposits they use to supply their pirate customers. That means you can’t make so much as a precision micro-jump from within the system itself, let alone all the way from another star system! Just how do you plan to calculate a jump within their shields? The last time we had a Trillium affected jump we almost smashed into a planet!”
Suddenly my collar felt too tight and I cleared my throat.
“Irrelevant, Chief of Staff,” the gunner growled at the former First Officer, causing Tremblay to flush.
“Even if we could jump in that close,” the Gunner continued, shaking his head. “Their guns are linked directly into station tactical, or whatever passes for it on that big beast of a pirate base, Admiral,” the Chief Gunner said turning to me and speaking slowly as if I was stupid. “That means as soon as we pop into view their computer automatically detects us and fire-links their weapons. They’d burn through our hull before our shields have a chance to stabilize, let alone clear the inertial sump.”
“Sitting ducks,” agreed Officer Laurent, slamming a fist into his open hand.
“Should not forget shields if we outside precision jump coordinates. Also, many armed pirates on board station itself,” added Glue, with what I swear was a smile on his face at the complete destruction of my latest battle plan.
I could feel my face trying to fall but I manfully resisted the urge to let the dismay I was feeling crawl all over my face. I flat out refused.
“So a sudden surprise attack seems out of the realm of reason and we can’t take her straight on. What does that leave us with,” I asked coolly, looking around the table for ideas.
“Get a bigger fleet,” Jones said with a snort and then rolled his eyes, “a really big one, not this Confederation rattletrap we’ve been running around with so far.”
“And just who would we get this hypothetical fleet from,” I inquired mildly.
“There’s always Rear Admiral Yagar,” said Tremblay, a hint of a superior smile flitting around his mouth, “he might be willing to help if you formally place yourself under his command.”
I looked at him flatly, but the former First Officer and current Chief of my Staff just cocked an eyebrow and met my gaze. Being on a ship recently filled with his parliamentary brothers and sisters seemed to have stiffened the spine of our former intelligence officer. Something was going to have to be done about that.
Then another brilliant idea struck me.
“How about if we pretend to be a part of that pirate outfit we were mistaken for before instead,” I asked mildly, before deliberately turning to look at the other members of my command staff; members other than Tremblay. This was not the time I’d become engaged in another staring contest with my former First Officer. To do so again would only make him appear to have more power onboard this ship than he actually did. “They have large ships roughly our size, and both the Piranha’s and those former Confederates that Glue easily mistook us for… what were they called again, the Blood Reavers?”
Heads started to perk up at this idea until Glue crushed it under his big hairy hand.
“Nope, no good,” he said placing both hands on the table and leaning forward. Seeing him do this was even more intimidating when I was in a normal uniform than it was when I was dressed in battle armor and from the looks around the table I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.
“Glue has pirate codes for his ship. A corvette ship, very small compare to this ship, we be spotted and forced to submit for boarding party if using only my codes. Also Blood Reavers have their own black code. And,” he said raising a grayish black and very hairy finger, “while Blood Reavers have three ships of exact same class as Lucky Clover, one Dreadnaught Class is used mostly for spare parts and always docked at Omicron with full crew. It no move, but can still fight some and men inside watch Blood Reaver interests on station,” he said shaking his massive head. The flash of light as his implanted hardware worked its magic was mildly sickening. I had to glance away for a second before mastering myself and looking back at the giant genetic-uplift with lights suddenly flashing all over the back side of his head.
“They have three battleships,” Tremblay deadpanned, looking shocked.
“Yes,” Glue nodded, “three Dreadnaught Class Battleships, same profile as Lucky Clover. Except third one missing pieces used to keep other two run,” he reported.
“Surely you mean three battleships like the Dreadnaught Class,” Warrant Officer Laurent insisted, rolling his eyes and looking down his nose at Primarch Glue. “There are many similar models, but the only Dreadnaught Class vessels with the exact profile as our ship were built in Caprian yards,” he said condescendingly.
“No,” rumbled the Primarch, slamming his thick, hairy hand on the table, “exact ship profile with exact sensor readings! Blood Reavers have three ships matching profile of your ship. It why you get so close to other pirate ships before they become alarmed.”
I blinked at the Primarch.
“Impossible!” barked Tremblay, “Every ship that’s not still in Capria, either in mothballs or on active duty, has been sent to the breakers. There’s no way a pirate got his hands on three Caprian battlewagons without Intelligence hearing so much as a peep about it!”
“They must have copied our designs!” agreed the Tactical Officer.
G
lue just shrugged. “They have them, times three,” he replied simply, holding up three fingers for emphasis.
“Why would anyone be out there copying our designs,” Science Officer Jones asked leerily, “I mean, the Dreadnaught Class is a sturdy design but she’s very crew intensive compared to other similar ships from the Empire or even SDF’s throughout the Confederacy. Why would a pirate want such a manpower hog and, and…battleships, at that! Pirates are generally raiders; they aren’t in the business of taking and holding worlds. They have no need for ships of the line.”
“Blood Reavers have smaller ships also,” Glue interjected, jumping back into the conversation. He quickly popped up a list of ships onto the holo-projector known to be part of the Blood Reavers or Blood Reaver allied.
“Whoever’s in charge of that organization has the equivalent of an entire task force at his beck and call,” Officer Laurent concluded, sounding shocked.
“Half or more gone at any time, on raids,” Glue said dismissively. “Important thing is plan for attack Omicron.”
“Oh and I suppose a Monkey Boy like you has a better plan than an entire group of SDF trained officers,” Tremblay sneered.
Laurent frowned but didn’t disagree with Tremblay’s statement. Sweeping the table with my gaze I suppressed a grimace; no one was disagreeing with Tremblay’s monkey-boy comment, in fact several were nodding their heads.
“Keep it civil,” I snapped, “we’re not pirates or barbarians who can take or leave such minor concepts as common blasted courtesy at the door. There’ll be no more ‘Monkey Boy’ comments, and the next man who utters such a statement is going to be on the receiving end of a one-way trip to the Brig!” I could feel myself turning red in the face and was forced to throttle back my emotional response by taking several deep breaths.
Glue also took a few calming breaths and suddenly tense muscles in his arms and shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.
“I do,” he said.
“You do what?” I asked, irritated with this non sequitur from a man or creature, take your personal pick, who I’d just defended.
Spineward Sectors 03 Admiral's Tribulation Page 4