“You’d place our lives in the hands of a handful of primitive barbarians and genetically-uplifted freaks,” the Owner said with horror, falling back into his chair as he looked liable to be knocked unconscious by a stiff enough breeze.
“O’ course, we here in the Confederation Fleet are always willing to take any volunteers to work in our shipyard who feel that joining the armed services satisfied their in-born, patriotic duty,” Spalding said with finality.
“You can’t do this,” the Minority Owner said dully.
“Next thing on the agenda,” Spalding continued briskly, “we need to gather up the supplies you’re going to need over at AZT89443. Ye see, I’ve always wanted a mobile repair dock and there’s a pair of strange particle drives out there large enough to finally make that dream a reality,” he said, rubbing his hands together with anticipation.
“That Settler ship you lot left in AZT is a veritable magnet for pirates; we’re all going to die, you crazy old cyborg,” the Minority Owner lamented, placing his head in his hands.
“Some of us sooner than others,” Spalding agreed, recalling his run into a certain fusion reactor and suppressing a shiver at the horrible memory. “But not today, and so long as we work hard and keep from slacking, at the very least when we finally face the Demon on our trip to Hades, we can spit in his eye and tell him to do his damnedest!Besides, the pirates never got a chance to swing back there according to intel we took from the Omicron. Captain Strider and his fishy cohorts planned to come out and claim it fer themselves, but the Lady Akantha caught up with them before they got the chance.”
No one around the table seemed to find this in the least bit encouraging, which temporarily took the old engineer aback but he shrugged in the face of their odd reaction. Civilian contractors and military yard dogs weren’t known far and wide for their grit and determination—not like real engineers were, anyhow. It was a sad and sorry state of affairs, but not everyone was fit for real service. Those that cannot repair, build; just like those who could not do at all were stuck with the teaching assignments. Spalding shuddered, as dealing with students all day long was a fate worse even than being stuck station-side for the rest of one’s service.
“Now, as I was about to say before being so rudely interrupted with wild declarations of our mutual, impending doom,” Spalding said disgustedly. After all, everyone died but not everyone truly got to live—that’s why he was going to spend as much time living the dream as he could get away with. “Ye’re going to need a large number of those Imperial-style construction robots, so we’ll get a factory busy running out replacements.”
“You’re better off building a dedicated facility,” one of the Construction Overseers said glumly, and with that the meeting was finally back on track. Now all Spalding needed to do was keep his fingers crossed in the hope that those recruits got out to Gambit sooner, rather than later…before the Minority Owner got under his skin, Spalding had been planning to wait at least another two to four weeks before shipping the constructor over to AZT.
Chapter 20: The Scouts
There was a flash as a small, former pirate Cutter point transferred into the edge of the Tracto system. Unlike many other ships, this small warship gave its normal space drive a small flash, and then coasted into the system under minimal drive power to reduce its sensor profile. Anyone looking in the region of the solar system where it had arrived would still be able to find it, but if they weren’t then the small warship would go unnoticed for quite a while.
This strategy allowed its sensor suite more time to gather the information the diminutive vessel had been tasked to obtain. When it had got all the information it could from its current position, the Captain frowned.
“We need to get closer,” said the Acting Junior Lieutenant that was the little Cutter’s Captain with a faint frown, “we’re too far away to get the entire picture.”
“We need to report to the Admiral, sir,” exclaimed the Senior Chief Petty Officer that was the ship’s executive officer, “he needs to know that the Clover’s here—and so are the pirates who’ve taken her!”
“The Admiral told me he thought the pirates coming here was a strong possibility, and that if we didn’t return he was going to assume we were attacked and destroyed by them,” the little Cutter’s Captain said shortly. “But from this far out we can only pick up drive signatures from active ships. The larger, active ships,” he reminded his XO.
“Teach your grandmother to suck eggs, sprout,” said the former environmental petty officer.
“Well gramma, it goes like this,” the young Captain said, miming the act of lifting up an egg.
The Senior Chief smacked him upside the back of his head.“Focus, sprout,” she growled at him.
The young Captain grinned unrepentantly, ignoring what might technically be considered assault before sobering. “Don’t worry, Auntie, I’ll be careful,” Captain Archibald assured her, using a finger to cross his heart before turning back to the miniature main screen. “The Clover’s main screen was something else, even as old as it was, but this thing,” he sighed unhappily and then brightened as he reminded himself that at least here, on this bridge, he was the Master and Commander of everything he surveyed: all five, incredibly cramped consoles of it.
“Your brother marrying my niece back on Capria doesn’t give you license to call me ‘Auntie’, Captain,” the Senior Chief growled under her breath.
“I’m sorry, XO,” the Captain said, hiding a smile behind his hand. After he’d regained control of his features, he turned to look at their little helm. Since they were so close to each other on this bridge, all he had to do was turn his head and lean forward, “prepare to take us in system: full speed ahead,” he ordered.
“Aye, Sir,” the Helmsman, a Caprian girl from the southern provinces, said seriously. He didn’t even care that she was about ten pounds overweight and had an ugly, purple birthmark over her face that she must have had refused to have medically removed and a personality to match the description. Every time he heard himself be called ‘Captain,’ he had to suppress a thrill. What must it feel like to be an Admiral, he thought with wonder. It must be at least a hundred times as great.
“Take us in, Helm,” he ordered, “sensors, keep a sharp look out for hidden sentries and any indication we’ve been spotted. Comm’s, make sure to monitor your channels in case we’re challenged. We shouldn’t be from this far out, and I don’t plan to go in close enough to encourage such, but even so…” he trailed off as the ship accelerated. He could see his Com-Operator roll his eyes at being told how to do his job and suppressed a wince, but his excitement couldn’t be kept down for long; this was his first solo-mission, and he was almost too excited to sit still.
Finally unable to bear the strain, he popped out of his chair to stretch his legs and work out the kinks. There was nowhere to really walk on the bridge, but it was better than nothing.
“Sit down, Sir,” his XO leaned forward from her position standing behind his chair to mutter in his ear.
“Just exercising the legs, Chief,” he whispered back.
“You need to project confidence, Captain,” she said, her low voice gaining a sharp edge. “The crew doesn’t need to see you jumping up and down out of your chair.”
“The Admiral gets out of his chair,” he hissed back, but grudgingly decided it was best to do as she said. He irritably rubbed his thumbs together to keep from going crazy with anxiety.
“Maybe when something’s happening, but what about the countless hours spent traveling in a system? He sits still in his chair and,” she flicked his hand with a finger, “he doesn’t twiddle his thumbs.”
“I wasn’t twiddling,” he scowled before forcing his hands apart and deliberately putting them on the arms of his chair.
He immediately felt the urge to get up and take a walk, or to do anything but sit there. He’d never felt like this before—except during combat at Praxis, which this definitely wasn’t—and he’d been in comman
d of the Cutter for a couple months.
Maybe it’s having an independent command with no one else up above to give me orders, he wondered with a concerned feeling.
“Is this how the Admiral feels all the time?” he leaned over and asked his Executive Officer in a low voice.
The Senior Chief looked down at him in surprise. “Probably, Sir,” she said, and he could tell she was trying not to roll her eyes at him.
“Thanks,” he muttered, and had to stop himself from heading over to the sensor console to see if he could refine the data from their array to get a better feed. The actual job of command was turning out to be harder than he had anticipated. He would have preferred to have a Corvette on his tail any day of the week over waiting for the enemy to respond like this.
Chapter 21: The Scouts Report
“And so that’s what we found in Tracto before we had to turn around and hightail it out of there,” said Captain Archibald of the Red Herring Squadron Cutter. “Two Battleships of the Dreadnaught Class, squawking the designations Vineyard and Larry Montagne; a pair of Light Cruisers; three Destroyers; and over a dozen Corvette or smaller signatures. And that’s just what was active at the time,” he added belatedly. “There could have been more if they were sitting in system with their drives down. We saw what could be evidence that there was a ship over at the new Belter station, and it’s was only place in the system with a repair capability when we left, so…” the Acting Lieutenant slowly trailed off.
“Thank you, Captain Archibald; a concise report,” I said, gesturing for him to take a seat as I turned to Eastwood, Laurent and the image of McCruise on the Ready Room’s imported holo-screen.
“Thoughts, anyone?” I asked evenly. The news was worse than even I had been expecting. I mean, I knew the odds of finding just the Clover here by herself had been low, but all the light vessels my Uncle had somehow managed to scrounge up left my own support vessels in the dust. Of course, six of those light units could be—and probably were, if I was being honest with myself—the remains of the self-defense squadron we’d left here to protect my wife’s home world. But even if that was true and none of them had been destroyed, that meant that all of them had been captured and pressed into pirate service, which in turn meant that Jean Luc had come up with at least a half a dozen other light units—in addition to five warships of superior size: the Destroyers and Cruisers.
“Well, as we only have one, now battle-damaged, Heavy Cruiser and a single Destroyer backed up by eight light weights—”
McCruise was interrupted by Captain Archibald coughing into his hand at the slur to the smaller ships, but she smoothly continued as she gave the young Cutter’s captain the evil eye, “Three Corvettes and five Cutters, to be precise.”
I had to suppress a smile as the young Cutter captain all but sank into his seat. I suspected that if he could have done so, he would have oozed all the way through his seat until his backside hit the floor.
“Your point,” I pressed, to divert attention away from the Cutter captain who was now turning pale and likely sweating copiously.
McCruise’s eyes cut back to me, and now it was my turn to feel the withering look of the hatchet-faced senior Captain.
“We’re outgunned, outclassed, and outnumbered,” she said flatly and then added, “Admiral Montagne. There’s no way we can take on those kinds of numbers. I don’t care what tactics you try to use—even if they didn’t have the Battleships, we’d soon be mobbed, crippled and brought down. Unless their ships are in such disrepair that they can’t operate both their guns and engines at the same time, we’re finished before a shot is fired.”
“A definite point,” I said, giving Captain McCruise a nod before turning to Captain Laurent.
“Anything to add, Captain?” I said, speaking to the Lieutenant Commander.
“Yes, Sir,” Laurent said meeting my eyes, “I think we have to seriously consider a withdrawal.”
“Really?” I replied coolly, even though it was the logical choice given the information they had to work with. It still stuck in my craw to hear it from my own, handpicked Captain. It was the same sensation as if something had been stuck sideways in my throat—a sensation with which I had a certain degree of familiarity. “Even though the Armor Prince could be brought back to service at any point in time and sent out here to reinforce us?”
“Even with the Armor Prince…” Laurent trailed off, looking embarrassed.
“What your Flag Captain’s too polite to tell you is that even with the Prince we’d still be so heavily outgunned that it would be suicide to go up against these people that it wouldn’t even be entertaining as a tactical simulation,” McCruise said shortly, and then added as if she were surprised that it needed saying, “I’m afraid, Admiral that your wife’s home world is lost.”
“Perhaps,” I said slowly, “then again, perhaps not.”
“We’ll follow your orders, Sir, just so long as you recognize the disparity of firepower we’re facing,” Synthia McCruise said flatly. “This isn’t the same thing as jumping into the middle of something and having to fight your way out. Here we can see what we’re up against well in advance, but unless we get more info suggesting those ships are half crippled from faulty maintenance, then realistically there’s nothing that can be done.”
“Interesting,” I mused, staring into space as I tried to figure out if this new information significantly changed my secret, overarching strategy, “Your points are well made, Captain,” I said nodding my head toward McCruise, “and have given me much to think about.”
Synthia looked like there was more she wanted to say, but instead snapped her jaw shut before nodding curtly, “All I ask is a considered strategy.”
“Then for the nonce we will hold our position here, while I consider further reconnaissance forays,” I pretended to muse aloud, all the while keeping a sharp look out of the corner of my eye at the others.
“Just remember that the more scouts you send in, the more chances they get to figure out we’re out here and destroy our scouts. Should that happen, we’ll have lost the element of surprise,” she said.
“Thank you for your input, Captain,” I said with a seated half bow, with my words a clear dismissal.
“With your leave, Admiral,” McCruise said after a long moment and then, not waiting for my permission, cut the transmission. I suppressed a slight frown and then shrugged, as I had been the one to dismiss her after all.
“Since a straight-up slugfest is out, we need to consider all of our other options,” I said smoothly, turning to the rest of my men slowly in turn.
“Shouldn’t Captain McCruise be here if we’re going to be formulating fleet strategy?” First Officer Eastwood asked pointedly with a gesture to the now empty projector.
“We won’t be formulating overall fleet strategy,” I said easily, as if the First Officer hadn’t just challenged my authority. I then turned toward the Junior Lieutenant who was looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but where he was, “Captain Archibald, as I recall you mentioned that my benighted Uncle seems to have continued, or at least allowed to continue, the trillium mining operation started by our Belters.”
“Right, Sir,” the Cutter Captain said with a vigorous nod, “they’re still going full steam as far as we can tell.”
“Trillium is quite valuable,” I said, thinking out loud. If I knew my Uncle, then his failure to shut down the mining operation had been due to his desire to keep it operational. That implied he had a use for the stuff—not a difficult conclusion to arrive at, as even impurity-laden trillium like Tracto’s was some of the most valuable material in the galaxy. Which logically meant that either he intended to use it all himself, in which case he’d need some freighters to carry it all, or that he meant to trade it—again, implying a need for freighters. “No sign of excessive Bug damage?” I asked, as if the answer was relatively unimportant.
“No, Admiral Montagne,” the Cutter Captain said furrowing his brows, “that’s one of t
he few blessings we can count from this mess; the Bugs don’t seem to have reached Tracto.”
“Hmm,” I muttered. Bugs or no Bugs, I was willing to rule out the possibility that Jean Luc meant to camp out in this system and stay Pirate Kinging it on Tracto for the rest of his life. So either which way, he would have a need for some freighters out here sooner rather than later, and being a pirate, I doubted he was going to be purchasing them legally.
“We’ll need to look at interdicting his Freighters,” I muttered, tracing a finger over the tabletop as I tried to recall the nearest systems.
“Freighters, Sir?” Eastwood inquired. “Did I miss something? I don’t recall any mention of civilian shipping in the system.”
“Oh, he’ll have them,” I said absently with a wave of my fingers, “sooner or later.”
“If you say so, Sir,” Eastwood nodded and leaned back in his chair.
I shot the First Officer a penetrating look, “Get with Navigator Shepherd and plot out all the star systems within a freighter’s estimated jump range of Tracto.”
Officer Eastwood blinked. “Navigator…aye, Admiral,” he said.
“Now, Eastwood,” I said pointedly when he failed to carry out my orders with the desired alacrity.
“Of course, Sir,” the First Officer said, standing to his feet and snapping a salute. He held it until I saluted in return, then turned on his heel and strode back out into the bridge.
I turned to Archibald. “You’ve done the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet a great service this day,” I said, standing up and coming over to clap him on the shoulder, “perhaps you’d like to head down to the galley and tell them I’ve given you permission to have a few bottles of the good stuff for you and your crew?”
“Thank you, Admiral Montagne,” the Captain said, his eyes lighting up as he quickly scrambled to his feet and saluted.
I returned his salute and then motioned to the door with a smile, “I won’t hold you any longer, and you can go see to it right now if you want.” I gave him a knowing smile as I continued, “I’m sure your crew will be up in arms if they find out they had to wait a moment longer than necessary.”
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