“You can say what you want about me but no one talks about my ship that way! Just who do you think you are?” Spalding shouted, pulling out his plasma torch and waving it around. “Come on out and fight so I can send you to meet your maker—and that’s the straight download, you moldy bit of cheese.”
“Finally got your dander up, yeah? Well good for you. You’re going to need some fire in your belly if you’re to survive the coming storm. And if you think all the suffering and hardship you’ve been going through on the Gorgon Front are bad enough, just wait until you have to head through the Passage of Doom. It’ll be enough to make you long for the days of those Locust ships!” e-Spalding chortled.
Spalding opened his mouth furiously and then slowly closed it. “Locust ships you say?” he paused and then his voice firmed, “they’re not so tough. After all, it’s not like they were so much as a patch on the troubles we had back in the Spine…comparatively I mean,” he bragged, keeping a crafty weather eye on the interface console.
“Not so much as a patch! Have you lost your mind?” e-Spalding snapped. “I always knew I was a proud man, but now you’re just embarrassing the both of us.”
“You can’t honestly tell me Command Carriers are like peanuts when it comes to space combat,” Spalding said, still fishing for information. After all, even if the impostor in his dream was nothing more than a hallucination, it still had to come from somewhere in the back of his brain after all. And wasn’t that where they said that a man’s best creativity came from? Certainly all those schematics he’d been looking at earlier would have to show that in the back of this old engineer’s head was a pretty dedicated worker. Might as well milk his own subconscious, or the alien impostor, whichever it was for as much information as he could.
After all, he reasoned, anything my own brain could come up with is rightfully mine anyways even though it was proving to be an infuriatingly, judgmental, tightfisted blighter. Not that I’d honestly expected anything else, but a few of those hits had been below the belt.
Another moment of consideration and he decided that the odds he was dealing with an alien subversive of some kind were a lot higher than he’d initially thought. Maybe there was as much as twenty percent chance this wasn’t a hallucination—fully twice what he’d originally estimated.
“Eh, what’s the problem...cat got your tongue?” Spalding demanded.
“What time did you say you were from?” e-Spalding asked after a moment. “I seem to be experiencing more temporal flux on the scanners than I originally allowed.
“Ha! You keep claiming I’m the incompetent one but it’s your incompetence which you keep trying to foist off on me that strikes again. And no I didn’t ever say when I was from because you never asked,” Spalding chuckled.
“Sweet crying Murphy, the fly’s in the ointment on this one,” e-Spalding cursed, “I knew I got the vector wrong when it connected but there you were. I should have known things were going too easily.” Slowly his voice started to get fainter and fainter, “Now I’ll have to try again and hope I have enough left in the capacitors to make another connection.”
“Hey, where are you going?” Spalding asked, instantly regretting that final dig. Not so much the dig itself but that he hadn’t held off for more information; he never knew his sub-consciousness had such a thin skin or the old engineer would have milked it for more information first before hitting it upside the head with its failures.
“No time, old man; the Sweet Saint waits for no sentient,” e-Spalding said cheerfully, his voice increasingly static filled.
“Now wait just a blasted second,” Spalding growled.
“Best of luck with things; write me a secret journal I can look at later. You know how things are, blunt force head trauma followed by memory transference issues. I’m really excited to remember how things went for us,” said the increasingly diminutive voice.
Spalding upped the volume on his end. “What, that’s all you’ve got? 'Hello, best of luck, hope things work out for you?' Why the blazes did you mess with the jump drives and try to contact me anyway? I was almost killed by some kind of crystalline spider creature,” he said impatiently.
There was a pause. “Heh, it’s almost like I forgot for a moment, catching up with my old self like this and all,” e-Spalding said, “well, old potato, let’s see if I can’t help steer towards the shoals of disaster a little quicker than you might have otherwise managed.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” Spalding frowned.
“Just remember to super charge the shields when you go through the ring of doom and I’m sure you’ll do fine,” e-Spalding said sagaciously.
“I’ll do fine?” Spalding asked.
“Yep! That’s the ticket, lad,” confirmed e-Spalding.
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” he replied crossly.
“Well...there is one other thing, but I don’t think you’ll like it,” said e-Spalding.
“What?”
“Make sure you’re not late for your doctor’s appointment,” e-Spalding said seriously, and then laughed evilly as the connection cut.
“Son of a cut worm!” Spalding bellowed.
Moments later, reality reasserted itself on the bridge and the bridge crew appeared around him.
“Commander?” asked the Ensign at the nearest console.
“As you were, lass,” Spalding said taking a few deep breaths to regain his control.
Glenda Baldwin looked over and did a double take.
“Just what are you doing here?” she asked irritably.
“What do you mean 'what am I doing here'?” Spalding blustered, “I have just as much right as anyone to be on this bridge—no, that should be twice as much right as any man jack to be anywhere on this ship I please.”
“Ha! Then why are you sneaking onto my bridge like a thief in the night, I ask you?” she demanded, giving him the hairy eyeball.
Spalding instinctively scowled.
“And don’t try that innocent act with me! You obviously bypassed the alarm I set to warm me every time you get within twenty meters of the bridge, so don’t try to feed me some line,” she frowned.
Spalding blinked. “You’ve been monitoring me?!” he yelped, his voice rising with surprise.
Baldwin looked momentarily surprised and then her expression faltered. “It’s just a simple algorithm, nothing so Machiavellian about it as all that, Commander Spalding,” she said defensively.
“Oh, its 'Commander' now, is it?” he chuckled happily. “Can’t just admit how much you care about an old man like me, can you?”
The Construction Manager and acting ship’s XO purpled. “You—” she snorted before regaining control of herself, “are completely and wildly off-base. Don’t read so much into me placing a bell on you.” Spalding smirked. “Anyway, just how did you get onto the bridge without anyone noticing you, Commander?” Glenda demanded.
“Hmph!” Spalding snorted, his mood instantly souring. “None of your confounded business how I got up here. The most important thing isn’t how a man gets somewhere, it’s where he's at!”
The Construction Manager gave him a complicated look. “I’m sure any number of despots and 'ends justifies the means' types have said very similar things throughout history,” she said.
Spalding purpled. “So now I’m a mass murderer for coming onto my own bridge?” he exclaimed furiously. “Well that’s rich—that’s very rich indeed!”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Glenda protested.
“Bunch of nonsense!” Spalding threw his hands in the air and stomped off, heading towards the engineering work station. Angrily, he pulled up the security feed from moments before…and froze.
“Hey, lad, come take a look at this,” he instructed the engineer pulling watch duty on the bridge and then reran the sequence.
The other engineer blinked and did a double take. “What’s that, Sir?” the other man asked.
Spalding fell back in his chair. “Well doesn’t t
hat just tear it?” he muttered.
Chapter 17: Confusion and Rage
“Fire!” Bluetooth shouted excitedly.
“Good work, Captain,” Isaak said with satisfaction.
“They can't take much more of this, your Excellency,” said the ship’s captain.
And then every target in the ship’s tactical plotter wavered and disappeared.
“What the…” Bluetooth stared at the screen.
Cries of alarm shot through the bridge.
“Where did they go? Did they use a stealth field, Captain—are they still there?” Isaak demanded.
“Fire for stealth reveal, Tactical,” ordered Bluetooth.
“Stealth pattern fire, aye, Captain,” replied Tactical.
On the screen, lasers danced all over the last known positions of the various enemy ships.
“Negative, Captain. No stealth field present,” Tactical said almost sounding numb.
“Full sensor sweep—maximum power. Coordinate with the rest of the flotilla,” instructed the Captain.
“Find them, Captain!” ordered Isaak.
“Negative, Captain. Nothing on the max sweep,” reported Sensors, “the only thing I can find on the sweep is an unusual reading of strange particles.
Bluetooth stood up abruptly. “That isn’t possible,” he said angrily.
“Captain!” Isaak cried.
The Sector Guardsman in command of the flagship took a deep breath and then released it shaking his head. “Sensors, verify that reading. Tactical, stealth sweep again,” he ordered.
“Aye aye, Captain,” both officer said in unison.
“If someone doesn’t start speaking to me in plain Standard, careers will end,” Governor Isaak said flatly.
On the screen, lasers swept a new pattern once again finding nothing. Bluetooth shot the officer at Sensors a look but the Senior Lieutenant shook his head negatively while looking bewildered.
He turned to face the former Caprian Ambassador.
“They’re gone, Governor,” Bluetooth said evenly the words like ashes in his mouth, “we’ll keep looking but all signs point to the Tyrant doing the impossible.”
“Impossible? He’s still here—find him!” Isaak snapped.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” Bluetooth said officiously.
“What are you talking about? Its obvious, he’s just slipped away in stealth,” Isaak said.
“And that’s a possibility we’ll continue to work with, Governor,” he assured him, “but with the strange particle surge, the fact our own laser strikes can’t hit un-moving derelicts, and that there are no stealth fields known to the Sector Guard that could cover for the kind of acceleration those derelicts would need to avoid our fire...the only logical conclusion is that somehow, someway, the Tyrant has managed to do the impossible. He’s jumped out of the Star System from inside the hyper limit.”
The Governor stood there as if struck.
“Everything we can see is consistent with that notion, Excellency,” said the Captain.
There was a stir in the Communications department.
“Sir, a stealthed platform just appeared and dumped a compressed message file into our com-net,” reported a communications officer.
“Tactical, target that platform,” commanded the Captain.
“On it, Sir,” said the Lieutenant Commander.
“You’ve scanned it for viruses?” Bluetooth asked the communications officer.
“It’s clean, Sir,” said the Lieutenant.
“Play the message then,” ordered the Captain.
“The message is addressed to the Governor, Sir. It’s from the Tyrant,” said the Lieutenant looking uneasy.
The Captain and the Governor shared an uneasy look. “Play it Lieutenant,” instructed the Governor.
Chapter 18: The Tyrant’s Final Dig
“Greetings and salutations from the other side of the Sector,” the Tyrant on the screen said with a cheeky grin. “And sadly, no, this is not an FTL transmission, just a recorded one. But as you are no doubt now aware, those portions of the MSP which were located at Project Waypoint have successfully egressed this star system. Meaning the greater part of the derelicts and potential firepower once within this star system are now in my hands—completely in my hands, I should say,” the Tyrant’s sunny smile slowly disappeared to be replaced by a thin, hard line. “Now, another man might take this sudden exit from Easy Haven as weakness. The fact that I now have a good half a dozen battleships in need of quick repairs and crews—problems for the far distant future—might be enough to evoke a fit of frustrated rage for such a man, but such a fit might force me to later make him regret his short-sightedness. It is then incumbent upon me to assure such a man, should he exist, that this particular line of thinking would be a critical mistake.”
The young Montagne paused, his eyes now boring into the screen.
“I’m not going to dance around with veiled threats and innuendos. All I’m going to say is: don’t touch Easy Haven. As of this moment I have enough power in a hidden shipyard that, within six months, when repairs are complete, I’ll have the ability to rain pain down on this Sector so hard what few survivors remained would be begging me to leave,” the Tyrant then leaned back in his chair and flashed a false smile. “Or you, as you know, could just do what you were supposed to be doing all along: leave me and the MSP alone, let us guard the edge of known space and ward off stray invasions of robots, Bugs and wide-eyed Imperials while you lot—meaning the Sector Government and Sector Guard—do what you were always supposed to be doing,” the Tyrant now glared at the screen like he now had some kind of moral authority, “protecting our borders with the rest of the Spine and regulating interstellar commerce. To my mind, keeping the remnants of the Reclamation Fleet out of 25—and, you know stop trying to frame me for everything that’s gone wrong since the Empire pulled out—should be your most urgent number one priority. But, as always, the choice is entirely yours. Live, die, run. Yours in disregard, Jason Montagne,” the Tyrant said and the transmission ended.
There was a long moment of silence. “That utter blighter,” swore Bluetooth, “who does he think he is to talk to the elected head of an entire Sector like that? The Sector Guard will not sit still for this. Attempting to blackmail a sector official? Why—”
“He thinks he’s a man soon to have half a dozen new battleships in his fleet, with more to follow, Captain,” Isaak’s voice cracked like a whip, causing instant silence. “And that’s not counting the ships he captured before joining the 25th Amalgamated Fleet in Easy Haven; remember the reports of our own Sector Guard units that accompanied him to that first battle with the Reclamation Fleet, or what might be repairable from after our final battle with Janeski? Remember how they refused to allow our inspectors on the Metal Titan after the battle, not to mention the wrecked remains of an Imperial Command Carrier—a Command Carrier!”
“Even an Imperial yard and a dozen years couldn’t fix that ship. Easier to build a new one, and I dare say that’s beyond even the Tyrant’s amazingly criminal abilities,” Bluetooth said stoutly.
“Don’t be a fool, Captain! Criminal abilities? I don’t care if it’s broken in half and completely irreparable, Jason Montagne now has his unrestricted hands on multiple working examples of the Empire’s best and highest level technology with no one left to stop him from doing whatever he wants with it,” Isaak threw his hands in the air. “Give the Vice Admiral enough time with that Command Carrier and the battleships to retrofit that new technology with, and the next thing you know we’ll be staring down the barrel of Imperial grade weapons technology. I don’t need to tell you what that would mean for this Sector!”
Bluetooth looked like he’d just bitten into something sour. “If we can find his secret rebel base, then…” Bluetooth paused.
“A secret rebel base? You mean his hidden shipyard, obviously,” Isaak looked at the other man in disbelief and shook his head.
“If we turn the full weight and force
of the Sector and Sector Guard on the problem of his location, I’m sure we can run him to ground,” Captain Bluetooth said stoutly.
“We?” Isaak asked dourly. “I have assigned three intelligence gathering organizations and several of my best personal agents the task of running Jason Montagne to ground. The question is not ‘if’ they will discover his location but rather 'will they discover it in time'?”
“You can’t mean to let one man hold an entire Sector hostage, Sir,” protested Bluetooth.
“Of course not,” Isaak said instantly, “however' a wise man always hedges his bets.”
“Meaning, Sir?”
“Meaning no decision will be made until I am satisfied the Tyrant is no longer in this star system. That he says he is gone, and that you believe him to have left, does not satisfy me. I want every grid, every asteroid, every space rock scanned measured and compared to the star system’s scan index,” said Isaak.
“That will take time, but we can do it,” Bluetooth said slowly, “and if the scans come back negative?”
Isaak glared at the screen. “Then we will leave this star system to further our search for the good Vice Admiral and his…Patrol Fleet,” said Isaak with a grimace. “I may be bold but I am not quite ready to start a war with a man I cannot find who is in possession of more than ten currently active or soon to be repairable battleships.”
“An admirable goal,” said Bluetooth, “only I wonder if after our attack the…‘Vice Admiral’ doesn’t consider the war already started? After all, we were rather firm with him just now—I mean before we actually opened fire,” he finished with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Isaak paused for a moment. “It is a risk but I think not,” he said before continuing decisively, “no if he was ready for war the rabid young royalist wouldn’t be urging me to look to our borders for trouble and threatening war if I continued my attack on Wolf-9.”
“You would allow him to dictate policy? Even the appearance of caving to his threats could cost more than a reprisal attack,” Bluetooth said.
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