If - no, when - the Rim Fleet (which was composed almost entirely of Imperial warships) abandoned this region of space, the Spine would be all but completely unguarded. There was nothing I could do about the loss of the Imperial fleet. For that matter, there wasn't looking to be much I could do at all. But that didn’t mean I was destined to just stand by and do nothing. I took a deep breath.
For now I just needed to forget about the sudden gigantic problem facing the various sectors of the Spine and focus on something more immediate, like the area of space the Flag Ship was currently patrolling.
Most of the worlds in this sector of space were defended by nothing stronger than a pair of system defense corvettes, able to take care of the occasional converted merchantman turned pirate. Normally anything bigger than a converted freighter that caused trouble was addressed by the more robust Rim Fleet. Following the Imperial withdrawal, however, the Rim Fleet was no longer going to be around to do any of that work. A few of the younger worlds near the border of known space, like my own Commonwealth of Capria, still had some older warships in service as system defense pickets. Sometimes a world managed to keep a few mothballed but never fully destroyed relics more or less patrol-ready. They often served as reminders of the chaotic times before signing the Articles of Confederation and coming under the protection of Rim Fleet.
For all I knew, the ships of this patrol fleet might be the last detachment on this edge of known space still on the lookout for pirates. I’d been told our orders were fairly standard, a basic commerce protection and piracy suppression packet. Perhaps we could hold out here until a relief force was assembled, or we were called back home? Thankfully, our list of potential problems was limited to basic law enforcement-type issues, rather than facing real problems like an un-catalogued Bug swarm, a still-active AI core fragment or, potentially the biggest problem, the Gorgon threat which was located on the other side of known space.
I shook my head in a mixture of resignation and despair. There was no way this ship could continue to operate out here on the edge of space, at least not with me in actual command. Certainly not with both myself at the helm, and its currently reduced crew complement manning the ship. Our best bet was to find the most senior remaining officer, make sure he was at least remotely competent, and turn command of the ship over to him. I could also order the various individual fleet units to break up and return home where they could do the most good. That was certainly the best course of action.
Still, I don’t know why I hesitated. Perhaps it was because up until this point in my life I’d never had the ability to actually make a difference. Maybe the temporary power I could wield was going to my head. I didn’t know then, and I still don’t. What I do know is that eventually I instructed the computer to connect me with the most senior officer still onboard ship. Unfortunately, instead of connecting me with the sort of space officer I’d imagined, our distributed computer system took its own sweet time connect me to the ship’s newest Chief Engineer, one Terence Spalding.
Admiral Janeski had just wiped the Imperial database and removed all the upgraded computer hardware they could easily disconnect. The battleship still had its original Caprian database and distributed intelligence network, but the old network had nothing like the capability of the Imperial systems. A communications technician could have made things work much quicker, but there were no communication techs left on the Flag Bridge. Janeski had taken all of them with him when he left.
Several frustrating minutes after instructing the computer to connect me to the senior officer still on board ship, the distributed intelligence eventually made a connection.
"Finally," I muttered, straightening self-consciously. I was uneasily aware of the seat I was sitting in. Not only was it the Admiral's former chair, but its proportions were entirely too throne-like for me to find a remotely comfortable position. Visions of what parliamentary investigators could do with video footage of myself sitting in such a command chair flashed through my mind and suddenly the collar of this court outfit felt entirely too tight and I nervously tugged at it to relive the discomfort.
After glancing down at the computer readout I wondered if I was connected to the right person. Short, squat, with a receding hairline and long grey hair that flared out to either side of his head and a wild look in the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut, the aging man I saw on screen hardly looked like an officer in the Caprian SDF. It took the fleet’s newest Admiral a moment of just staring at the disheveled figure to realize that the man was actually wearing an officer’s uniform. Although the uniform had several large tears and grease stains up and down the arms and legs, and it had just as clearly lost any of the tightly pressed creases it might have once possessed, it was still a Caprian SDF uniform.
Perhaps worse than his unkempt appearance, the aging engineer also looked like he was coming up hard against mandatory retirement age. All such musings were shaken from my mind as the Officer’s eyes lost their wild look and lit up, focusing on the vid screen.
Shaking my head roughly, I once again focused my attention back on the miniature screen set into the arm of the chair. To my dismay the same disheveled figure was still on screen.
Unfortunately I knew what the other man was seeing. A short and (thanks to the Royal family's access to early life prolonging techniques) entirely too young looking a man, untested and unscarred by the rigors of life. Brown hair and brown eyes were placed in a symmetrical face. My features weren't striking but I shared the same basic good looks and features as the rest of the royal family, excepting the nose. Personally, I thought my nose wasn't pointed enough. Entirely too flat, thanks to mother's side of the family, if you asked me. Of course, mother hated her own nose with a passion and while she was much more pleased with the way mine looked, she still advocated plastic surgery for the both of us when I was done with my schooling and could afford it of course. So it was possible some of her bias had rubbed off on me.
The officer on the screen did a double take. "Thank all the lucky stars!" Exclaimed the wild haired old man, "It’s the little admiral!" he said, giving me a bug eyed stare.
I gritted my teeth and forced out a smile. I hated that nickname with a passion, and if it were up to me that particular nickname would never again be used aboard the flag ship. Ignoring the awful name I refocused on my current duty. "I was just checking the ship's roster and the ship's distributed intelligence indicated you are the senior officer still aboard ship. It seems everyone senior to you has signed on with the Imperials and left for the other side of known space."
“Bunch of blue-faced blighters," cursed the officer. "They came and raided the Engineering crew for personnel to man that shiny new command ship of theirs. The Maker only knows how many of our boys were wise enough to remain onboard. Those unlucky welchers who left us in the lurch are going to wind up dead fighting the Gorgons!" He waved his hands in the air and then snorted before muttering something inaudible under his breath.
My eyelids shot up at the tirade but I forced them back down again with effort. "I'm sure they..." I started, but decided it wasn’t worth it and shook my head. "Anyway, I don't recall meeting you at any of the ship's formal dinners," I asked, sure I would have remembered a character like this officer if I had met him before.
The officer stopped muttering and cracked a smile. "Ah yes, well I don't normally have much time for such things, formal dinners and all that. Manners, table etiquette and the like not exactly being my strong suit, if you know what I mean." He started to put out a hand to shake with before remembering we were talking through a vid-screen. The wild haired officer ran the hand through his beard instead.
"Oh," he exclaimed, with a look of sudden enlightenment. "Forgive me, my name is Engineering Officer Terrence Spalding, and I've had the good fortune of being continuously assigned to the best ship to ever come out of Caprian shipyards. I even took a cut in rank from Senior Lieutenant back to Junior Lieutenant just to stay on with the Clover for this one last voyage. You k
now, they offered me early retirement as a Lieutenant Commander just before the patrol started, but I turned 'em down flat. Why, I've been continuously assigned to the Lucky Clover ever since I was a wet behind the ear middie. Even when they put her in mothballs 30 years ago, I joined the bone yard crew just to stay near the old girl." To say the engineer smiled as he spoke about his service with the ship wouldn't have done his countenance justice.
I tried to swallow the hard knot which was quickly forming in my throat, but it only served to make it worse (I've since come to understand this particular discomfort to be related to an impending, crushing responsibility). From his looks and the fruits of our conversation so far, this Engineering officer was destroying what little confidence I still had in turning the ship over to the senior remaining office.
"Officer Spalding. A current… a Junior Lieutenant who used to be a Senior Lieutenant." I said out loud and then nodded reluctantly. "Right, so what's your assessment of the Lucky Clover? I mean what's her current condition, and can she get us back to port without any serious trouble," I asked in my most well-composed tone, but all I could think about was how the ship would manage without the more experienced half of her crew.
The engineer looked offended. "The Clover, she's a fine vessel," he said stoutly. “A fine vessel indeed,” he repeated, with cherry red blossoms erupting on his cheeks. “Why, with the right engineering crew onboard her and any halfway decent navigator, the ship will practically fly herself!”
"Lieutenant, let me be blunt,” I said, still clinging to the fraying thread of hope that I might turn the ship over to a trained officer, “this vessel needs a captain. She can't function without one. And Admiral Janeski took the old one with him when he boarded that new Command Carrier of his."
Engineer Spalding looked surprised, and his face seemingly instantly returned to its previous color. "That's right, all those Imperials were the first ones to jump ship and the Captain was an Imperial Officer if ever I’ve seen one.” He slammed one fist into his open palm. “Well, fortunately, that's what we have you for, Admiral. I'm sure you'll do a fine job of captaining the ship, sir. A very fine job indeed." He said again, nodding sagely.
I blinked. "I'm afraid you misunderstand me Lieutenant Spalding. I'm in no way qualified to command a vessel of this size, or any other vessel for that matter. I wouldn’t even trust myself with command of a garbage scow!” I caught myself just short of completely losing my composure, realizing I had arrived rather abruptly at the end of my wits.
The engineering officer nodded slowly. “Well, if the young admiral thinks a captain other than himself is needed, I’m sure he’ll find one. And of course you have my full support regarding whoever you select for command. As for me, I’ll just stick to what I know best. I’ve got an engineering crew and a starship to put back to rights. It’s a crying shame you know, the rough way those Imperials ran her engines, and then thieving off with so many of the crew.”
I drew a deep breath, attempting to regain whatever measure of regal bearing I had remaining. “Officer Spalding, as the senior remaining officer on the Clover I had intended to place you in command of this ship.” I raised a hand to forestall the coming protest. “It is your duty as an officer of the Caprian System Defense Force to carry out your new duties to the best of your abilities. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it has to be.” I said with finality.
“Aye aye, Admiral. Which is why I’m going to start in on my new duties as Chief of Engineering right away and delegate all that Captaining stuff to line officers such as yourself,” he paused ever so briefly, “as soon as I get out of this here brig, that is. Would you be good enough to send over one of my engineering ratings to bust me out of here? I'd be most appreciative, sir.” With that the ancient Engineering Lieutenant turned off the monitor and the screen went blank.
I sat back in my chair, completely stunned. My first act, an attempt to turn command of the battleship over to someone at least halfway competent, had just ended in complete and utter failure. It looked like I, Prince-Cadet Jason Montagne Vekna, Governor of Planetary Body Harpoon, Honorary Admiral in the Caprian System Defense Force and as of a few minutes ago, Admiral-in-actual-command of the Spine’s Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet, was as utterly ineffective and powerless as ever.
I’d been a fool to think that now that I was in command, things would suddenly change and people would instantly start doing what I told them, just because I’d told them to do it.
For a moment I thought about giving up and going back to my stateroom until they all got home. It looked like once again I had responsibility but no real authority to go along with it. It seemed to be the story of my life.
Unfortunately it then occurred to me that as of right now there wasn’t even anyone present to pilot the ship, or at least point it in the right direction. Thanks to Imperial Rear Admiral Arnold Janeski and the Imperial Triumvirate of Man, I had no one competent left to tell me what to do. I didn’t even know if the ship had enough remaining crew to keep the engines running long enough to get us home.
A brief moment before a truly debilitating wave of despair crashed into the fragile remains of my psyche, I remembered Engineer Spalding. He seemed confident that he could put Engineering back together with enough warm bodies. Of course, Spalding also seemed more than a little unstable and certainly didn't seem to fit in the mold of a typical naval officer. Still, there was a sliver of hope that the ship wouldn’t just fall apart before we got home, but that sliver depended on one of the most unusual people I'd ever had the occasion to meet.
What about the rest of it? Affairs I'd considered menial to this point, such as basic provisions like food, water and life support suddenly rose to the forefront of my thoughts, creating a second knot in my throat. Then there were concerns like crew shift schedules, ship security and organizing some sort of temporary chain of command until we could get home. I had to be honest with myself, right at that moment I didn’t know how to deal with any of it. No one else knew how to do this, and no one onboard even thought they knew, with the possible exception of one very senior and obviously eccentric engineering character.
I admit that I thought maybe I should walk away. Just leave the bridge, walk back to my quarters and wait until things sorted themselves out. What was the worst that could happen? These things always seemed to work themselves out before, right?
Sure it might take a while for the remaining officers and crew to sort things out amongst themselves. But ultimately no one wanted to be stuck in deep space. Not when we were in a perfectly good ship that could take us home. What did they expect me to do? I was a Montagne and by Saint Murphy’s wretched wrench, they never trained me to be a leader of men or an admiral of fleets. I was good at smiling, looking good for the cameras and delivering speeches in an appropriately aristocratic fashion.
Then I had a horrible thought. What if things did go wrong because no one was in charge of the Lucky Clover? The crew might well blame me, the Montagne Admiral who was supposedly in command. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Throughout recent history my family had made decent scapegoats for all sorts of disasters. In point of fact, now that I was thinking about it, I remembered reading about a Montagne ship captain, one Jean-Luc Montagne who’d been lynched by his own crew right after the Imperial Fleet bombarded our world. He hadn’t been responsible for either the royal coup to seize Capria or the orbital bombardment. As I recalled it, he’d even selflessly sheltered the officers and crew from the various purges initiated by the Montagne’s in the Palace. For all the good it did him. The crew had still thrown him, kicking and screaming into the waste recycler, without any regard for his culpability or lack of it. They’d even gone so far as to broadcast the images via live satellite. The uninvited image of my own face imposed over his during those final moments made my head spin.
I still didn’t know what to do about this whole mess, but after remembering Jean-Luc I now knew one thing for certain. I had to do something fast, if only to make sure I
didn’t end up like poor Jean-luc.
First things first, I decided. I used the distributed intelligence system to contact someone down in engineering and instructed them to send a rating over to the brig to release my new Chief Engineer. That was a logical, necessary first step in keeping the ship in condition to get them back to civilized space.
Visions of being thrown into the waste recycler still dancing in my head, I was suddenly grateful the crew had been confined to quarters. I wasn’t sure how long that would last, but hopefully they would stay shut in long enough for me to get a few things done first. Using a handheld from one of the work stations on the Flag Bridge, it took me several minutes to download the information I needed from the ship’s original distributed intelligence system.
After I'd transferred the data I'd found, I left the bridge and returned to my quarters to change. It was time to get out of the monkey suit. The pants were incredibly tight and restrictive, besides which I’d be easily recognizable for as long as I was parading around in them. So instead of court attire I changed into my gym workout suit. It was the closest thing I had to normal ships attire, and was blessedly far more comfortable than the ridiculous uniform my office required.
Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 3