I kept speaking, pointedly talking over several different people who wanted to inject their say into the conversation. “The first order you’re all to obey is get this man down to the infirmary,” I said, pointing to the Chief Engineer who looked like he actually was having a heart attack or a stroke. “Everyone not doing that is to start preparing this ship for a disaster relief effort, immediately. Those settlers out there don’t care about anyone’s ego, or who made what mistake. They only care how long they can keep breathing. I aim to see to that issue, first and foremost. Everything we’ve done here is for nothing if we stand by and let them die.”
I turned and sat down in my chair, deliberately showing my back. I was trying to make it obvious that I expected them to deal with it. “Everything,” I repeated with finality.
Chapter 19: The Relief Effort
What a relief it was to stop worrying about battles and boarding actions that killed people and focus on just saving lives.
As expected, it was confusion on the bridge and all throughout the ship as the entire crew prepared to receive survivors and then actually started picking them up.
While we were still busy with the first phase of the rescue effort, the second corvette was retaken along with the pirate cutter still mysteriously attached to her. It seemed the corvette’s crew had barricaded themselves in engineering and the armory, weathering the pirate storm until her still-active sister ship could arrive to save the day. As best the corvette's officers could tell, during battle the cutter captain and all of her officers had been killed and so no one alive had the necessary codes to undock the cutter and make a run for it. Most of the pirates inside had been unaware of this, still under the impression the pirates were winning the battle for cold space, all the way until the jacks arrived.
But even if both corvettes and the cutter had been completely empty, there was no way the three relatively small vessels could take an appreciable fraction of the survivors from the broken settlement ship.
Fully loaded, as that settlement ship had been, she carried just under a hundred thousand settlers and all the equipment and supplies they thought they were going to need when they reached their new home.
Even with our best rescue efforts, if we saved even half of those settlers I would have no choice but to count it as a win. Rescue operations like medical triage must be viewed with a 'glass half full' mentality at all times in order to maintain focus and efficiency. The pirates had done incredible damage to that ship and then sent in cutters, one by one, to load their holds with prime terraforming and manufacturing equipment, while the rest of the pirates held off the defenders and continued to pick away at the escort ships.
So for the first time since losing nearly half of our crew to the Empire (some nearly eight thousand men in total) we finally saw a measurable benefit from losing all those men. The Lucky Clover had once more lived up to her name sake by showing us the lucky side of the situation. The loss of so many men may have hurt our ship’s morale and its effectiveness on every level you could imagine, but it had also made room for more than eight thousand half-frozen survivors who would have otherwise frozen to death or suffocated drifting in cold space.
The pirate cruiser that Admiral Janeski had so thoughtfully left for us was little better than a floating death trap and still filled with loads of pirate garbage, but to the floating settlers, a death trap was head and shoulders better than waiting until your spacesuit’s life support functions ran down in the cold vacuum of the void. At least they now had a chance.
We managed to cram another almost eight thousand floaters into the captured cruiser, after we stripped enough trustworthy air recycling systems from the broken settlement ship to ensure their continued air supply.
The air recycling systems were rigged and prone to failure at the first whiff of trouble, but we were running out of space to put people. Even recovering the pirate cutter which the corvette had knocked out after we rammed our way through the Piranhas Formation wasn’t worth more than a drop in the bucket compared to the needs of some fifty thousand survivors.
Still, our over-worked engineers patched a few holes and made the two captured cutters livable before welding them to the outside of our hull. No one wanted to trust pirate systems on a damaged ship. Who knew what kind of suicide protocols and spoiler programming had been installed into its system to activate if its captain died?
It wasn't long before I was speaking with the captains of the two surviving settlement ships. One was a Caprian with a hold full of my countrymen on their way out to colonize some new planet, and the other was a Belter. A man from a culture that lived in orbital industrial stations, mining asteroids and small moons. Commonly called rock rats, it seemed the system these people had been in previously was nearly played out and they had been granted an Imperial charter for the start a new Belter colony further out on the rim of known space. However, the long promised Imperial escort never arrived and they had been forced to set out unprotected or lose their homesteading rights.
The broken ship, on the other hand, had been full of families from Prometheus. Prometheans were a strange lot, but Capria and Prometheus were far enough away from each other that the two groups generally got along when we came together. I pushed aside dark thoughts regarding the two medium cruisers that should have been in system with us but weren’t.
“I’m not sure how many more survivors we can safely take onboard our ship, Admiral,” the Captain of the Belter-ship said respectfully, the scene on his bridge only marginally less chaotic than the one on mine.
My brows lowered and the Captain of the Caprian Settler frowned at his Belter compatriot.
The Belter continued quickly, “It’s not that we don’t want to take more survivors. It’s just that the pirates attacked us too, you see. Not only is a settlement ship by definition filled to the brim already, but we sprung a number of air leaks during the attack. It will take time to find, fix and repair all of the leaks, and in the mean time our recyclers are working overtime just to keep the people we already have alive. If we lose too much air it doesn’t matter if all the leaks are eventually patched, we’ll have too many people and too little oxygen to make it to the next port.”
At this the Caprian Captain reluctantly nodded. “My ship also experienced damage in the attack. I don’t think it's as bad for us as it is for the Belters, but he has a point.”
I stared at the desk for a moment. I was using the Admiral’s ready room for the first time. This room had always been the territory of Admiral Janeski, and being summoned here had always felt like turning in your homework to a disapproving teacher. Despite the bad memories, it had lots of space and better systems than anything else I could find on or near the bridge, and from here I could monitor multiple operations at the same time.
Right now though, all those operations were saying the same thing: there just wasn’t enough room to safely carry all the survivors. Frankly, I was getting fed up with the constant stream of protests. Who cares about safety when the alternative to a dangerous action is certain death, anyways?
“In short, what you’re saying is that even with every ship in the system we can only take on something like half the survivors,” I said flatly.
“I’m sorry, Admiral," began the Belter captain. "But if we take on any more people no one will survive the trip home. It's not food or space, although space is extremely tight. It’s the air. Without air to breath, we’ll all die.”
The Caprian nodded his agreement and looked guardedly at me. “I hate to say it but I don’t see any way either, Admiral. Maybe we can temporarily patch up some of the decks on the hulk and they can ride things out here until a ship can come back out and ferry them home.”
I shook my head in negation. “No,” I said forcefully. “Leaving them behind is a death sentence. The pirates already know there’s a wreck out here to be salvaged, and like flies on road kill they’ll be back as soon as we leave. Then it's death or worse for anyone left behind on that derelict.”
/>
“A corvette could stay behind to guard them,” suggested the Belter. “At least until a rescue effort could be mustered."
“Both Escort ships have been damaged and one was recently disabled. Besides, you’ve already been attacked once. Won’t you need both corvettes to fight off another pirate attack, if they find you again while you’re traveling to your new settlements,” I asked, trying to draw some further dialogue. I didn’t intent to make this easy for the captains of the settlement ships.
The Belter blinked. “But we thought,” he glanced at his Caprian counterpart, who kept his face blank and unhelpful, “That is to say, I had thought that since you and your battleship. The uh… the Lucky Clover is already here, and it seemed logical that you’d escort us the rest of the way to our new homes,” said the Belter, looking and sounding flustered.
I decided to blow some smoke in their faces to confuse them and then thread in just enough truth so that they couldn’t later complain that they had been deceived.
“This is the Flagship of a Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet and we have a duty to more than just one convoy of settlers, Captain. Maybe if the pair of you didn’t already have an escort,” I trailed off regretfully. Two parts fiction and one part unpalatable fact.
The Belter looked as if he’d just bitten a lemon, while the Caprian Captain muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Montagne’s.”
Offended and not willing to rein myself in after I had just risked everything to save the ungrateful man’s life, I fixed him with a cold glare. The Belter glanced back and forth between his fellow captain and myself, aware that something had passed between us. He didn’t know what it was, lacking the shared historical context, but it was obvious he could tell it wasn’t going to help.
“As it is,” I said stiffly, playing the part of the offended Admiral, which I certainly was, but not to the degree I let on, “you already have protection, so I feel it my duty to see to the needs of thousands of helpless citizens of Prometheus.”
The Caprian Captain glared at his desk but didn’t say anything further. Clearly he’d already given up on further help from a Montagne Admiral.
I felt a flare of righteous anger but throttled it silent before I said something I would later regret. Or rather, something the thousands onboard the settlement ships would later regret.
“I’m sure some workable compromise can be reached,” the Belter captain said desperately, ignoring his Caprian counterpart and focusing solely on me. “The corvettes have done more for us than we could have rightfully hoped, but in the last battle one was disabled and almost captured, while the other was severely damaged. If you hadn’t arrived, I shudder to think what might have happened. Please, if my colleague has somehow offended you, think about the families we are carrying instead. On behalf of the thousands of Belters crammed aboard my ship, I beg you. We desperately need your help reaching a safe port.”
The Caprian captain was still glaring at his desk but he gave a jerky nod and looked up giving up the glare. “On behalf of thousands of your fellow Caprians, I also ask for your help, Admiral Montagne,” he said, sounding like he’d swallowed a fish bone. The Caprian Captain took a deep breath. “The fact is we need your ship, Admiral. Or something like her if we’re going to reach a world to safely put down on. As long as everyone knows the Imperial Navy has pulled out of the region, it’s open season on ships like ours,” he said, his eyes raw with emotion.
I could imagine how the man felt. Defeated royalists or triumphant parliamentarians, it didn’t matter which faction you belonged to. Back on my home world everyone blamed the Montagnes. The parliamentarians blamed us for the purging of their government and the later orbital bombardment by the Imperial Navy. The royalists also blamed us for the orbital bombardment and the counter-purge by the parliamentarians that followed after they returned to power with the support of the Imperials.
It had to be a bitter pill to swallow, begging the son and grandson of butchers to help save your life. For the second time in such a short period of time, no less.
“Alright,” I said, nodding slowly. “I can’t promise the Clover will escort you to your new home worlds. Or,” I paused and nodded acknowledgment to the Belter, “new home systems.” I drew in a deep breath. “But,” I said, holding up a finger, “you can accompany us on our patrol until we reach a world you consider safe enough to part from our company.”
The two captains nodded their thanks and started to smile, much of the tension disappearing instantly.
“However,” I said, lowering my finger pointedly to the desktop, “I’m still not willing to just abandon the Promethean settlers in this system.”
The still forming smiles wilted and the settlement captains looked uneasy. The conversation had come full circle without any resolution.
I started ticking points off on my fingers. “We can’t carry all the Prometheans with us for any kind of extended journey. Don’t I have that right,” I asked, alternating my gaze between the two Captains.
“Yes,” grated the Caprian Captain, no doubt once again smelling the foul odor of a Montagne in the room.
The Belter just nodded. Then decided to add, “Even more than one point transfer might be too long. It takes us a day just to cycle our engines. As it is, to take on another twenty five thousand or so refugee... I don’t know, even split between our ships, people will be packed into corridors with no room to sit or lay down. We were hot-bunking in shifts before taking on the Prometheans. If they’re onboard for longer than a day...well, a person can only stand for so long, and when there’s children involved logic can take a back seat to emotion. Too long and a riot is possible. Which completely ignores a breakdown in environmental and the air supply going bad, killing us all.”
“We could always dump some of your settlement equipment and make room for more people in the cargo holds,” I suggested, finally bringing the idea to the table.
“No,” exclaimed the Belter.
“Still wouldn’t solve the air problem,” the Caprian Captain said glumly, shaking his head.
“Especially not knowing that pirates could come back at anytime and steal any equipment we left here," said the Belter Captain. “Equipment we need just to live our lives, in cold space, as anything other than refugees. Admiral, my people would rather die than be reduced to such circumstances.”
“Our situation is different from the Belters. If our equipment was stolen, we would likely become another failed colony, but we’d at least still have a chance and could always come home if we failed,” said the Caprian Captain. “The Belters have nowhere to go back to if they fail…” he trailed off.
“That’s not strictly true,” said the Belter Captain looking deeply unhappy. “We could always return to our station of origin, as beggars instead of productive members of the interstellar community.”
“I believe I understand,” I said, cutting into the conversation. “If we can’t take them with us on a long journey and we can’t leave them,” I ignored their desperate looks, “then that means we have to find some place,” I nodded at the Belter Captain, “within one jump range of our ships. That place must be able to support the Prometheans until such a time as someone can come back to retrieve them.”
The Caprian Captain stroked his chin and looked away from the screen while the Belter Captain frowned.
“According to the Dictates of Man," the Caprian Captain said, “landing settlers on any unclaimed world or lightly settled world, without permission of the Colonization Bureau, is claim jumping and punishable by orbital bombardment. The statute is quite specific that there are no possible extenuating circumstances.”
“The Dictates of Man,” I said, thoughtfully tapping my chin. “Those wouldn’t happen to be the 'Imperial Dictates of Man' by any chance,” I asked.
“Yes,” said the Belter doubtfully. No doubt he could sense the question was a set up and he wasn’t going to like the conclusion. “The Dictates were laid down by the Imperial Senate working in conj
unction with the Triumvirate."
The Caprian Captain just nodded and once again muttered something under his breath.
I suspected he’d just said “Montagne’s” again, the same as last time, but more quietly than before, but I couldn’t be sure. However, this time I didn’t blame the Captain for the sentiment.
“Well that’s a relief,” I said, wiping imaginary sweat from my brow. “Confederation Citizens are required to obey all Imperial edicts and treaties the same as if we were Imperial Citizens as set down under the Union Treaty.” The two captains winced in unison as if they could tell what I was about to say. “After all, under the Union Treaty we are one nation, one people. No longer Empire and Confederation, we are now dual citizens as it were, under one unifying government, The Confederated Empire, with one unified military which protects each and every one of us equally,” I said raising my face and hands to the ceiling in mock rapture, “under the law.”
Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 17