Still not being the trusting sort, most of the crews of the small system defense detachment would be Prometheans. I threw in a few spare sensor operators from my bridge crew, as well as a couple natives, just to make sure it was viewed as a real Confederation-style multi-planetary crew complement. I also thought if any of the new commanders started to get ideas, the Prometheans would at least make sure they had to stick around Tracto VI until I came back. When the four new command officers came marching up to me in their mismatched Caprian SDF uniforms and civilian attire, I saluted.
“I’ll really miss the chance to serve on this old beast,” said a grey bearded man with black hair and light brown skin.
I shook his hand. “I’m sure your new command appreciates your sacrifice,” I said.
He nodded in appreciation and backed away until I had shaken everyone’s hands in turn. The small group was comprised of generally middle-aged or older looking men, of native Caprian stock. Brown skinned and brown eyes.
All of them expressed thanks for this chance to command a ship, either again or (in the case of one former First Officer) for the first time.
Then Grey Beard pushed himself back into the front of the line. “So, when we’re out here guarding the planet while you’re gone,” he started, “if anyone comes a knocking, what do we tell them? Are we the local militia, or part of the Confederation fleet,” he asked in a tone that was closer to a demand than a respectful query.
I gave him a sharp look. “There won’t be anyone but Bugs coming to this system, and hopefully they don’t send any more ships until I get back.”
He settled down a bit. “Sorry if I seem a bit pushy and abrupt, but this kind of thing is important to know on the front end. We’re all more than willing to help out, even if this is just a temporary job until we can get down the serious business of farming the surface,” at this, the other command officers laughed. “I suppose it can wait until you get back, Admiral.”
I sighed. “It's not an unreasonable request,” I paused and looked around to include all the men in what I was about to say. “I don’t know if, in the long term, you’ll be considered part of the local space militia, or system defense force if it gets big enough for the name. Or if you’ll become an official part of the Confederation Fleet instead,” I paused in thought.
“Here’s what I’ll do,” I said abruptly. “I’ll write you all temporary commissions in the MPF-1,” I gave them a quick smile, “officially, that’s the Confederation Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet I’ve been assigned to command. Whether you stay in the MPF, are needed in the Tacto System SDF if we ever have one, or go back down to the surface to farm, we’ll just have to see. The important thing to remember is however this thing shakes out, you’re working for me when you’re in space, and House Zosime while on the surface.”
“Zosime?” Asked the middle aged former First Officer, now set to command the more damaged of the two cutters.
“Do we keep our former ranks or start over fresh,” asked Grey Beard, looking intrigued.
“Come on, Fred,” said one of the men who had been silent until now. “You’ve got a command again. Let's not start empire building before we’ve even set foot on the ships.”
I looked over and observed that the man who had just spoken was a touch shorter and stouter than his fellow ship captains.
“Oh,” I asked, looking at the Stout Man and then back to Grey Beard.
“Bob Kling,” the stout man introduced himself. “Former Captain in the SDF. That one over there,” he said pointing at grey beard, “Is Fred Johnson, a former Commodore in Capria’s glorious system defense force.”
The grey-bearded Fred Johnson turned red, “I’m not trying to build an empire out of an ant-hill,” he said, smoothing his beard. “It’s true I’ve been a ship commander and a base commodore, so I know something of both positions, but we all know you’ve spent longer shipside than I have. So if you’re put in charge of our little squadron, I’m not going to complain,” he added hastily.
Kling just smiled and shook his head.
To head off any more squabbling, I put on his best winning smile. Like previous winning smiles it attracted the attention I generally desired when I used it. But instead of charming, this smile from my new scar faced exterior tended to repulse. Still, it did focus the attention nicely.
“Because you’re all retired, not active military, I’m going to start you all off as Lieutenant Commanders,” I said, pulling a random rank out of the hat. “As for House Zosime, that’s the house to which my wife is currently the heir. The new colony has been settled on the Messene Peninsula, a holding she already held directly in her own name, as the heir to Zosime and the Argos city-state.”
I paused, hoping this trivial information had re-grouped everyone's thoughts. “Now then, if everyone agrees that Lieutenant Commander Kling has the most experience in this area,” I looked around and the other two men nodded, followed belatedly by the grey-bearded Fred, “then until I return, Bob Kling will be squadron commander and Fred Johnson will be his second in command.”
“Yes sir,” saluted the former Caprian First Officer, whose name I couldn’t remember. The others followed suit.
“I’ll review things when I come back, and any adjustments that are needed will be made at that time,” I said with a regal nod. “If that will be all.”
“Speaking for myself,” said Bob Kling, “I’ll defend the planet my family is on without any other resources, if need be. But I surely would appreciate having that commission in hand, just in case those Belters or our former comrades cause any trouble while you’re gone.”
“Sure,” I said shortly, “I’ll have the ship’s legal officer draw up the papers for my signature and run them over before you leave for your new commands.” Seeing no further objections or questions, I gestured toward the crowd of common crew and former enlisted who were waiting for a chance to meet and greet their new Admiral. “If I may,” I said, and moved to the assembled crew waiting to greet their new Admiral.
The new commanding officers started and then moved along the receiving line.
“Bunch of old royalists,” Tremblay muttered under his breath.
“Lieutenant Commander McCruise wouldn’t spare any of her people. I don’t know of anyone on this ship who could hold an independent ship command…” I said, looking over at Tremblay, “unless you’re tired of being First Officer and want to nominate yourself for a command.”
“As if,” scoffed the former Intelligence Officer. “I know better than to throw myself at something I’m not ready for. Besides, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he said with a grim smile. “I feel I can do more good for Capria and its greater interests right where I am.”
I matched his smile and, being ugly and scar-covered, came out the better in that match. “I’m sure you do,” I said agreeably.
Turning back to the receiving line, I shook hands until my fingers ached and my feet hurt. Unfortunately, it was my left hand that was cut off and reattached, so I couldn’t claim injury to shirk the ritual.
Eventually though, my battered and still-recovering body made itself known, and I called for a chair and the ship's legal officer.
From my chair, I instructed the legal officer to draw up the temporary commissions for the new squadron Lieutenant Commanders, and then continued glad-handing the new crew.
It was important to make a good impression the first time the new recruits met me in person. First impressions were key, and they were also the only thing I had at the moment to soften whatever rumors they were bound to hear from the currently active crewmembers.
Eventually, I decided I had done enough and was able to credibly plead exhaustion. After ordering Tremblay to have engineering spin up the star drive, I beat a staggering retreat and returned to my bed, in the old Flag Lieutenant's quarters I had been using since before the beginning of the trip, back when the Lucky Clover was still under Imperial command.
The next morning, fresh from a ful
l night’s sleep and yet, for some reason still feeling exhausted, I yawned and stumbled out of my quarters, bleary-eyed and dry-mouthed.
On the way to the bridge I passed the Admiral’s quarters, outside of which stood a pair of native guards. Both female, they stared at me in disapproval.
I guess that was where the First Officer had put the Lady Adonia Akantha Zosime. Picking up the pace until I turned the corner, they continued to glare of at me until I was out of sight.
Sheesh, I couldn’t even go to my own Flag Bridge now without hostile presences giving me the hairy eyeball. What a life.
Arriving on the bridge, it was clear I had overslept.
Normally, second shift was composed of everyone assigned to second shift, as would be expected, but that meant relatively few people on the bridge. Unless of course, as was the case today, when a point transfer was expected.
So while I had expected to see a lot more bodies than usual during the shift, what I hadn’t expected was not to recognize most of them.
There were a couple swarthy Prometheans its true but the rest of the people I saw were brown-skinned Caprians. However, over half of them weren’t people I recognized. I also wasn’t used to seeing any grey-haired individuals on my bridge.
However, in this case, it seemed just about every section had its own grey-haired or grey-bearded member. Two were officers, the rest were enlisted, but still it was enough to make me look over my shoulder as I contemplated beating a hasty retreat. I was used to buffaloing my regular crew of greenhorns. This mixed bunch of bridge crew wannabe’s from the original staff and, obviously, new transfers put me on edge.
Then I had to clench my teeth to keep from jumping. Stationed inside the doors of the Flag Bridge were two power-armored figures. One was an older man who gave me a brief smile, the other a stone-faced native from Tracto.
It wasn’t as obvious in a battle suit but if you had been putting the things off and on over the last few days like I had, and had a paranoid attention to detail when it came to new and heavily armed people around my person, it was obvious the man was from the same unusually tall native stock as the rest I’d recently encountered.
The armor also had some strange symbol painted on the surface of the chest, as well as on one of the arms and both legs. They were uniform between the two men, so I suspected it wasn’t some native design I should reasonably know nothing about, but instead something from civilized space that I should.
I sighed and turned back to the Admiral’s Throne. Plopping myself down in my usual fashion, I leaned back and contemplated the situation. It looked like I was just going to have to bluff my way through things, as usual.
So instead of twiddling my thumbs, I activated the undamaged arm on the Throne and started pulling up any and all information I thought might be needed.
Five minutes after I entered the bridge, the First Officer made an appearance.
He looked around with a hard expression, taking in the new members of our bridge crew, before coming to stand beside me.
For once the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. I was even mildly comforted to know I wasn’t the only one worried about the new staff and how he would look in front of them. Even if he was thinking something completely different, that’s what I imagined Officer Tremblay was feeling, and it was enough to help put me at ease.
I gave a little start when two men came in and sat down at the navigator’s station. There was room enough for two at the main nav. console, but seeing a second person was somewhat jarring.
I felt like a man who was used to the engine of his personal vehicle, growling and stalling and making all kinds of strange noises, but at least it was something I was used to. Even if I was wrong, I felt like I could predict what it was going to do. Then suddenly, the engine has been overhauled and instead of the usual grumbling and groaning, it runs much more silently. Instead of being reassured by this improvement, I kept a death grip on the steering wheel, waiting for a disaster where everything catastrophically fell apart.
As far as I was concerned, I was that man desperately clutching at the wheel and wondering what new troubles awaited him now that the old ones were fixed. Unable to imagine anything better, even when it was right in front of me, all I could do was imagine things getting worse.
Taking a deep breath, I couldn’t stand it anymore and went into the Admiral’s ready room, to steady my nerves. Closing the door I headed over to the chair behind the desk and sat down.
I hid out in the room, trying to figure out what I was going to say when I returned to Confederation Space proper, until the door chimed indicating someone desired admittance into the august abode that was now my ready room.
Right then I was wishing I wasn’t allergic to Gorgon Ice-ale. I could use some right about now. Realizing such thinking for the crutch it was, I fingered my hold out blaster pistol instead. Iced-Ale was a poor substitute for firepower. Usually.
I then entered the signal for the door to open.
Seeing the stiffly formal expression on her cold face told me at once that this was the very last face I would have wanted to see outside my ready room if I had been thinking about it.
“Not trying to kill yourself with alcohol, I hope,” she said bitingly.
“I beg your pardon,” I said, flustered.
“Word is, the last time you hid yourself away from the world in this ready room,” she said, still improving her grasp of Confederation Standard, “you almost killed someone and then nearly drank yourself to death.”
For a moment I was stunned. There was no way she should have known about that incident. I flushed with embarrassment. Someone was speaking out of turn and feeding it to the sweet little princess here. My embarrassment turned to anger and my gaze hardened. I knew just the tone to take with her to cut this off at the knees. It was time for some brutal barbarian-speak. It was time to act like the worst of the Montagne reputation.
“Show me the coward who says these kinds of lies behind my back and claims I was hiding in fear,” I growled. “I’ll cut out his tongue so he can’t repeat such filthy lies, I’ll cut off his hands, starting with his fingers, so he can’t write them down either.” I was on a roll. This was more fun than watching a comedy show. “Then I’ll work my way to his…”
She cut me off. “Perhaps I misheard the conversation,” she said waving her hand sharply. “I apologize for the insinuation. My understanding of your language is limited by this translator,” she finished.
Insinuation! She as much as called me a drunk and a coward for hiding out in this room once before and then implied that I was doing the same thing again right this moment. She also had a much better grasp on my language than she professed, using words like 'insinuation.'
She was wrong before, but dangerously close to the truth this time. So I let it pass. For now.
“I am in this room considering the situation and working on a strategy for when we return to Confederacy Space,” I said, feeling the need to justify myself. Dang it, I wasn’t some coward hiding out in his ready room!
“You have many new men under your banner,” she said firmly, “you must see and be seen to see.”
Of all the nerve, I thought harshly. To tell me how to run my own ship. How was I supposed to do that, see the men under my command. Was I supposed to tour around the ship while the bridge ran amok with Tremblay at the controls and nobody to keep him in check.
Although… maybe she had a point. The bridge crew appeared more competent than ever before, if the sight of all that grey hair was any indication. Plus, touring the ship offered the perfect excuse for staying off the Flag Bridge and avoid tripping myself up in front of those ever watchful eyes.
“You know what,” I said with a smile, “you’re right.”
For a moment she seemed taken aback, as if she’d expected more of a fight and less in the way of agreement.
“I am,” she said with a little less certainty.
Seizing the initiative, “I think you should come with me
on a tour of my battleship, before we jump,” I said.
She paused to consider it. “Yes. Yes I will,” she said, sounding surprised.
Of course she wasn’t as surprised as I was. I stood there, mouth slightly open before realizing it and snapping my mouth closed. I was sure if I suggested it, especially if it involved spending time with me, she’d find a reason to shoot me down. I was planning on getting rid of her for a while and it looked like now I was stuck with her.
The tour was a surprisingly good distraction from the realization that our course was now set and it was time to face the music back in civilized space.
My lone wolf days were coming to an end, and seeing all the changes swirling around me both on and off the ship, I was coming to be okay with that. I wasn’t certain what the future might hold, but looking at all these fresh new faces, I was no longer certain things would turn out as badly as I’d feared before.
Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 41