“The main communications array will be recalibrated in another…” she paused, staring down at her screen. “There it’s done,” she looked back up at me, “I don’t know how long you’ll have before the Imperials shut us down, but the comm. arrays have been reconfigured. If you can’t reach the General it won’t be from our side. Just remember: they’ll start working to shut us down as soon as you start transmitting,” she warned.
I nodded, “Find the General and put me through.” I looked back up at the battle taking place. Through the combined efforts of all four Battleships, the Carrier’s shields were significantly degraded. We would have collapsed them by now if they’d been using the same shields we used, but they had that blasted regenerative shield technology! I scowled bitterly as I watched the tide of the battle continue to build against us.
“I have Brigadier General Wainwright on the link, Admiral,” said Steiner.
I nodded. The General didn’t appear on my screen, apparently the bandwidth was too low for that, but I could hear harsh breathing and the sound of blaster fire in the background.
“This is Wainwright, go,” said the other man.
“Montagne here, I need you to get in there and neutralize that main cannon, General,” I spoke calmly into the link, my training—or, rather my experience—overcoming my actual feelings. “Whatever you have to do, we can’t let that flagship keep firing.”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry, Sir,” Wainwright said heavily, “we’re doing our best to achieve our objectives, but we’re currently engaged in a running battle on the hull. As of right now we only have pockets of our forces inside the Carrier, and the majority of those pockets have been cut off. The enemy’s response has been fast, heavy and effective; it’s not just their superior power armor technology. I sent a battalion deep into the ship and once they accessed the interior of the Carrier they ran into significant internal defenses. Automated pop-down laser turrets, combined with superior internal scanners and their Marine force, drove our incursion back. I still believe that we can achieve our objectives given time, but I’ve shifted to an external attack posture. I’m continuing to send in diversionary forces into the hull but, right now, the focus has shifted to reaching the front of this ship and spiking their particle cannon from the outside. Unfortunately between their fighters making strafing runs and the Jacks we’re moving a lot slower than I’d like. We need more time and if possible reinforcements, Sir.”
I glared at the plot where the Cruisers continued to rake the Royal Rage. Whether it was aboard the Carrier, out here ship-to-ship, or even back with the remainder of our Battleship force under Rear Admiral Dark Matter, the results were clear: we were losing.
Something had to give—and soon.
“Keep doing the best you can with what you have,” I said finally, “we’ll try to come up with a solution out—”
“We have movement!” reported Sensors. “The Imperial Command Carrier has activated its engines and is now on a course for…it looks like they’re going straight for Wolf-9, Admiral!”
My head shot around to see that yes indeed Janeski was on the move. Just what was he up to?
“How close will that take them to the Battleship fight, Sensors?” I demanded.
“They’re going to pass well outside of weapons range of our Battleships, Admiral. Well, of our Battleships,” she reported, “they’ll still be able to fire that main cannon of theirs.”
I turned back to the com-link. “I’m sorry, General, I’m going to have to cut this short,” I said with regret.
“I understand, Sir. Wainwright out.”
“Alright, Helm, get us—” I started.
“Course change!” cried Brightenbauc, his voice high and heavy with alarm. “Enemy flagship is turning this way.”
The Carrier began to turn, resembling nothing so much as a whale with such a deliberate, yet undeniably majestic maneuver.
“May I remind the Captain that the Carrier is almost ready to fire,” Lieutenant Hart said urgently.
“If that particle cannon hits us we’ll be finished!” Brightenbauc said hysterically. “They can destroy us with one shot!”
“Stay in close to that Carrier, Helm!” ordered Captain Hammer, not waiting for me.
Not that I was paying much attention to that right at the moment. The most important thing for me was coordinating the movement of our fleet.
“Order to all MSP Battleships,” I spoke rapidly as I issued orders, “all ships are to stick tight to that Command Carrier. I repeat: all MSP Battleships are to keep out of range of that main particle cannon.”
“Not a problem,” said the unfamiliar helmsman, “there’s no way that Carrier can turn fast enough to target us. What I’m more worried about are our engines!”
“Enemy Cruisers focusing fire on our stern,” reported Tactical Officer Hart.
“Maneuver the ship to cover our stern! Coordinate with Metal Titan,” barked Hammer, “someone get me Captain Jackson on the line.”
Sitting forward on the edge of my seat, I watched as both bridges did their best—which was better than I could—to keep us alive.
Something had to give. I just hoped it wasn’t us.
Chapter Ninety-eight: Pride of the Imperial Hunter
Admiral Arnold Janeski laughed as the combined maneuvers of his warships sent the Governor’s Battleships into disarray.
As he watched the Battleships struggle for their lives, point defense and a swarm of Imperial strike fighters thinned the herd of enemy gunboats.
Looking down at the status board, his eye caught on the one ugly mar on an otherwise increasingly acceptable situation.
“What’s the status of the enemy’s boarding attempts?” he asked. Victory was within his grasp, but only if the locals didn’t manage to pull out a joker from the deck. Fortunately, the Imperial Marines—as annoying as that branch of the service could be—were the undisputed best in the business. That said, General McMann needed to come through. He had the best tools and a brigade of the most highly trained operators this region of space had ever seen onboard this ship.
If he couldn’t manage to deal with a force of impotent little locals in outdated battlesuits, who had inferior training and less than a tenth the combat time as his Jacks, heads would roll.
“General McMann’s operations officer reports the Marines have contained or destroyed all incursion attempts as of this time, and that the General has taken personal command of the battalions on the hull. The situation outside is fluid but so far all internal threats are under Marine control. No vital systems are at risk,” said Janeski’s own operations officer.
“Good enough,” the Imperial Admiral nodded. “Are there anything other situation I should be aware of?”
“Not at this time,” the Operations Officer shook his head.
“Good, then after we complete this little maneuver we will turn back to Starbase, use the particle cannon to complete its destruction—as well as any other enemy Battleships in need of annihilation—and then move in close to complete the destruction of the entire defensive complex as planned,” he instructed.
“I feel that I must once again point out that the enemy could have any number of further hidden mine fields, popup missile launchers, or other unseen defenses—and that our proposed course takes us perilously close to the current Battleship engagement,” warned Goddard.
“I am well aware of the risks, Captain,” said Admiral Janeski, “however, my orders stand. I have no intention of moving the Invictus Rising through any areas of space our own warships have not scanned and travelled through. The risk is minimal while the reward will be the final removal of any hope the rubes have of victory. Honestly, we might not even have to move into weapons range of the outer defenses before they officially surrender. Just take a look at how eager certain portions of their Battleship force are to give up. One more big push should end this.”
“You’re the Admiral,” said Goddard, his face impassive.
Janes
ki nodded and turned back to contemplate the plot, but the Sensor Officer cleared his throat. Janeski pursed his lips. “You have something to add, Commander?” he asked, turning to the man in charge of the Sensor section.
“There is one other situation that has yet to be mentioned which I feel is noteworthy,” said Commander Stenson, ignoring the suddenly narrowed eyes of the Operations Officer.
“Yes, Commander? Speak,” urged the Admiral, ordered ignoring the byplay amongst his staff.
“You asked if there was anything else. I just wanted to point out that the trio of provincial warships from the outer system are less than fifteen minutes away from our position and show no signs of diverting over to join the Battleship engagement, or to make an independent run for the Starbase Complex,” said the Commander.
Janeski nodded slowly. “I was aware of their approach,” he said, his brow wrinkling, “are you suggesting we use the particle cannon to thin them out and delay our attack on the Starbase?”
“All such actions are up to you, Sir,” said Stenson his face deliberately blank, “I just wanted to remind you, before the enemy attacking the flagship received significant reinforcements, but in the end I’m just a Sensor Officer.”
“I’ll take it under advisement. Good call, Commander,” said Janeski, his mind focusing on the best way to deal with all the moving enemy pieces. Even the addition of a Battleship, strike Cruiser, and troop transport wouldn’t be enough to change the battle equation around the flagship. But Stenson was right: he had been placing too little weight on that relatively minor force. The last thing he needed were significant reinforcements attempting to board the Command Carrier.
At the current drain on the fusion generators, the particle cannon could not fire twice and destroy both the Starbase and that large troop transport before the small contingent arrived.
Even if it delayed the final destruction of the Starbase, it was worth considering a rearrangement of the priorities.
Better safe than sorry, after all.
Chapter Ninety-nine: A Late Start: It’s a Spalding!
“The Clover rides again,” Spalding declared, his eyes fixed on the Imperial Command Carrier, “and this will prove once and for all that her finest hour is before—and not behind—her.”
“It’s not the same ship, you old fool,” Baldwin sighed.
“Quiet, you,” he said absently.
Shaking her head, she turned and walked toward the exit.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Spalding demanded suspiciously.
“The restroom, if that meets with your approval?” she replied. Then, not waiting to see his response, she stalked off the bridge.
“Be nice if all problems could be solved that easily,” he muttered, turning back to the display.
It irked the old engineer to be stuck watching the action while the Clover 2.0 seemed to crawl across the star system. Oh, the old girl was doing her best but it wasn’t her fault—she was only half completed, after all. Honestly, it had been a miracle she’d made it as far as she had in one piece.
“Fine bit of engineering, that,” he mumbled to himself feeling a surge of pride. The old bitty thought that he was off his rocker and unable to accept the loss of his beloved Battleship and…well, after a fashion she was right. He wouldn’t accept it. That didn’t mean that he didn’t realize the Clover of today was different from the Clover of the past.
She was different on the outside, without a doubt, and all of her systems had been overhauled. Yes she was a new ship—that’s why she was designated the 2.0 version. He’d taken everything that was the old ship and added it into the new!
What was a ship? If it had the same internal compartments, transferred directly over from the original Lucky Clover, the same twin bridge setup using the very same consoles and internal arrangement, along with the Main Engineering compartment and aging data nodes all transferred over directly, and if she had the same interior he’d known ever since he first boarded the ship…well, then if that wasn’t his old ship living inside a brand new hull and framework then he didn’t know what it was—because he sure as all get out couldn’t the difference!
The whole interior, the crew living quarters, environmental systems, conduits and every surviving system had been cut out and repurposed for the new ship.
The heart, head, and much of her other internals were the same as always. Saying she wasn’t the same ship just because the outside changed was like saying he was no longer Terrance P. Spalding because he’s lost his arms, legs and a good deal of his skull and midsection!
It wasn’t the packaging that mattered—it was the soul!
And soon, very soon—unless those Imperials made like a country chicken and took flight before they got there—the Lucky Clover was going to prove that while she might only be halfway rebuilt, she was still twice the ship she’d ever been!
“Come to papa, you Imperial atom splitters,” he said as the Lucky Clover 2.0, accompanied by the Furious Phoenix and the recently-refurbished, former enemy Battleship continued to close in on the heart of the action—the spot with all the Dreadnaught class Battleships.
He didn’t count the People’s Initiative in his calculations. The people back on Capria could ‘initiate’ all they wanted, but until they grew a spine to kick out all the greedy, corrupt politicians they’d put into office all they’d ever be were powerless voters. Manipulated by the planetary media and the soft lies of the politicians until they were dancing in the palm of the very people who were supposed to work for them!
Democracy was all well and good, and if that’s what the people wanted there were plenty of planets in this great big galaxy, the Spine, and even Sector 25 for that matter that would love to have them. But when it came to Capria, people had just plum forgot that it was the Monarchy that saved the citizens of Capria time and time again first from starvation when they first landed and then after that from space marauders and slavers looking for skilled workers.
None of the current crop of ungrateful ‘voters’ would even be alive if it weren’t for the actions of Larry One and House Montagne who had fought, bled, and died for Capria and its people. That had to be worth something. That’s why he supported both a strong Parliament and a strong Monarchy, one responsive to the needs of the people at home and the other primarily dealing with the dangerous galaxy outside her borders. Not this ‘one party system’ nonsense. Sure, the lines burled at times, but that’s why it was called compromise. Which was in stark contrast to the sort of blatant power-grabbing that had been going on for far too long under those ‘one man, one vote’ fascists…
He breathed out a weary sigh.
Well, he was done with all of that now. A new king was on the Throne, Parliament had been forced to take a step back, and Spalding—along with the entire crew of the Lucky Clover—had been written off, abandoned and exiled.
The times had moved on and shifted past him while he wasn’t looking close enough to pay attention. Why, today even his boy said he was nothing more than a fossilized old fool who didn’t know up from down or left from right.
All he could do was follow his heart. And right now that heart said jump in the Clover and ride to support the rest of the fleet.
Capria might be done with an outdated old space engineer like him, but the Little Admiral and the MSP still needed him—even if they didn’t exactly know it yet. Politics and fixing the minds of shortsighted people was beyond him, but this? This he could do.
“Stuff the People’s Initiative and point us right at that Imperial Command Carrier!” Spalding barked. “It’s time we showed the Empire we’re not gonna to be pushed around anymore. They think they have the monopoly on the best tech? Well it’s time to show them exactly what happens when you get old school! Tactical, prepare to reverse polarity on the HCP and target that Imperial Command Carrier on my command.”
“It’ll take several minutes, I think, to do that, Commander,” said the Tactical Officer nervously. He was a young ensign who l
ooked ready to panic as he stared down at his console like it was a snake about to bite him.
“Don’t you worry about that, lad. I’ll walk you through the process,” Spalding said, deciding that it would probably be a good idea to personally oversee the changes that would reverse the system of grav-plates which would turn their keel-mounted, HPC—which extended all the way from the stern drive system to the forward-firing, hyper-plasma cannon.
“Nope, no mass drivers here,” he said, whistling tunelessly. After all, mass drivers shot solid metal kinetic rounds at planetary targets and the HPC fired giant plasma balls at space-based targets. “It’s all a matter of acceleration,” he opined, taking out his plasma torch and whirling it around his hand, “shoot anything fast enough and it’ll turn into plasma. This is just a conversion of our main drive for emergency and combat purposes,” he explained to no one in particular, briefly wondering if he ought to rename the HCP the HPD—hyper-plasma drive—just to be safe from the bloodsucking lawyers and their ilk.
“Time to main drive activation: thirty seconds!” reported the Helm.
“Emergency power to the antimatter generator safety system,” Spalding said and then, bending over his console, punched in a code, overrode the process and did the entire job himself. He knew the safety system around those generators was rock solid—after all, he’d designed it himself—but seeing as how just about almost every other warship designed by humanity and equipped with antimatter generators had exploded in fiery self-detonation he just liked to be doubly sure.
The countdown concluded and the HPC fired, sending a giant, flaming stream of plasma out the stern of the ship. The Lucky Clover shuddered momentarily, causing everyone onboard to lurch forward temporarily before returning back into their seat.
“See? No problem,” Spalding said, pausing to wipe a bit of sweat off his brow, “I knew those old designs would work. It’s just a matter of having enough power to the containment system. After all, if the AI’s could do it then so can we. Anything they could do, we can do better. And furthermore—”
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