Chapter: For the Prize
The Lucky Clover point transferred into a system without a name, only a number. AZT89443. There was no great flash of light, no massive 'whump' of the engines, and no encounter with hyperdimensional aliens intent on enslaving humanity for the purpose of serving us as appetizers at some transdimensional buffet. I readily admit that I was somewhat disappointed, even though I'd experienced several jumps during my time on board the ship. I suppose I expected the experience to be somehow better from the Admiral's Throne.
“Firing up main engine,” declared the Helmsman, whose name I had learned was DuPont.
“Point Resistance?” demanded Lieutenant Tremblay.
“Engine at 20% of maximum,” said DuPont, his voice tense. “We’re still locked.”
“It was a long jump,” the science officer said sarcastically glaring at the Navigator.
“I want figures, not information I already know. And it wasn’t that long a jump!” Barked Tremblay.
“Engine at 35% of maximum,” reported the Helmsman. “Lighting up both secondaries now.”
“Shield strength at 86%,” reported a trainee at one of the tactical consoles.
“Engines two and three are lit. We’ve doubled our thrust… and still locked,” reported the Helmsman.
“Report,” Tremblay demanded. No immediate response was forthcoming, which only served to add to the general tension on the bridge. I watched uneasily as the bridge crew tried to break the ship free of the inertial sump created by the point translation.
“We should’ve broken free by now,” said the science officer sounding concerned.
“Give me answers,” growled Tremblay.
“Check the shield modulation, everything reads out as fine on my boards,” the science officer snapped back.
“Shields at 74% and dropping,” said the trainee at tactical. He sounded as scared as I felt.
“All engines at 50%,” reported the Helmsman. “Something’s wrong.”
Lieutenant Tremblay lunged over to the tactical section. Pushing aside the trainee at shields, he settled into the chair and began scrolling through the screens.
I decided it was time to get involved. “What seems to be the problem, Lieutenant Tremblay?”
“Just a second,” Tremblay said tersely.
The science officer broke in. “The shields weren’t properly modulated for a point emergence. Instead of helping us slip out of the sump they’re holding us in, making it harder to overcome the inertia created by our point transfer into the system,” said the science officer. I queried the ship's crew manifest through the console built in to the Admiral's Throne, and found the science officer's last name was Jones.
“Got it,” said Lieutenant Tremblay after less than a minute. A few seconds later the ship lurched abruptly, and I had to grab the arms of the chair to keep from falling onto the floor. My embarrassment was diminished after I saw that half of the bridge crew had reacted in the same fashion, and not all of them were successful in keeping their feet.
“And we’re free,” reported science officer Jones with a sigh of relief.
I adjusted myself in the chair. “We’ve got to do better than this people,” I said, shaking my head. The entire time Admiral Janeski and the rest of the imperials had been on the ship, I’d never experienced a sudden lurch like the one we just felt after exiting hyperspace.
A sensor operator chimed in, “I’ve got two ships on my screen. I think they’re our prize ships.”
Another voice called out, “I’ve got four on mine.” There was a pause, “It looks like a pair of medium cruisers, a heavy cruiser and a freighter matching the profile of the pirate conversion we captured,” he said smugly.
“Hail the Medium Cruisers,” I said in the direction I thought would be the communication's officer. I gave a nod to the sensor operator who had spotted all four vessels and leaned forward in the throne. “Let’s make sure they are who we think they are.”
The sensor operator smiled and turned back to the task. The rest of the sensor division scowled and redoubled their efforts.
A few tense minutes rolled by. “They identify themselves as Pride of Prometheus and Prometheus Fire,” the Communication Tech reported. I exhaled in relief.
“The Captain of the Pride is now requesting a video conference with Admiral Janeski,” said the Communications Tech. Sudden silence filled the bridge.
Looking around quickly, I was acutely aware that no one was looking at me. The pause dragged on.
“They don’t know about the Imperial withdrawal or...” Lieutenant Tremblay slowly trailed off, “you,” he finished lamely and turned red.
“Put the Captain on the main screen,” I told the Communications Tech. There was nothing for it but to go forward. Another extended pause while the Communications Tech figured out how to put the Captain of the Pride of Prometheus on the screen.
I took this temporary reprieve to straighten my uniform. I stopped myself halfway through nervously running a hand through my hair.
A fat man with grey hair came up on the main screen. I had never seen him before. The patrol fleet under Imperial Admiral Janeski had not dedicated a lot of time to socializing. In Pre-prolong years he looked to be somewhere in his mid-forties. In the post-prolong universe we all lived in, that meant he could be anywhere between 40 and 140. Although considering he was from Prometheus and also a ship commander, it was probably safe to put him around the 80 year mark, rather than the unadjusted 40 he looked.
As a Prince-Cadet, I was used to dealing with people older than myself. Not only were most of the people on Capria older, but I was specifically trained to deal with politicians. Admittedly, my training wasn’t in ordering them around. Quite the opposite, but I liked to that think I’d seen enough of their behavior from guests during my stints at the palace to have a good idea of what to do.
I knew I couldn’t pull off the image of a completely professional Admiral, but I figured that since I was a prince-cadet of Capria I could manage something appropriate to the situation. Or so I hoped.
“What are you doing, son,” Demanded the Promethean SDF Captain, “Decided to play dress up in Granddaddy’s uniform?” He snorted, referring to the outdated confederation uniform I was wearing. “Run along and put Admiral Janeski on the screen.”
I refused to be embarrassed. I absolutely refused. I ignored the sudden heat rushing to my face and, instead of allowing myself to turn red, I turned my head to the side and draped a leg over the throne-like edifice they called an Admiral’s Chair. A moment later the heat was gone and I turned back to face the Captain with an arched brow.
“Greetings, Captain,” I did my best to put a royal drawl in the words, “Jason Montagne, at your service. I am Admiral and commanding officer of this Patrol Fleet and all that entails,” I said with my best airy wave and a meaningless court smile plastered on my face.
It took several seconds for the words to sink in, and when they did the Captain purpled. “I don’t know who you think you are, boy, but I don’t have time for your games,” growled the Captain, the fat jowls of his mouth jiggling with the force of his words.
“Admiral Jason Montagne Vekna,” I repeated with emphasis on the title. I pointedly turned to look at the arm of the Throne, activated the screen and entered a search query. I realized I didn’t even know the Captain’s name. I knew that this was something I should have thought to look up long before now, and I felt the heat returning to my face.
“Admiral Who?” the Captain demanded, his brow furrowed, before throwing up his hands and shaking his head. “Put Admiral Janeski on before I have your ears clipped for insubordination and impersonating a retired officer in that outrageously outdated Confederate uniform.”
“Lieutenant Tremblay, please squirt over a copy of the Imperial Admiral’s last declaration before he left us,” I said with a slight inclination of my head toward the viewscreen.
“What,” exclaimed the Captain, eyebrows reaching so high on his face they appeared headed for the ceiling.
“I fear the Imperial Admiral has declared the Triumvirate’s will, which was to abandon the Spine, and promptly departed for Imperial Space onboard an Imperial Command Carrier,” I paused to read the result of his query. Ah there it was, Captain Jeremiah Stood was the man’s name.
Captain Stood’s head reared back and he gave a short shake of his head. “You’re space crazed, my young imposter. I don’t know what you’ve done with the Imperial Admiral, but when he finds out about this line of baloney you’re spewing it won’t be pleasant for you.” He laughed, a harsh barking sound.
“I’m only speaking to the facts, and as Admiral Janeski reaffirmed my right to command prior to departure when he left to reinforce battle fleet, I’m not sure exactly what you think he’ll do.” I rolled my eyes. “I understand that this is something of a shock for you, the realization that this patrol fleet is the only thing standing between the spine-ward sectors and the darkness beyond our borders. It can’t be pleasant, and I realize you will probably require a few moments for the gravity of the situation to sink in, and I fully intend to grant you those moments. As your commanding officer, however, I expect a Sir on the end of those sentences, Captain Stood. What would become of us if we were to abandon the chain of command, along with our hard-won military discipline?”
Once again Captain Stood purpled. “If this is some kind of joke…” he trailed off menacingly.
“You’ll what, Captain Stood,” I demanded loosing my controlled veneer. “Ignore my legal authority over you, bestowed by both Admiral Janeski and the Prometheus Government? Refuse my instructions? Fire on the Flag Ship, perhaps?” I paused and my face hardened, only partially be design. “Prometheus has two Medium Cruisers in this system. Let me be the first to remind you I have a fully armed Dreadnaught Class Heavy Cruiser, recently upgraded by the Imperial Fleet itself, if it comes to that.”
Off to the side Jason noticed Lieutenant Tremblay turn pale and start waving a hand across his throat in a cutting motion, before stopping himself.
I paused and looked at my new First Officer, but Tremblay just gave a quick shake of his head and opened his hands before glancing back at the screen. I shook my head, unable to understand what the other man was trying to get across. I didn’t have time for Tremblay at the moment, Captain Stood required my full attention.
Stood’s jaw was clenching and unclenching. The way his jowls quivered made him seem like some sort of cartoonish figure when viewed close-up on the main screen.
I decided now was the time to throw some more wood on the fire. “If you doubt I’m really a duly-appointed Admiral, just look on the Fleet’s official chain of command in your ship’s database. You’ll find my name rather quickly if you start at the top,” I said as smugly as I could. I wanted to smile, or grin or do something to lighten up at least my own mood but things were too serious all of a sudden. So instead of trying to lighten things, I worked as hard as I could to keep my features even. The last thing I wanted was to give away how worried I felt. After all, this was the first time I had ever tried to be on the other end of one of these particular lashings, and it was definitely uncharted waters from here on out.
The Captain cut the audible and angrily gestured at someone off screen. He scowled and turned back to face the screen. “Name again, your supposed Admiralship,” he asked.
“Jason Montagne Vekna,” I said through a dry mouth, and felt my heart ready to explode through my ears as the captain started a search.
“You’re listed as a Supernumerary,” he said derisively and kept reading, then seemed to come to a realization. “You’re in here as the ceremonial head of this band of intrepid mouse-trappers they call a patrol fleet.”
“So we’re both in agreement that I am listed as the official head of the patrol fleet,” I said, purposefully ignoring everything but the part I wanted to hear, just like my 'superiors' had done throughout my young life.
“You’re listed as a supernumerary with ceremonial duties,” the captain said bullishly.
“This is mutiny,” I said as mildly as I could, but I could see things were starting to spin out of control.
“There’s nothing in my brief that states I have to obey orders from a pampered stripling without the barest hint of naval experience,” Stood snorted.
“Lieutenant Tremblay, lock all turbo-lasers on target,” I paused as Tremblay once again waved his hands in the air, fortunately it was off screen so Stood wasn’t able to see the first officer’s antics. “That would be the Pride of Prometheus,” I offered helpfully. Lieutenant Tremblay threw his hands in the air.
At this point, even an idiot (which I don’t think I am) could see that something was terribly wrong. However, there was no time to figure it out now. We were well past the point of no return at this point.
“You wouldn’t dare,” stated the Captain.
“Targeting the Pride of Prometheus now, Admiral,” said one of the junior trainees at the tactical station.
“Try me,” I returned, trying to keep my voice from cracking under the stress.
Captain Stood hesitated. Then after an extended pause finally grimaced. “What are your orders, Admiral,” he said the last word like it tasted bitter.
I smiled and inclined my head slightly. “Take your men off the prize ships and prepare to follow the Clover into hyperspace as soon as our engines have recharged. My Navigator will relay the hyperspace coordinates.”
“So we’re abandoning the pirate vessels then,” Captain Stood asked dryly.
“No," I said, trying to hide my elation. "We’ll be taking them with us.”
The Captain shook his head. “The merchant conversion can make the transfer without too much trouble. The heavy cruiser, on the other hand, is a mess from top to bottom. Those pirates never performed any system maintenance they could avoid, and while the star drive is still intact, the main dish was completely blown to pieces. She can make the strange particles but there’s no way she can form a hyper field of her own.” Obviously Stood had been doing a thorough job examining the ships and their status.
I ground my molars, then gave a wave of my hand. “I’ll have our Chief Engineer take a look, I’m sure he can come up with something. That ship is coming with us.”
“There’s no way that’s going to happen unless you’ve got a spare main deflector,” Stood made a chopping motion to emphasize the impossibility of what I was suggesting.
I narrowed my eyes. “We’ll see,” was all I could manage before I gave the order to cut the connection. I turned to First Officer Tremblay. “You had something you wanted to say?” I asked.
“I didn’t think you could pull it off,” Tremblay said. He shook himself, “What I meant to say is that most of our weaponry was upgraded Imperial issue.”
I shrugged, oblivious to what he seemed to be implying.
Tremblay’s mouth tightened. “Meaning Admiral Janeski and the Imps took it with them when they left.”
I nearly leapt out of my seat, and couldn't control my shock when I rather unprofessionally blurted “What!"
“In several cases they took out the turret along with turbo laser. Essentially we’re unarmed,” said Tremblay with a note of finality.
I closed my eyes. I’d known that threatening two medium cruisers, when we had barely half a crew (and an untrained one, at that) was risky business. I sighed. Thankfully, I hadn’t known just how helpless we were when I made my threats.
The First Officer continued, “On top of that, gunnery was raided almost as badly as the tactical section. Even if we had the main guns, we don’t have enough trained men to crew them.”
“Better and better,” I opened my eyes and looked over at my First Officer. “I suppose its too much to hope that we kept any of the old beam guns after the… upgrade,” I said, more of a pleading note in my tone than I had intended.
“I’ll check into it first thing,” said Tremblay, his lack of confidence easily betrayed by his voice.
“That’s just great. Not only are we unarmed, but even if by some miracle we manage to rearm, we don’t have enough men to fire the blasted weapons.” Being thrust into command of a Dreadnaught class heavy cruiser was bad enough, but finding out that essentially all of the weaponry had been stripped added a measure of stress to the equation that I hadn't considered possible.
“That’s about the long and the short of it,” Tremblay said.
I struggled to find a response that wouldn't give away just how hopeless I found the situation. Fortunately, I remembered how I dealt with this type of problem just yesterday. “Look into starting a training program for the proper manning of whatever gun turrets we have remaining, Officer Tremblay. I also want an inventory of our remaining tactical assets. And I do mean immediately.”
“What we need to do is head straight to a proper naval base so we can refit for the voyage home,” said Tremblay.
I turned my hardest steely stare at the Lieutenant until he dropped his gaze and turned away. I turn to address the communications station, since I was still unfamiliar with the names of the crew manning it. “Get me the Chief Engineer, even if you have to roust him from the deepest, darkest pit in this ship and fetch him a set of clothes."
The Deposed King
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