He was the very model of a modern outdated space engineer: Tis-a-Pickle!
“It won’t fit, Chief,” shouted one of the crewmen working with Spalding on the outside of the ship’s hull.
Spalding popped his head out of the next laser pit in the series of gun placements along the hull to take a quick look. “Turbo-Lasers are all exactly the same size. That’s a turbo-laser pit, hence it's rated to take the blasted thing,” he barked.
“I swear it won’t fit, Chief,” insisted the crewman.
Spalding hopped out of the pit he’d been working in as fast as a man in space and sporting a busted leg could manage. At this rate he was going to have to personally reinstall everyone of the blasted things himself.
"Pull that turret away from the laser pit, and to do it carefully," he said as he drew nearer. As soon as the pit was cleared, the problem became obvious. When the Imperials left the Clover, they took most of the new weapons they had installed with them. In the case of this particular laser pit, they had taken the turret it was attached to as well. Unfortunately, whatever crew had been given the job must have been in a hurry, because they had made a right hash of it. Instead of taking the time to simply unbolt the thing from the pit, they used plasma torches to cut through the bolts and just rip the turret free.
He eyed severed bolts and the bent housing for the power coupler at the bottom of the pit suspiciously. He looked at the plasma torch in his hand before shaking his head regretfully. They didn’t have time to fool around with this mess.
“This pit’s a loss, until we have a day or two to put things right. We’d have to finish cutting the bolts free and fix any damage that incurred, as well as machine a completely new housing for the power coupling,” he said and glared at the petty officer in charge of the team, silently rebuking him for not spotting the problem in the first place and costing them valuable time.
“What are your order’s Chief,” asked the team leader.
Spalding felt something through the deck plates and paused.
“Sir,” inquired the team leader when the Chief Engineer didn’t respond after a few moments.
Spalding irritably waved him to silence. It took him a moment to place the change, but he was sure the engines were vibrating differently somehow. He was about to dismiss it and get back to work, but something in the back of his mind kept nagging at him. He hadn’t felt the engines vibrate like this in a long time, not since Captain Falcone-
His eyes widened. He might be going senile and jumping at shadows. Surely even a half trained command crew, like the one currently on the bridge wouldn’t make a mistake like that.
After half a moment of consideration he dashed to the nearest exterior airlock and plugged into the internal communication system. He decided not to call the bridge in order to verify his suspicions because if he was wrong he’d just look like an old idiot. If he was right, he’d just waste precious time screaming at the space crazed fools. Engineering could tell him everything he needed to know in a hurry.
“This is Bostwell,” answered the rating through the comm system. “What do you need, Chief?”
“Color me crazy and dip me in stupid, but did our normal space engines just shift from flank to ramming speed, Bostwell?” Demanded the Chief Engineer.
“Uh, just a second Chief,” said Bostwell, a moment later his voice came back on the line. “That’s right, Chief. The Helmsman just uploaded the automatic ramming protocols half a minute ago,” said the rating a hint of fear and a whole new level of respect for the crazy old chief engineer entering his voice. He started to say something else but Spalding was already out the airlock door.
Waving his hands in the air he turned his suit communicator up to maximum. “Off the hull! Off the hull! Everyone off the hull and into an airlock,” he shrieked. “If you can’t tie it down on the double quick, abandon it. Just leave it and get inside the ship!”
He ran towards the nearest group of men not moving fast enough for his taste, the fire in his leg burning with every step. He ignored the sensation, the pain not so much forgotten as pushed firmly aside in favor of the safety of his men. “Prepare to receive shrapnel,” he shouted into his suit mike. Telling the men they were about to ram something was more likely to paralyze some of them with fear and indecision than get them moving when every second counted. “Shrapnel. Into the airlock,” he panted, his chest cramping with the effort.
Seeing everyone within his line of sight making for an airlock, he started to think about his own safety for the first time. The way his heart was hammering and his breathing short, he knew he’d never make it in time. You didn’t go to ramming protocols unless slamming into another ship was immanent.
Knowing that impact was surely imminent, he rolled into the nearest empty turret pit and used a handy strap from his space belt to tie himself down. It was the same pit with the cut bolts and suspicious power housing he’d just surveyed. He warily tied his suit to two of the severed bolts and leaned back with a sigh. His vision was black and blurry. He suspected that if the pain in his leg wasn’t keeping him conscious he’d have passed out by now.
He glared at the side of the laser pit. On any other ship set to ram, he would have said there was no point in strapping down because if you were on the hull then you were already dead, you just didn’t know it yet. He would have said that about any ship, it didn’t matter the age or size. Any ship but the Lucky Clover that is. He’d known this ship was special the first time he laid eyes on her. She could survive anything the universe threw at her, even a deliberate attempt to ram another starship. Which was why he had bothered to strap himself down. If his baby could survive this, then there was a chance he could too.
One moment everything was fine and Spalding was wondering if he was an old fool for choosing the empty turret pit instead of an airlock, and the next moment the whole ship lurched, shields flaring white. By the time he realized shrapnel was raining down on the open hull, that was over too. Finding that he was alive but with a shard as thick as his middle finger and longer than his forearm stuck through the foot of his good leg and into the duralloy metal of the hull, the chief engineer praised his lucky stars. He was just starting to grab for his emergency patching kit when the ship then tried to throw him off the hull.
Spalding screamed and let go of the kit to try to grab the safety straps. The hiss of air escaping through the hole in the foot of his suit filled his ears with the sound of doom, and the gee forces tried to break his straps and throw him off the ship. The old engineer was determined to ride out the high gee maneuver some idiot at the helm had decided was a good idea while there was still be most of an engineering shift on the hull of the ship.
He would survive, if only so he could take his plasma torch to the lot of them when this was over.
He screamed wordlessly as the gravity threatened to snap his safety lines and tear him away from his beloved Clover.
The Deposed King
Friday, April 6, 2012
Snippet 14 - The Admiral/Pirates
Chapter: Pirates
We emerged from hyperspace with another lurch. I was somewhat prepared, gripping tightly to the arms of the Throne, but this transfer worse than the last.
“Point Emergence,” reported one of the bridge crew. “Looks like we’ve transferred to the system we were trying for,” the spacehand said, sounding sour with the whole idea.
“Belay that nonsense,” snapped Officer Tremblay. “Helmsman, do your duty.”
“Main engine is lit and baffling is now physically extended beyond transfer area,” said Helmsman DuPont.
“Point Resistance,” demanded Tremblay.
“Engines at 25% of maximum,” said the Helmsman. “The ship is still locked.”
“Shields at a steady 95% and re-modulated for a sump break,” reported a tactical trainee.
“I’m amazed we survived the transfer,” declared the Science Officer standing up from his chair. “The inertia on this sump alone is going to be the worst this ship’s ever seen. I warned you that this was a very bad idea.”
“When I or the Admiral want your opinions, we’ll blasted well ask for them,” shouted Tremblay. “Stay on task, or by all the angry space gods security will escort you down the brig!” He waved vaguely toward the blast doors which used to have a pair of marine jacks stationed to either side, but no longer sported a security team of any kind.
The science officer drew his mouth into a thin line but said nothing.
“Main Engine at 40%. Both secondaries lit,” reported the Helmsman.
“Shield strength at 89%. We’re starting to feel the drain,” reported the crewman on shields.
“Increasing all engines to 75% of maximum,” said DuPont.
“Wait. No!” exclaimed Tremblay looking alarmed but the Helmsman had already keyed in the increase.
There was a loud bang that reverberated throughout the ship. This was followed by a terrible scraping noise, as the ship broke free of the Inertial Sump.
“Taking a ship to flank speed outside of a combat situation and without a direct order is a court martial-able offense, Helmsman,” Tremblay said, blood rushing to his cheeks.
“We’ve broken free of the Inertial Sump,” a crewman at sensors reported in a small voice.
“I have the Chief Engineer on the line,” reported the communications tech. “He sounds angry. Something about broken transfer cables and trying to destroy one side of the ship.”
I waved my hand, “Tell Spalding to focus on getting the Lucky Clover ready for combat and not to worry about his precious paint job.”
“Looks like we’ve left the pirate cruiser behind,” said one of the sensor operators.
I raised an eyebrow at this.
“That screeching sound was probably us breaking our connection to the pirate cruiser, and the Helmsman then scraping the two hulls together in his haste to break free,” Tremblay said with a nod in the my direction.
“What do you think we should do about the prize,” I said, waving vaguely behind myself in reference to the former pirate cruiser and current prize ship they had just left floating in space.
Tremblay paused for a moment to think, then turned to the sensor operators. “How far away is that settlement ship, and how many pirates are we looking at?”
The sensor operators jerked and turned back to their screens, imputing the relevant queries.
“I read a single Cutter and a pair of Corvettes,” said the first one.
“No, there are three cutters, and one of the Corvettes is drifting, she’s badly damaged, Sir,” reported another.
The third gasped, “There isn't just one Settlement ship in the system. There are three, and one of them is breaking up!”
“Demon-Disciples of Murphy,” Tremblay cursed the pirates. “Either we deploy the bucking cables before we get too far away and take her under tow. Or we forget about the prize ship and max out the engines to help those settlers. There’s no way we can do both, since we can’t tow her and make max speed at the same time, Admiral.” He paused in consideration. “I think the away team from Engineering can worry about the prize for a while, Sir. Those Settlers are adrift and dying in cold space,” he finally advised.
The thought of that broken settler ship was all it took for me to quickly reach a decision.
“Full speed into the battle, Helmsman,” I said, my voice wobbling with emotion. “We can worry about the money later, forget the prize. Those Settlers need our help!” I slammed my fist on the arm of the Admiral’s Throne. The squeal of dented metal sounded and I realized that I was still in power armor. I had forgotten to change back into the Admiral’s uniform before the point transfer.
“Blast it,” I said, cursing my own stupidity. “Someone put a display of the battle up on the main screen,” I continued harshly, more angry at my own stupidity in damaging the Admiral’s Throne than anything else.
It seemed like forever as we crawled to the scene of the battle but in reality it was less than fifteen minutes. Thanks to the transponder coordinates included by the Settler Ship in the distress call and a generous helping of luck we had landed, if not top of the pirates, a lot closer than a greenhorn crew towing a second cruiser in their hyper bubble had any right to expect. That’s what the Navigator swore to me anyway when I verbalized my frustration with how far away we were initially.
“Instruct the two Promethean cruisers to join us and form triangle formation with us at the point,” I commanded.
There was a pause while people scrambled, then Tremblay spoke up, “The Medium Cruisers and the captured pirate conversion haven’t arrived in the system yet, Admiral.”
“What are you talking about? They were right behind us and supposed to jump at the same time,” I said, a knot forming in my stomach.
“I mean either they aborted their hyperdrive somehow or they’re not coming,” he said shamefaced. “We missed it, Admiral. In all the excitement we didn’t notice that our three sister ship’s never arrived.”
“You said it's almost impossible to stop a point transfer after you’ve exceeded threshold levels. Did I miss something, or did the Promethians and the other prize ship exceed threashold levels before we jumped out of the system?”
“Yes. It is nearly impossible without a major explosion, and they had passed the threashold before we jumped, Admiral,” answered Tremblay.
I turned away and clenched my fists. Instead of a fleet of three cruisers to deal with the pirates, as of right now the rescue effort consisted of one unarmed battleship and an un-crewed prize ship with a small away team from engineering to manage its strange particle generator.
The long minutes getting into range of the battle were not wasted. The sensor team put the time to good use, constantly updating the main screen with new information as it came in. The final tally was quite different from the initial readings by the crewmen in the sensor pit.
It turned out that the two Corvettes weren’t pirates, instead they were escorts for the settlement ships. One was damaged but still fighting in a desperate attempt to shield the two remaining and still intact settlement ships. The other corvette was dead in the water, venting atmosphere and currently being boarded by two opportunistic pirate cutters.
On the pirate side of the equation, it seemed the pirates had started out with seven cutters. Two of which were damaged and had limped away from combat with the corvettes, biding their time until the colony ships were unprotected. Two more were boarding the stricken corvette, while the remaining three were furiously pounding away at the still active defender.
“Why aren’t they running,” I asked, obviously confused. “The Clover should be able to crush a half dozen little cutters easily. Your thoughts, Mr. Tremblay?”
The First Officer bit his lip. “I don’t know. Those Cutters are fast little beggars, maybe they think they can loot and pillage up until the very last moment and run off before we can catch them,” he said, sounding uncertain. “These are pirates though, I can’t imagine they think they can handle a Heavy Cruiser, even with the full seven of them.” He paused and certainty filled his voice as he talked through the situation, “They have to know they can’t win and even if their leader has some miracle strategy he thinks could pull it off, the other captains will realize they’re bound to take losses. Pirates are very risk averse.”
“Two of them have already been damaged,” I pointed out. “Two more are boarding that corvette, they have to be taking losses storming the corvette. That doesn’t seem very risk averse to me.”
Tremblay frowned and shook his head. “It has to be only minor damage for them to escape the Corvettes. Corvettes are bigger and more powerful than Cutters. As for any losses the individual ships sustain taking the stricken corvette, those are just human losses. Pirate captains and officers are much more concerned with losing equipment than with losing men. There are always more idiots looking to sign on with a pirate vessel for the plunder. It's ships that are in short supply.”
“So taking a larger ship like the corvette is actually a smart play for a pirate captain,” I mused aloud, nodding slowly as I processed Tremblay's analysis. “That still doesn’t explain why they think they can move out of range in time.”
“They can’t,” Tremblay said shortly, glaring at the tactical picture as if that would somehow explain what the pirates thought they were doing. "They should be scrambling to disengage and pull out before we can get over there and blast them to kingdom come.”
A few minutes later they received a transmission from one of the pirate vessels.
A figure in light combat armor appeared on the screen. He was sitting in a similar but much smaller version of the same chair Jason was in. “Well met brothers-in-blood. This is Captain Strider of the Broken Maiden. Piranha Squadron is willing to cut Black Philip and a member of the Blood Raiders in for a share of the spoils,” he said, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. Then he leaned back in his chair waiting for a response.
“Philip who?” I inquired, looking at the former intelligence officer.
Lieutenant Tremblay shook his head from side to side. “Not a clue. Neither this Black Philip or the so called Blood Raiders are in any database I’ve ever had access to.”
“Why do they think we’re here to help them,” I wondered aloud. “It has to be some kind of a trap.”
Tremblay hesitated, “I can’t imagine any other reason they’d send us ‘hail fellow pirate, well met,’ messages over an unencrypted channel. Unless it was a trap.”
One of the Communication Tech’s from the Signal’s section raised his had.
“Yes,” Tremblay said tersely, looking at the Com-Tech.
“They are using an encrypted line, sirs,” said the tech.
“We broke it that fast,” Tremblay said in disbelief. “Must be a weak one they expected for us to break.”
“No, sir,” the tech said shaking his head. “Its one of the older encryptions in our SDF database. Its more than seventy something years out of date. The DI automatically ciphered it as it passed through our system.”
“Impossible,” Tremblay growled, “How would a swarm of penny ante pirates get hold of an outdated Caprian encryption algorithm.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I said, breaking into the conversation. “How they got the encryption doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we have a pirate encryption key and they still think we’re reinforcements come to cut ourselves in for a piece of the pie.”
Tremblay purpled, “That’s no pirate encryption key,” he started hotly. “That’s Caprian SDF software!”
I jumped to my feet and stomped the deck with a loud crash, cutting him off. “It is now,” I said flatly, towering over the First Officer in my power armor, “and because we have it, we’re going to use it.” I gave the first officer a shark like grin, full of nothing but bared teeth and bravado. “It's time someone taught these pirates a lesson.”
I kept the fierce grin in place because I knew that without it, I would wilt like a hot house flower on a cold winter night. I had never been trained for any of this. I was a man who had the proverbial tiger by the tail; if I dared show weakness or let go, I was finished.
“Communications, open a channel to the pirates and make sure to use the same encryption key they are,” I ordered, with a playful tone.
I waited until I was sure the pirate captain was receiving the transmission before speaking. Schooling my face into its most haughty expression, I opened my mouth. “Stand aside pipsqueak, and watch how a real warship handles a juicy little convoy like this,” I said from my perch on the Admiral's Throne. There were no uniformed bridge crew within range of the pick up to give away the game. Only a single young man dressed in a battle suit and sitting on the gigantic command chair.
The Pirate Captain flushed. “Who do you think you’re talking to? If you think the Piranhas will just stand by after doing most of the heavy lifting, you‘ve got another think-”
I spoke over him, cutting the pirate captain off midsentence. “Stop dancing around that corvette like a band of prancing ballerinas, Captain Spider,” I said, deliberately getting the pirate’s name wrong.
“Its Strider,” exclaimed the Pirate slamming his fist down on the arm of his chair. “And we’re no blasted ballerinas!”
“You’ll get your share, Captain Spider, don’t you worry your little head about that. Equal shares all around.” I hardened my voice and continued, “Now gather your ships into fighting formation and be ready to watch and learn,” I said with another shark like grin, then gestured for communications to cut the outgoing signal.
I turned to smile at Lieutenant Tremblay, “That should keep them properly confused as to our intentions.”
“There’s a Caprian registered ship in there, Admiral,” Tremblay said cautiously.
I blinked and looked at the First Officer with a frown. “Yes,” I said slowly, inviting him to continue.
“And as Caprians, it's our duty to protect it,” Tremblay added cautiously.
I barely suppressed a surge of irritation at Tremblay’s continued insistence at looking out for only Caprian interests and schooled my features into a blank mask. When I felt my temper was under control, I spoke in a level voice. “Agreed."
“Well…” Tremblay hesitated.
“Well what?” I demanded, glancing at the tactical screen. Several of the Pirates were moving closer to one another. Yes! They were actually going for it. Just like I had hoped, they were gathering together in a loose formation. I wasn’t a trained naval officer, and hadn’t known whether or not they’d fall for it. But it certainly appeared that they had taken the bait.
“What are the Admiral’s intentions, regarding the other ships in the Convoy? If I may ask, Sir, for the record,” Officer Tremblay said formally.
I glared at him in irritation for still not answering the question. Then it occurred to me that Tremblay might be wondering if I was seriously considering dividing up the convoy between the Clover and the scum of the space lanes.
My nostrils flared. “What? Did you actually think I was going to help those pirates finish that last Corvette, and then claim the Caprian Settler as our part of the plunder? Then what? Just take off for home space like nothing had happened?” I flared my nostrils half-consciously. “Is that what you thought, Officer Tremblay,” I asked, my voice rising to a yell by the time I was finished speaking. “That I’d leave two ships full of helpless settlers to the tender mercy of pirates just because they weren’t from Capria?”
Tremblay turned pale. “I admit it isn’t the first choice. The thought of abandoning entire families of colonists to the mercy of pirates, it makes me sick. But without weapons or the gunnery crews to man them, I’m not sure what we can do,” He stared at the floor, “Those Cutters are small and fast, they can dart in and out, firing the whole time. While their weapons may not be very powerful compared to what we usually carry and our armor thick enough to stop heavy weapons, can we take twelve hours of pounding while simultaneously recharging our stardrive? Not to mention shielding the normal space thrusters for breaking the inertial sump after we do make good our escape. Even reattaching the prize ship while under fire might be too much…” Tremblay slowly trailed off.
I knew my expression was thunderous but I couldn’t help myself.
“Where was your concern for these helpless settlers back in AZT89443, Officer Tremblay,” I sneered. “As for these pirate cutters, we’re already dealing with them. Every second they’re not firing on that single remaining Escort ship is another second that escort can carry out emergency repairs and another second of reprieve for every colonists stuck inside one of those mammoth unarmed deathtraps.” I paused to draw in a breath. “As for our own weaponry, I’ll wager you this ship, that for every weapon system and turret our chief engineer puts back to rights, you’ll find a crew of men ready, eager and willing to fire them at the enemy.”
I stopped to lock gazes with the former intelligence officer.
“Sir, it was not my intention-” Tremblay started.
“Can it, Mr. Tremblay,” I snapped. “I have a battle to fight.” I turned to the Helmsman. “Point us straight at those pirate scum, Mr. DuPont. The order is full speed ahead and straight down their throats.”
“Yes, Sir,” the Helmsman said faintly.
“And someone get my Chief Engineer on the line. I want my weapon systems and I want them now,” I shouted. “Tell him I need something to fire at those pirates and will accept no excuses. He had his chance to Captain this vessel and he turned it down flat. Well, by Saint Murphy’s ornery wrench, its time he showed us why he got the cushy job down in Engineering!”
By this time the ship was minutes away from the hastily assembled pirate squadron and gathering speed by the moment.
I deliberately ignored the First Officer and stared at the Master Plot on the massive main screen instead.
“Sir! We’re going too fast, we have to slow down,” Said the Helmsman, finally gaining his courage.
“No! Full speed ahead I’ll not give them another instant to change their mind,” I barked.
“Shifting course slightly to avoid the Cutters,” said the Helmsman. “We’ll still pass right beside them.”
A thought occurred me in that moment. A terrible, horrible thought. “No,” I exclaimed, the idea taking form inside my head. I jumped to my battle armored feet and leapt to the helmsman’s console. “Take us right through the middle of their formation,” I said, leaning over the helmsman and pointing to the small cluster of pirate icons on the main screen.
“That’s insane. At this speed we might hit one,” argued DuPont.
I grabbed him by the back of his uniform and slammed the Helmsman into his flight console. Then, with a whine of power assisted servos, grabbed the man’s head in the heavy metal gauntlets. I forcefully turned the squirming Helmsman’s head toward his console, then dropped a hand to the man’s neck where it met his shoulders.
“Maximum strength to the forward shields,” I yelled to the crewmen at tactical. “Double their strength and overcharge them if you have to.”
“Admiral, this isn’t some holo-drama,” shouted Officer Tremblay. “We could all be killed,” he said, pulling out a small sidearm he had hidden in the pocket of his uniform. Clearly he had an idea where the young Admiral was going with this and didn’t like it.
The first officer had wanted to complain about not having a weapon to turn on the pirates. Well I, Admiral Jason Montagne Vekna was going to show him a weapon, and a terrifying one at that!
I turned my back on the first officer and ignored the blaster pistol pointed in my general direction. With all this battle armor the first officer would need a head shot anyway. Scrunching my head down in the battlesuit to give the Tremblay a smaller target, I leaned my face close to the Helmsman's. “Ramming speed, Mr. DuPont. Aim for as many of those cutters as you can,” I said right in the crewman’s ear.
The young Helmsman shook his head and started sweating. “No,” he mumbled all but inaudibly.
“I gave you an order, crewman,” I said, unsure what to do if the man refused. Its not like I was actually willing to follow through with the implied threat and crush the man’s head or break his neck, and I only knew the basics of plotting a course through normal space. There was no way, outside of sheer luck, that I could set a course that would hit those cutters.
The man started sweating but still refused to move his hands toward the console.
An evil thought occurred to me in that moment. Despite everything I had ever done, everyone still blamed me for the crimes of my family as if by my very birth I was tainted. Well, maybe it was time to use some of that taint and scorn they heaped on me time and time again, and turn the reputation of my Montagne ancestors to good use.
“Everyone back home likes to talk about the Montagne’s,” I said quietly into the Helmsman’s ear. “About how we’re natural murderers, mass-murders even given the chance, born with the blood of innocents on our hands. Yet, for all the bigotry and hateful talk, people still think it's safe to ignore the chain of command and tell a Montagne in a battle suit to go to Hades.” Servos whined as I leaned down so far that my face was almost touching the helmsman’s cheek. DuPont gulped but still didn’t move, seemingly paralyzed where he sat. I decided to give it one more push before giving it all up as a bad bluff.
“Are you refusing a lawful order and telling one of those evil, vindictive, natural born, blood-feuding killers to go to Hades, Helmsman?”
DuPont stayed rooted in one spot and I winced in disappointment. Then, as if a pause button had been un-pressed, the Helmsman leaned forward, fingers flying over the console, and returned the ship’s course back to its original track. He made a few minor corrections and sat back with a gasp. His forehead drenched in sweat.
I released the Helmsman but stayed nearby, intently watching the main screen.
“Instruct the ship’s remaining gunners and any crewmen we have on the gundeck to man every weapon that’s in working order. They are to fire on the pirate ships as we bear, Mr. Cloudhammer,” Officer Tremblay finally said, instructing one of the trainee’s at tactical.
There wasn’t a lot of time after that for oration because the next thing I knew, we had reached the tiny pirate cutters.
There was a loud bang that shook the ship with a sickening lurch and knocked my battle-suited bulk off my feet. This was rapidly followed by a series of small pops, like rain on a tin roof and the lights on the Flag Bridge flickered and dimmed before returning to full strength.
Was it my imagination, or had the air recyclers stopped working as well? Perhaps ramming the pirate vessels might not have been the smartest thing to do after all.
I started to pull myself to my feet, the battlesuit servos whining in protest. I was only halfway up when the ship started to exert gee forces toward one of the walls. It was no worse than an aircar making a hard turn, but still enough to return me reeling back to the floor.
I tucked, rolled and slammed against one of the metal bulkheads, most of the force of the blow absorbed by the power armor but without the helmet on, the back of the my head hit the metal wall with enough force that I saw nothing but stars.
We emerged from hyperspace with another lurch. I was somewhat prepared, gripping tightly to the arms of the Throne, but this transfer worse than the last.
“Point Emergence,” reported one of the bridge crew. “Looks like we’ve transferred to the system we were trying for,” the spacehand said, sounding sour with the whole idea.
“Belay that nonsense,” snapped Officer Tremblay. “Helmsman, do your duty.”
“Main engine is lit and baffling is now physically extended beyond transfer area,” said Helmsman DuPont.
“Point Resistance,” demanded Tremblay.
“Engines at 25% of maximum,” said the Helmsman. “The ship is still locked.”
“Shields at a steady 95% and re-modulated for a sump break,” reported a tactical trainee.
“I’m amazed we survived the transfer,” declared the Science Officer standing up from his chair. “The inertia on this sump alone is going to be the worst this ship’s ever seen. I warned you that this was a very bad idea.”
“When I or the Admiral want your opinions, we’ll blasted well ask for them,” shouted Tremblay. “Stay on task, or by all the angry space gods security will escort you down the brig!” He waved vaguely toward the blast doors which used to have a pair of marine jacks stationed to either side, but no longer sported a security team of any kind.
The science officer drew his mouth into a thin line but said nothing.
“Main Engine at 40%. Both secondaries lit,” reported the Helmsman.
“Shield strength at 89%. We’re starting to feel the drain,” reported the crewman on shields.
“Increasing all engines to 75% of maximum,” said DuPont.
“Wait. No!” exclaimed Tremblay looking alarmed but the Helmsman had already keyed in the increase.
There was a loud bang that reverberated throughout the ship. This was followed by a terrible scraping noise, as the ship broke free of the Inertial Sump.
“Taking a ship to flank speed outside of a combat situation and without a direct order is a court martial-able offense, Helmsman,” Tremblay said, blood rushing to his cheeks.
“We’ve broken free of the Inertial Sump,” a crewman at sensors reported in a small voice.
“I have the Chief Engineer on the line,” reported the communications tech. “He sounds angry. Something about broken transfer cables and trying to destroy one side of the ship.”
I waved my hand, “Tell Spalding to focus on getting the Lucky Clover ready for combat and not to worry about his precious paint job.”
“Looks like we’ve left the pirate cruiser behind,” said one of the sensor operators.
I raised an eyebrow at this.
“That screeching sound was probably us breaking our connection to the pirate cruiser, and the Helmsman then scraping the two hulls together in his haste to break free,” Tremblay said with a nod in the my direction.
“What do you think we should do about the prize,” I said, waving vaguely behind myself in reference to the former pirate cruiser and current prize ship they had just left floating in space.
Tremblay paused for a moment to think, then turned to the sensor operators. “How far away is that settlement ship, and how many pirates are we looking at?”
The sensor operators jerked and turned back to their screens, imputing the relevant queries.
“I read a single Cutter and a pair of Corvettes,” said the first one.
“No, there are three cutters, and one of the Corvettes is drifting, she’s badly damaged, Sir,” reported another.
The third gasped, “There isn't just one Settlement ship in the system. There are three, and one of them is breaking up!”
“Demon-Disciples of Murphy,” Tremblay cursed the pirates. “Either we deploy the bucking cables before we get too far away and take her under tow. Or we forget about the prize ship and max out the engines to help those settlers. There’s no way we can do both, since we can’t tow her and make max speed at the same time, Admiral.” He paused in consideration. “I think the away team from Engineering can worry about the prize for a while, Sir. Those Settlers are adrift and dying in cold space,” he finally advised.
The thought of that broken settler ship was all it took for me to quickly reach a decision.
“Full speed into the battle, Helmsman,” I said, my voice wobbling with emotion. “We can worry about the money later, forget the prize. Those Settlers need our help!” I slammed my fist on the arm of the Admiral’s Throne. The squeal of dented metal sounded and I realized that I was still in power armor. I had forgotten to change back into the Admiral’s uniform before the point transfer.
“Blast it,” I said, cursing my own stupidity. “Someone put a display of the battle up on the main screen,” I continued harshly, more angry at my own stupidity in damaging the Admiral’s Throne than anything else.
It seemed like forever as we crawled to the scene of the battle but in reality it was less than fifteen minutes. Thanks to the transponder coordinates included by the Settler Ship in the distress call and a generous helping of luck we had landed, if not top of the pirates, a lot closer than a greenhorn crew towing a second cruiser in their hyper bubble had any right to expect. That’s what the Navigator swore to me anyway when I verbalized my frustration with how far away we were initially.
“Instruct the two Promethean cruisers to join us and form triangle formation with us at the point,” I commanded.
There was a pause while people scrambled, then Tremblay spoke up, “The Medium Cruisers and the captured pirate conversion haven’t arrived in the system yet, Admiral.”
“What are you talking about? They were right behind us and supposed to jump at the same time,” I said, a knot forming in my stomach.
“I mean either they aborted their hyperdrive somehow or they’re not coming,” he said shamefaced. “We missed it, Admiral. In all the excitement we didn’t notice that our three sister ship’s never arrived.”
“You said it's almost impossible to stop a point transfer after you’ve exceeded threshold levels. Did I miss something, or did the Promethians and the other prize ship exceed threashold levels before we jumped out of the system?”
“Yes. It is nearly impossible without a major explosion, and they had passed the threashold before we jumped, Admiral,” answered Tremblay.
I turned away and clenched my fists. Instead of a fleet of three cruisers to deal with the pirates, as of right now the rescue effort consisted of one unarmed battleship and an un-crewed prize ship with a small away team from engineering to manage its strange particle generator.
The long minutes getting into range of the battle were not wasted. The sensor team put the time to good use, constantly updating the main screen with new information as it came in. The final tally was quite different from the initial readings by the crewmen in the sensor pit.
It turned out that the two Corvettes weren’t pirates, instead they were escorts for the settlement ships. One was damaged but still fighting in a desperate attempt to shield the two remaining and still intact settlement ships. The other corvette was dead in the water, venting atmosphere and currently being boarded by two opportunistic pirate cutters.
On the pirate side of the equation, it seemed the pirates had started out with seven cutters. Two of which were damaged and had limped away from combat with the corvettes, biding their time until the colony ships were unprotected. Two more were boarding the stricken corvette, while the remaining three were furiously pounding away at the still active defender.
“Why aren’t they running,” I asked, obviously confused. “The Clover should be able to crush a half dozen little cutters easily. Your thoughts, Mr. Tremblay?”
The First Officer bit his lip. “I don’t know. Those Cutters are fast little beggars, maybe they think they can loot and pillage up until the very last moment and run off before we can catch them,” he said, sounding uncertain. “These are pirates though, I can’t imagine they think they can handle a Heavy Cruiser, even with the full seven of them.” He paused and certainty filled his voice as he talked through the situation, “They have to know they can’t win and even if their leader has some miracle strategy he thinks could pull it off, the other captains will realize they’re bound to take losses. Pirates are very risk averse.”
“Two of them have already been damaged,” I pointed out. “Two more are boarding that corvette, they have to be taking losses storming the corvette. That doesn’t seem very risk averse to me.”
Tremblay frowned and shook his head. “It has to be only minor damage for them to escape the Corvettes. Corvettes are bigger and more powerful than Cutters. As for any losses the individual ships sustain taking the stricken corvette, those are just human losses. Pirate captains and officers are much more concerned with losing equipment than with losing men. There are always more idiots looking to sign on with a pirate vessel for the plunder. It's ships that are in short supply.”
“So taking a larger ship like the corvette is actually a smart play for a pirate captain,” I mused aloud, nodding slowly as I processed Tremblay's analysis. “That still doesn’t explain why they think they can move out of range in time.”
“They can’t,” Tremblay said shortly, glaring at the tactical picture as if that would somehow explain what the pirates thought they were doing. "They should be scrambling to disengage and pull out before we can get over there and blast them to kingdom come.”
A few minutes later they received a transmission from one of the pirate vessels.
A figure in light combat armor appeared on the screen. He was sitting in a similar but much smaller version of the same chair Jason was in. “Well met brothers-in-blood. This is Captain Strider of the Broken Maiden. Piranha Squadron is willing to cut Black Philip and a member of the Blood Raiders in for a share of the spoils,” he said, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. Then he leaned back in his chair waiting for a response.
“Philip who?” I inquired, looking at the former intelligence officer.
Lieutenant Tremblay shook his head from side to side. “Not a clue. Neither this Black Philip or the so called Blood Raiders are in any database I’ve ever had access to.”
“Why do they think we’re here to help them,” I wondered aloud. “It has to be some kind of a trap.”
Tremblay hesitated, “I can’t imagine any other reason they’d send us ‘hail fellow pirate, well met,’ messages over an unencrypted channel. Unless it was a trap.”
One of the Communication Tech’s from the Signal’s section raised his had.
“Yes,” Tremblay said tersely, looking at the Com-Tech.
“They are using an encrypted line, sirs,” said the tech.
“We broke it that fast,” Tremblay said in disbelief. “Must be a weak one they expected for us to break.”
“No, sir,” the tech said shaking his head. “Its one of the older encryptions in our SDF database. Its more than seventy something years out of date. The DI automatically ciphered it as it passed through our system.”
“Impossible,” Tremblay growled, “How would a swarm of penny ante pirates get hold of an outdated Caprian encryption algorithm.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I said, breaking into the conversation. “How they got the encryption doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we have a pirate encryption key and they still think we’re reinforcements come to cut ourselves in for a piece of the pie.”
Tremblay purpled, “That’s no pirate encryption key,” he started hotly. “That’s Caprian SDF software!”
I jumped to my feet and stomped the deck with a loud crash, cutting him off. “It is now,” I said flatly, towering over the First Officer in my power armor, “and because we have it, we’re going to use it.” I gave the first officer a shark like grin, full of nothing but bared teeth and bravado. “It's time someone taught these pirates a lesson.”
I kept the fierce grin in place because I knew that without it, I would wilt like a hot house flower on a cold winter night. I had never been trained for any of this. I was a man who had the proverbial tiger by the tail; if I dared show weakness or let go, I was finished.
“Communications, open a channel to the pirates and make sure to use the same encryption key they are,” I ordered, with a playful tone.
I waited until I was sure the pirate captain was receiving the transmission before speaking. Schooling my face into its most haughty expression, I opened my mouth. “Stand aside pipsqueak, and watch how a real warship handles a juicy little convoy like this,” I said from my perch on the Admiral's Throne. There were no uniformed bridge crew within range of the pick up to give away the game. Only a single young man dressed in a battle suit and sitting on the gigantic command chair.
The Pirate Captain flushed. “Who do you think you’re talking to? If you think the Piranhas will just stand by after doing most of the heavy lifting, you‘ve got another think-”
I spoke over him, cutting the pirate captain off midsentence. “Stop dancing around that corvette like a band of prancing ballerinas, Captain Spider,” I said, deliberately getting the pirate’s name wrong.
“Its Strider,” exclaimed the Pirate slamming his fist down on the arm of his chair. “And we’re no blasted ballerinas!”
“You’ll get your share, Captain Spider, don’t you worry your little head about that. Equal shares all around.” I hardened my voice and continued, “Now gather your ships into fighting formation and be ready to watch and learn,” I said with another shark like grin, then gestured for communications to cut the outgoing signal.
I turned to smile at Lieutenant Tremblay, “That should keep them properly confused as to our intentions.”
“There’s a Caprian registered ship in there, Admiral,” Tremblay said cautiously.
I blinked and looked at the First Officer with a frown. “Yes,” I said slowly, inviting him to continue.
“And as Caprians, it's our duty to protect it,” Tremblay added cautiously.
I barely suppressed a surge of irritation at Tremblay’s continued insistence at looking out for only Caprian interests and schooled my features into a blank mask. When I felt my temper was under control, I spoke in a level voice. “Agreed."
“Well…” Tremblay hesitated.
“Well what?” I demanded, glancing at the tactical screen. Several of the Pirates were moving closer to one another. Yes! They were actually going for it. Just like I had hoped, they were gathering together in a loose formation. I wasn’t a trained naval officer, and hadn’t known whether or not they’d fall for it. But it certainly appeared that they had taken the bait.
“What are the Admiral’s intentions, regarding the other ships in the Convoy? If I may ask, Sir, for the record,” Officer Tremblay said formally.
I glared at him in irritation for still not answering the question. Then it occurred to me that Tremblay might be wondering if I was seriously considering dividing up the convoy between the Clover and the scum of the space lanes.
My nostrils flared. “What? Did you actually think I was going to help those pirates finish that last Corvette, and then claim the Caprian Settler as our part of the plunder? Then what? Just take off for home space like nothing had happened?” I flared my nostrils half-consciously. “Is that what you thought, Officer Tremblay,” I asked, my voice rising to a yell by the time I was finished speaking. “That I’d leave two ships full of helpless settlers to the tender mercy of pirates just because they weren’t from Capria?”
Tremblay turned pale. “I admit it isn’t the first choice. The thought of abandoning entire families of colonists to the mercy of pirates, it makes me sick. But without weapons or the gunnery crews to man them, I’m not sure what we can do,” He stared at the floor, “Those Cutters are small and fast, they can dart in and out, firing the whole time. While their weapons may not be very powerful compared to what we usually carry and our armor thick enough to stop heavy weapons, can we take twelve hours of pounding while simultaneously recharging our stardrive? Not to mention shielding the normal space thrusters for breaking the inertial sump after we do make good our escape. Even reattaching the prize ship while under fire might be too much…” Tremblay slowly trailed off.
I knew my expression was thunderous but I couldn’t help myself.
“Where was your concern for these helpless settlers back in AZT89443, Officer Tremblay,” I sneered. “As for these pirate cutters, we’re already dealing with them. Every second they’re not firing on that single remaining Escort ship is another second that escort can carry out emergency repairs and another second of reprieve for every colonists stuck inside one of those mammoth unarmed deathtraps.” I paused to draw in a breath. “As for our own weaponry, I’ll wager you this ship, that for every weapon system and turret our chief engineer puts back to rights, you’ll find a crew of men ready, eager and willing to fire them at the enemy.”
I stopped to lock gazes with the former intelligence officer.
“Sir, it was not my intention-” Tremblay started.
“Can it, Mr. Tremblay,” I snapped. “I have a battle to fight.” I turned to the Helmsman. “Point us straight at those pirate scum, Mr. DuPont. The order is full speed ahead and straight down their throats.”
“Yes, Sir,” the Helmsman said faintly.
“And someone get my Chief Engineer on the line. I want my weapon systems and I want them now,” I shouted. “Tell him I need something to fire at those pirates and will accept no excuses. He had his chance to Captain this vessel and he turned it down flat. Well, by Saint Murphy’s ornery wrench, its time he showed us why he got the cushy job down in Engineering!”
By this time the ship was minutes away from the hastily assembled pirate squadron and gathering speed by the moment.
I deliberately ignored the First Officer and stared at the Master Plot on the massive main screen instead.
“Sir! We’re going too fast, we have to slow down,” Said the Helmsman, finally gaining his courage.
“No! Full speed ahead I’ll not give them another instant to change their mind,” I barked.
“Shifting course slightly to avoid the Cutters,” said the Helmsman. “We’ll still pass right beside them.”
A thought occurred me in that moment. A terrible, horrible thought. “No,” I exclaimed, the idea taking form inside my head. I jumped to my battle armored feet and leapt to the helmsman’s console. “Take us right through the middle of their formation,” I said, leaning over the helmsman and pointing to the small cluster of pirate icons on the main screen.
“That’s insane. At this speed we might hit one,” argued DuPont.
I grabbed him by the back of his uniform and slammed the Helmsman into his flight console. Then, with a whine of power assisted servos, grabbed the man’s head in the heavy metal gauntlets. I forcefully turned the squirming Helmsman’s head toward his console, then dropped a hand to the man’s neck where it met his shoulders.
“Maximum strength to the forward shields,” I yelled to the crewmen at tactical. “Double their strength and overcharge them if you have to.”
“Admiral, this isn’t some holo-drama,” shouted Officer Tremblay. “We could all be killed,” he said, pulling out a small sidearm he had hidden in the pocket of his uniform. Clearly he had an idea where the young Admiral was going with this and didn’t like it.
The first officer had wanted to complain about not having a weapon to turn on the pirates. Well I, Admiral Jason Montagne Vekna was going to show him a weapon, and a terrifying one at that!
I turned my back on the first officer and ignored the blaster pistol pointed in my general direction. With all this battle armor the first officer would need a head shot anyway. Scrunching my head down in the battlesuit to give the Tremblay a smaller target, I leaned my face close to the Helmsman's. “Ramming speed, Mr. DuPont. Aim for as many of those cutters as you can,” I said right in the crewman’s ear.
The young Helmsman shook his head and started sweating. “No,” he mumbled all but inaudibly.
“I gave you an order, crewman,” I said, unsure what to do if the man refused. Its not like I was actually willing to follow through with the implied threat and crush the man’s head or break his neck, and I only knew the basics of plotting a course through normal space. There was no way, outside of sheer luck, that I could set a course that would hit those cutters.
The man started sweating but still refused to move his hands toward the console.
An evil thought occurred to me in that moment. Despite everything I had ever done, everyone still blamed me for the crimes of my family as if by my very birth I was tainted. Well, maybe it was time to use some of that taint and scorn they heaped on me time and time again, and turn the reputation of my Montagne ancestors to good use.
“Everyone back home likes to talk about the Montagne’s,” I said quietly into the Helmsman’s ear. “About how we’re natural murderers, mass-murders even given the chance, born with the blood of innocents on our hands. Yet, for all the bigotry and hateful talk, people still think it's safe to ignore the chain of command and tell a Montagne in a battle suit to go to Hades.” Servos whined as I leaned down so far that my face was almost touching the helmsman’s cheek. DuPont gulped but still didn’t move, seemingly paralyzed where he sat. I decided to give it one more push before giving it all up as a bad bluff.
“Are you refusing a lawful order and telling one of those evil, vindictive, natural born, blood-feuding killers to go to Hades, Helmsman?”
DuPont stayed rooted in one spot and I winced in disappointment. Then, as if a pause button had been un-pressed, the Helmsman leaned forward, fingers flying over the console, and returned the ship’s course back to its original track. He made a few minor corrections and sat back with a gasp. His forehead drenched in sweat.
I released the Helmsman but stayed nearby, intently watching the main screen.
“Instruct the ship’s remaining gunners and any crewmen we have on the gundeck to man every weapon that’s in working order. They are to fire on the pirate ships as we bear, Mr. Cloudhammer,” Officer Tremblay finally said, instructing one of the trainee’s at tactical.
There wasn’t a lot of time after that for oration because the next thing I knew, we had reached the tiny pirate cutters.
There was a loud bang that shook the ship with a sickening lurch and knocked my battle-suited bulk off my feet. This was rapidly followed by a series of small pops, like rain on a tin roof and the lights on the Flag Bridge flickered and dimmed before returning to full strength.
Was it my imagination, or had the air recyclers stopped working as well? Perhaps ramming the pirate vessels might not have been the smartest thing to do after all.
I started to pull myself to my feet, the battlesuit servos whining in protest. I was only halfway up when the ship started to exert gee forces toward one of the walls. It was no worse than an aircar making a hard turn, but still enough to return me reeling back to the floor.
I tucked, rolled and slammed against one of the metal bulkheads, most of the force of the blow absorbed by the power armor but without the helmet on, the back of the my head hit the metal wall with enough force that I saw nothing but stars.
Snippet 13 - The Engineer
Chapter: Rallying the troops
He was the very model of a modern outdated space engineer: They’re all a bunch of fruits!
“What is, man? Can’t you see I’m busy trying to pull two heavy cruisers through the hells of hyperspace with only my bare hands and a few oversized trunk lines?” Chief Engineer Spalding was absolutely snarling. The young pup that somehow became the ship’s new first officer blinked.
“How many of the ship’s main weapon systems are now fit for service,” repeated Officer Tremblay, pushing forward in the face of a very red faced chief engineer.
“The main weapons?! What are you blathering about, man? It's taken all I’ve got just to get the ship ready for this abortion of an operation we’re calling a point transfer. Now you want to know how many weapons I’ve had time to install,” he stuck out a hand and started counting fingers to go with his points, “in between hooking together two heavy cruisers for the most risky jump in two centuries, and breaking my blasted leg. I have no idea and no time for this sort of bureaucratic nonsense,” he said, stopping at two finger and moving to cut the connection and go back to work on his overstressed and nearly overloaded star drive when the young pup cut him off.
“Very well, then. Prepare for ship-to-ship combat as soon as we break free of the inertial sump. The Admiral,” First Officer Tremblay shook his head at this, “changed our course. We’re answering a distress call and are taking the ship pirate hunting.” He glared at the chief engineer. “I hope that was a bureaucratic enough explanation for you, Mr. Spalding.”
“Space rot,” cursed the elderly officer. Suddenly the ship lurched. “I’ll have get back to you,” he said over his shoulder, abandoning the communication console and running over to check on the Star Drive.
“Sweet Servants of the Demon Murphy, every blasted one of them,” he despaired after he saw they’d successfully penetrated hyperspace. “They pull the only man on the ship who knows what he’s doing away from the control. Then telling him he’s got reinstall every weapons the blasted imp’s tore out during their so-called refit, and all while we’re under combat conditions to boot.”
All around him cheers broke out as the engineering crew celebrated the ship’s survival.
In a sour mood, Spalding glared at the prematurely celebrating crew.
In a fit of temper he lit his plasma torch and waved it around to get attention. When only those immediately near him responded by looking at the old engineer, he scowled and activated the speaker system. “Alright, my fine young lads. That’s enough goofin' around. Its time for papa Spalding’s miracle number three,” he roared, shaking his plasma torch at the engineering crew. “So if you were under the mistaken impression that pulling that pile of bolts they called a pirate cruiser through hyperspace with us was a challenge, well my laddies, you ain’t seen nothin' yet!”
Spalding smiled at the falling faces of the engineering crew as they came to realize the hard work wasn’t over yet. “Its double and triple shifts until we run a new batch of pirate scum out of this system!” He looked around at the now visibly alarmed and shaken crew. “Cheer up, boys. Between the double time and hazard pay, your next paycheck are sure to be all fat and bloated.” He frowned at the lackluster response.
“To Hades with that,” a spacehand exclaimed from somewhere in the back. “I’ll take it nice and safe any day. Tell the Admiral to just take us home.” Heads bobbed in agreement.
“Alright you bunch of slack jawed idiots,” he said, waving his plasma torch at the nearest of the complainers. “Enough standing around gaping like a bunch of fools. First shift hit the cargo holds, I’ve a list with the location of every one of our weapons those runaway Imps tried to jettison for junk. Team leaders come see me for an upload pronto. Second shift, suit up, its out to the hull for you your job will be reinstalling the weapons systems as soon they’re handed to you by the First shift.”
Next, he pulled up the DI and rerouted his voice to the cabins of everyone assigned to Third. “Third shift wake up you bunch of layabouts, its out of bed and into engineering for you slackers. This ship won’t fly herself!”
He watched with deep satisfaction as everyone scurried around with new purpose. He took a step to corral one of the team leaders, and grimaced as fire shot up his leg. “Blasted busted up leg,” he complained to no one in particular.
With a determined gimp he hobbled off to save the ship.
The Deposed King
He was the very model of a modern outdated space engineer: They’re all a bunch of fruits!
“What is, man? Can’t you see I’m busy trying to pull two heavy cruisers through the hells of hyperspace with only my bare hands and a few oversized trunk lines?” Chief Engineer Spalding was absolutely snarling. The young pup that somehow became the ship’s new first officer blinked.
“How many of the ship’s main weapon systems are now fit for service,” repeated Officer Tremblay, pushing forward in the face of a very red faced chief engineer.
“The main weapons?! What are you blathering about, man? It's taken all I’ve got just to get the ship ready for this abortion of an operation we’re calling a point transfer. Now you want to know how many weapons I’ve had time to install,” he stuck out a hand and started counting fingers to go with his points, “in between hooking together two heavy cruisers for the most risky jump in two centuries, and breaking my blasted leg. I have no idea and no time for this sort of bureaucratic nonsense,” he said, stopping at two finger and moving to cut the connection and go back to work on his overstressed and nearly overloaded star drive when the young pup cut him off.
“Very well, then. Prepare for ship-to-ship combat as soon as we break free of the inertial sump. The Admiral,” First Officer Tremblay shook his head at this, “changed our course. We’re answering a distress call and are taking the ship pirate hunting.” He glared at the chief engineer. “I hope that was a bureaucratic enough explanation for you, Mr. Spalding.”
“Space rot,” cursed the elderly officer. Suddenly the ship lurched. “I’ll have get back to you,” he said over his shoulder, abandoning the communication console and running over to check on the Star Drive.
“Sweet Servants of the Demon Murphy, every blasted one of them,” he despaired after he saw they’d successfully penetrated hyperspace. “They pull the only man on the ship who knows what he’s doing away from the control. Then telling him he’s got reinstall every weapons the blasted imp’s tore out during their so-called refit, and all while we’re under combat conditions to boot.”
All around him cheers broke out as the engineering crew celebrated the ship’s survival.
In a sour mood, Spalding glared at the prematurely celebrating crew.
In a fit of temper he lit his plasma torch and waved it around to get attention. When only those immediately near him responded by looking at the old engineer, he scowled and activated the speaker system. “Alright, my fine young lads. That’s enough goofin' around. Its time for papa Spalding’s miracle number three,” he roared, shaking his plasma torch at the engineering crew. “So if you were under the mistaken impression that pulling that pile of bolts they called a pirate cruiser through hyperspace with us was a challenge, well my laddies, you ain’t seen nothin' yet!”
Spalding smiled at the falling faces of the engineering crew as they came to realize the hard work wasn’t over yet. “Its double and triple shifts until we run a new batch of pirate scum out of this system!” He looked around at the now visibly alarmed and shaken crew. “Cheer up, boys. Between the double time and hazard pay, your next paycheck are sure to be all fat and bloated.” He frowned at the lackluster response.
“To Hades with that,” a spacehand exclaimed from somewhere in the back. “I’ll take it nice and safe any day. Tell the Admiral to just take us home.” Heads bobbed in agreement.
“Alright you bunch of slack jawed idiots,” he said, waving his plasma torch at the nearest of the complainers. “Enough standing around gaping like a bunch of fools. First shift hit the cargo holds, I’ve a list with the location of every one of our weapons those runaway Imps tried to jettison for junk. Team leaders come see me for an upload pronto. Second shift, suit up, its out to the hull for you your job will be reinstalling the weapons systems as soon they’re handed to you by the First shift.”
Next, he pulled up the DI and rerouted his voice to the cabins of everyone assigned to Third. “Third shift wake up you bunch of layabouts, its out of bed and into engineering for you slackers. This ship won’t fly herself!”
He watched with deep satisfaction as everyone scurried around with new purpose. He took a step to corral one of the team leaders, and grimaced as fire shot up his leg. “Blasted busted up leg,” he complained to no one in particular.
With a determined gimp he hobbled off to save the ship.
The Deposed King
Monday, April 2, 2012
Snippet 12
Chapter: Distress Call
“The Chief Engineer reports the ship is ready to point transfer whenever you are, Admiral,” Lieutenant Tremblay reported, then bit his lip. “He’s calling it a miracle of engineering, but it should get the job done. I have to say I’ve never seen or heard of a successful point transfer involving two ships of the same weight within one hyperspace bubble, Admiral. As far as I know, not even the Imperials have tried something like this. As the ship’s XO I’d like to go on record and point out that this could be a very serious mistake, sir.”
“Of course. Thank you for your advice, First Officer. However, I have the utmost confidence in our Chief Engineer. If he says this configuration will work, then I’m sure it will turn out fine.” I was anything but 'fine' with it, but we had to get moving.
Lieutenant Tremblay looked worried but didn’t say anything further.
I suppose the battle armor I had once again donned might have had something to do with my first officer’s lack of continued debate. I wasn’t a trained officer, but even I knew that this bastard abortion the chief engineer had created by hooking up two different parts of two different star drives couldn’t be the best idea in the world. But it was too late to back out now. I was committed.
I had promised the crew their prize money. I had diverted the ship’s course away the direction advised by trained ship’s officers. I had to succeed and be seen to succeed or I was as good as dead. That’s why I had put back on the power armor for this point transfer and locked down the bulkheads with my command crystal. Nothing was going to stop me or this ship. I would return home victorious with two heavy cruisers in hand or not at all. It was all down to this moment, victory or death.
The only thing left to do was wait for the count down. I sighed as the ship’s Star Drive charged past the point of no return. Everything was set, the Navigator was present and the point transfer calculated hours ago, long before they had even activated the star drive. A few minor calculations after that and there had been nothing to do but wait until they transferred. I was about to return to my quarters and change back into the old Confederate Admiral’s uniform when one of the crew stationed in the communications section spoke up.
“I have an external transmission from the FTL communications network. Its an emergency signal, Sir!” called out the communications tech. He paused. “Its a settlement ship based out of Capria, sir. She says her escort is under attack by Pirates!”
“What?!” I realized both First Officer Tremblay and myself had exclaimed at the same time.
“How far away is she,” I demanded.
While Tremblay muttered, “I’ll go check on the Settler Manifest,” before heading over to the communications officer for help retrieving the information.
“She’s within our official range, according to the spec’s in the Navigation Computer,” the Navigator said doubtfully. “But with the non-standard configuration of our hyper-bubble and the extra load we’re carrying, I’m not sure…”
It sounded like the communications officer was reporting to Tremblay that they must have lost the manifest on the settlement ship when the Imperials purged the distributed computer system of Imperial software and upgrades. There was too much commotion to hear their conversation clearly, but the First Officer didn’t look pleased.
“Why does the colonial manifest matter?” I asked, looking at Tremblay. I hoped I wasn’t missing something critical because of my lack of naval training.
“To find out whether or not the colonists are from Capria,” Tremblay said simply.
“Why would that matter? Thousands of helpless colonists are under attack. They could be slaughtered, their ship captured or even taken as slaves by the pirates!” I realized I had spoken before thinking. It wasn't as though I was ashamed of the sentiment I had just expressed. As someone who dreamed of shipping out to a new colony, I could identify with the plight of anyone stuck onboard a helpless settlement ship at the mercy of pirates. Escort, or no escort.
Tremblay’s face was stiff. “This is a Caprian system defense ship. It’s our duty to defend the people of Capria, not the various populations of the universe at large. Right now we desperately need to get home, not go sticking our noses into every little brush fire out on the edge of known space.”
I couldn't help but stare at him wide-eyed. I was unable to believe I had just heard those words come out of the former intelligence officer’s mouth.
Looking a little defensive for perhaps the first time, the First Officer added, “They said they have an escort, its not like this settlement ship is completely defenseless.”
I came to a sudden decision and deliberately hardened my face. I didn’t care what it took or what I had to say, that settlement ship needed help. “Mr. Tremblay, and anyone else on this bridge who feels the same way, listen well. I’m only going to say this once,” I raised my voice so everyone could hear clearly.
“This is the flag ship of a multi-sector patrol fleet, one sponsored and organized by the Confederation. We are no longer simply a Caprian SDF ship. If we won’t go to the aid of an unarmed starship carrying upwards of a hundred thousand settlers and colonist, then who in the whole sector will?” I paused to let the words sink in, then finished, “As long as I am Admiral, this ship will do its duty.”
I refused to look around and poll the bridge crew. This was the right thing to do and any lingering doubts I might have had about forcing the crew to make a dangerous hyper transfer in the name of prize money were gone. This was no longer about prize money. This was about saving lives. “Navigator, set a new course. We’re going to rescue those settlers.” Suddenly, a tension I hadn’t even known I was carrying melted away.
The Navigator dragged his heels and Officer Tremblay still tried to argue me out of this sudden course change. But I could tell their hearts weren’t in it. They were mostly concerned for the safety of the ship, not avoiding the pirates, so I tried not to lose my temper. My mind was made up and I was deaf to their pleas.
After ordering the two medium cruisers to follow us to the new coordinates sent by the settlement ship, all I could do was watch his bridge crew as they made a new set of calculations.
“Sir,” reminded Officer Tremblay, “our Navigator already ran over to the converted pirate freighter once, to calculate their point transfer. He won’t have time to both plot a new course for us and then shuttle on over there again before we jump.”
"Tell one of the medium cruisers to send over a Navigator to plot the course," I answered with a wave of my hand. It was frustrating that the Lucky Clover didn’t have the trained personnel to deal with it ourselves but at least we’d still have a small Caprain away crew on the converted pirate ship to keep an eye on the Promethean navigator.
Navigator Shepherd was sweating profusely by the time he declared the coordinates locked in for the new point transfer. I was thankful for the extended recharge time of the old ship’s Star Drive. It gave us lots of time to make changes to their course, even after we had passed the point of no return and were committed to making a point transfer.
When I was certain we were actually locked to go save the colonists from pirates, it occurred to me to ask about our missing weaponry.
Rearming the ship had been a top priority up until I had learned that the pirate cruiser was having trouble with its Star Drive. After that, I had stopped worrying about everything else and suspected engineering had done the same.
Lieutenant Tremblay looked appalled at the question and immediately ordered a direct line to the Chief Engineer. He had just got the Chief Engineer on the line and was still at a com-console with Lieutenant Spalding when the ship broke through hyperspace.
The Deposed King
“The Chief Engineer reports the ship is ready to point transfer whenever you are, Admiral,” Lieutenant Tremblay reported, then bit his lip. “He’s calling it a miracle of engineering, but it should get the job done. I have to say I’ve never seen or heard of a successful point transfer involving two ships of the same weight within one hyperspace bubble, Admiral. As far as I know, not even the Imperials have tried something like this. As the ship’s XO I’d like to go on record and point out that this could be a very serious mistake, sir.”
“Of course. Thank you for your advice, First Officer. However, I have the utmost confidence in our Chief Engineer. If he says this configuration will work, then I’m sure it will turn out fine.” I was anything but 'fine' with it, but we had to get moving.
Lieutenant Tremblay looked worried but didn’t say anything further.
I suppose the battle armor I had once again donned might have had something to do with my first officer’s lack of continued debate. I wasn’t a trained officer, but even I knew that this bastard abortion the chief engineer had created by hooking up two different parts of two different star drives couldn’t be the best idea in the world. But it was too late to back out now. I was committed.
I had promised the crew their prize money. I had diverted the ship’s course away the direction advised by trained ship’s officers. I had to succeed and be seen to succeed or I was as good as dead. That’s why I had put back on the power armor for this point transfer and locked down the bulkheads with my command crystal. Nothing was going to stop me or this ship. I would return home victorious with two heavy cruisers in hand or not at all. It was all down to this moment, victory or death.
The only thing left to do was wait for the count down. I sighed as the ship’s Star Drive charged past the point of no return. Everything was set, the Navigator was present and the point transfer calculated hours ago, long before they had even activated the star drive. A few minor calculations after that and there had been nothing to do but wait until they transferred. I was about to return to my quarters and change back into the old Confederate Admiral’s uniform when one of the crew stationed in the communications section spoke up.
“I have an external transmission from the FTL communications network. Its an emergency signal, Sir!” called out the communications tech. He paused. “Its a settlement ship based out of Capria, sir. She says her escort is under attack by Pirates!”
“What?!” I realized both First Officer Tremblay and myself had exclaimed at the same time.
“How far away is she,” I demanded.
While Tremblay muttered, “I’ll go check on the Settler Manifest,” before heading over to the communications officer for help retrieving the information.
“She’s within our official range, according to the spec’s in the Navigation Computer,” the Navigator said doubtfully. “But with the non-standard configuration of our hyper-bubble and the extra load we’re carrying, I’m not sure…”
It sounded like the communications officer was reporting to Tremblay that they must have lost the manifest on the settlement ship when the Imperials purged the distributed computer system of Imperial software and upgrades. There was too much commotion to hear their conversation clearly, but the First Officer didn’t look pleased.
“Why does the colonial manifest matter?” I asked, looking at Tremblay. I hoped I wasn’t missing something critical because of my lack of naval training.
“To find out whether or not the colonists are from Capria,” Tremblay said simply.
“Why would that matter? Thousands of helpless colonists are under attack. They could be slaughtered, their ship captured or even taken as slaves by the pirates!” I realized I had spoken before thinking. It wasn't as though I was ashamed of the sentiment I had just expressed. As someone who dreamed of shipping out to a new colony, I could identify with the plight of anyone stuck onboard a helpless settlement ship at the mercy of pirates. Escort, or no escort.
Tremblay’s face was stiff. “This is a Caprian system defense ship. It’s our duty to defend the people of Capria, not the various populations of the universe at large. Right now we desperately need to get home, not go sticking our noses into every little brush fire out on the edge of known space.”
I couldn't help but stare at him wide-eyed. I was unable to believe I had just heard those words come out of the former intelligence officer’s mouth.
Looking a little defensive for perhaps the first time, the First Officer added, “They said they have an escort, its not like this settlement ship is completely defenseless.”
I came to a sudden decision and deliberately hardened my face. I didn’t care what it took or what I had to say, that settlement ship needed help. “Mr. Tremblay, and anyone else on this bridge who feels the same way, listen well. I’m only going to say this once,” I raised my voice so everyone could hear clearly.
“This is the flag ship of a multi-sector patrol fleet, one sponsored and organized by the Confederation. We are no longer simply a Caprian SDF ship. If we won’t go to the aid of an unarmed starship carrying upwards of a hundred thousand settlers and colonist, then who in the whole sector will?” I paused to let the words sink in, then finished, “As long as I am Admiral, this ship will do its duty.”
I refused to look around and poll the bridge crew. This was the right thing to do and any lingering doubts I might have had about forcing the crew to make a dangerous hyper transfer in the name of prize money were gone. This was no longer about prize money. This was about saving lives. “Navigator, set a new course. We’re going to rescue those settlers.” Suddenly, a tension I hadn’t even known I was carrying melted away.
The Navigator dragged his heels and Officer Tremblay still tried to argue me out of this sudden course change. But I could tell their hearts weren’t in it. They were mostly concerned for the safety of the ship, not avoiding the pirates, so I tried not to lose my temper. My mind was made up and I was deaf to their pleas.
After ordering the two medium cruisers to follow us to the new coordinates sent by the settlement ship, all I could do was watch his bridge crew as they made a new set of calculations.
“Sir,” reminded Officer Tremblay, “our Navigator already ran over to the converted pirate freighter once, to calculate their point transfer. He won’t have time to both plot a new course for us and then shuttle on over there again before we jump.”
"Tell one of the medium cruisers to send over a Navigator to plot the course," I answered with a wave of my hand. It was frustrating that the Lucky Clover didn’t have the trained personnel to deal with it ourselves but at least we’d still have a small Caprain away crew on the converted pirate ship to keep an eye on the Promethean navigator.
Navigator Shepherd was sweating profusely by the time he declared the coordinates locked in for the new point transfer. I was thankful for the extended recharge time of the old ship’s Star Drive. It gave us lots of time to make changes to their course, even after we had passed the point of no return and were committed to making a point transfer.
When I was certain we were actually locked to go save the colonists from pirates, it occurred to me to ask about our missing weaponry.
Rearming the ship had been a top priority up until I had learned that the pirate cruiser was having trouble with its Star Drive. After that, I had stopped worrying about everything else and suspected engineering had done the same.
Lieutenant Tremblay looked appalled at the question and immediately ordered a direct line to the Chief Engineer. He had just got the Chief Engineer on the line and was still at a com-console with Lieutenant Spalding when the ship broke through hyperspace.
The Deposed King
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Snippet 11 - Admiral Who (Engineer)
He was the very model of a modern outdated space engineer: ‘Tis a Minerale’
Chief Engineer Spalding was, as usual, quite animated as he protested my order to bring the pirate heavy cruiser with the other ships. “It’s a miracle her Star Drive’s as intact as it is after the pounding our Clover gave her the last go-round. It’d take another Miracle entirely to get that ship through a point transfer without a proper dish, Admiral!”
“I don’t care how you do it, Lieutenant Spalding," I said, my tone light, yet unyielding. "Tow her behind us with bucking cables if you have to, but one thing’s for sure and certain: I’m not going to be the one to tell eight thousand angry crewmen we just abandoned most of their prize money because our Chief Engineer couldn’t figure out how to fix a deflector dish!”
“You can’t just tow something into hyperspace behind you," protested Lieutenant Spalding. "Each ship creates its own unique hyper field bubble. What we need is a new deflector dish, properly sized for a vessel her dimensions.”
“We’re not leaving that ship behind. By hook or by crook, she’s coming with us. So either you figure out how to tow her along for our next point transfer, or this ship will soon be short one Chief Engineer! As well as however many other men it takes to stay behind and make that heavy cruiser hyper capable. The rest of us will just have to carry on as best we can without you!” I couldn't help but recall a naked and unconscious Chief Engineer sprawled out in the middle of the ship corridor. If he couldn’t even fix a heavy cruiser with nothing wrong with her but a stupid dish, what good was he?
“You can’t do that, Admiral,” Spalding said, trying to sound reasonable but coming off more irate than anything else, “The ship will fall apart without a steady hand in Engineering. The whole department’s riddled with nothing but greenhorns and slackers!”
“You have until the end of our twelve hour star drive recharge cycle to figure out how to get that cruiser into hyperspace." I cut the signal before he could protest further.
****************************
The Chief Engineer stomped and stormed around main engineering, barking orders until he calmed down.
Towing a ship through a point transfer, what poppycock. Captains always demanded the impossible, and it appeared Admirals were even worse than captains with their high handed demands. He threw his hands in the air. The strange particle generators made it so a ship survived the jump through hyperspace, but it didn’t actually do anything to get you through the blasted stuff. So it didn’t matter that the pirate cruisers’ generator was still functional. Each ship generated its own hyperspace bubble. Without a main deflector dish, how was that pirate cruiser supposed to form a stable bubble?
A monolith repair ship now, that was the only practical way to carry something the size of a cruiser. The monolith class was essentially just a giant hollowed out skeleton that encompassed the damaged ship and carried it inside itself, and hence inside the monolith’s warp bubble.
For a standard ship type to tow another ship through hyperspace you’d need a huge ship with a big oblong bubble to- Wait a minute, he thought. He pulled up the specs on the clover’s main dish. The Clover had a larger than average hyper foot print, even for her size. This was part of the reason why it took her so long to cycle her hyper engines. He’d been meaning to get the ship resized with a proper dish now that he was the Chief Engineer, but obviously hadn't quite gotten around to it. The Imperials had some fine equipment that they’d brought on board with them and he’d used that to guesstimate the size they needed. According to those calculations, a smaller, more properly shaped dish should cut hyper-bubble formation time in half and put less of a load on the fusion generators as well.
On the other hand, he thought, what if you could generate a large enough hyper bubble and somehow include the former pirate cruiser in it? Refit ships sometimes used their own oversized hyper bubble and strange particle generators to safely transport battle damaged or otherwise stricken starships. Of course, they were much smaller than a nearly six hundred meter heavy cruiser…
Spalding shook his head. It was impossible. Even if the Clover could generate a large enough bubble to somehow haul another ship, one nearly as large as she was into hyperspace, tests had shown when starships inside a refit vessel used their own strange particle generators during a point transfer, they tended not to return from hyperspace.
Besides, the Clover just didn’t have enough power to form a huge bubble and also pump strange particles into the other ship at the same time. Not any longer. Blasted Imperials had installed two high powered fusion generators when they refitted the ship prior to the patrol mission. Unfortunately, when the Imps left for Gorgon space they activated the emergency release feature, intended for instances of extreme battle damage, to eject both fusion plants out into cold space where they could be picked up and taken onboard the command ship.
Idly, he pulled up the specs on the clover’s deflector dish and ran a few figures though the DI (distributed intelligence) network. “Only a damn fool would try to include a ship nearly as large the Clover in her hyper bubble. Especially when the other ship was using her own particle generator at the same time we were using ours,” he muttered to himself.
“Alright you bunch of slack jawed idiots!” Spalding roared to the engineering deck crew. “This is where we separate the men from the boys!”
The deck crew stood there wide eyed, just looking at the Chief Engineer.
“I said get in your heavy load suits, you bunch of would be slackers. That means now,” he cried, lighting his plasma torch. Most of the crew ran for the load suits. A few wild waves of his plasma torch in the direction of the remaining slackers put them into motion also.
“More likely we’ll just sort the fools from the merely insane,” someone muttered behind the Chief Engineer.
Spalding whirled around as fast as his old bones would let him. “Don’t think for a minute that I’ve forgotten the man that tried to get all of three deck killed because he was too busy swilling back an illegal, off brand substance to pay attention to his monitoring boards. That means you, Castwell. I may be old, but my memory works just fine,” said the old engineer, tapping his head with a gnarled finger. The rating turned red and looked away.
The Chief Engineer grumbled in satisfaction. “You just busy yourself with thinking about those bucking cables and that blasted big ship we’re bringing up next to us. Because if you scratch so much as the paint on my fine ship, I’ll have your guts for garters,” the Engineer said, raising high his still active plasma torch.
Deciding everyone looked properly cowed, he turned back to watch the men in heavy load suits as they exited the deck one at a time. He deactivated the plasma torch.
“You’d have to be both foolish and insane to pull a stunt like this,” he muttered under his breath and cursed Captains and Flag Officers everywhere.
Castwell might be a no good sort as far as being a sailor went but he knew how work the bucking cables. There were only two minor bumps getting the pirate cruiser mated to the side of the Clover. For all his glowering when it happened, Spalding had to admit things were going better than expected.
Smoke poured through the engineering deck and men ran screaming from a now sparking power core. Cutout breakers burned up one by one with a series of loud pops. “Turn it off! Turn it off,” screamed the Chief Engineer, waving his hands wildly as he jumped off the walkway onto the main deck.
He felt something snap like a dry twig as he landed, soon followed by an incredible bolt of pain. He hobbled and rolled his way to a control station and tried to ignore a leg bent underneath him like a broken tooth pick. He gritted his teeth and grabbed onto the console to pulled himself upright. Fingers flying, he leaned against the console and shut down the Lucky Clover’s strange particle generator.
“I said place our generator on inactive standby, not turn the bloody thing on full blast while we’re running a direct link to the pirate cruiser’s generator,” he screamed. “Do I have to do everything myself?!” He was ignored as crewmen stumbled away from the still smoking strange particle generator.
“Blast it,” he said and took a step toward the generator, only to fall to the ground as his broken leg bent and twisted beneath him. Pulling himself up off the ground by way of the same engineering console he’d just used, he accepted that there was no way he was walking under his own power in his current condition.
He flipped a few switches to activate an external line out of engineering to the rest of the ship. Selecting medical, he easily opened a connection. He didn’t understand why the younger crew always complained about being unable to get the DI to perform even the simplest of tasks for them. He never had any problems getting the distributed intelligence to do what it was supposed to. It was actually a relief having the old system running again.
Now, if they’d been complaining about the Imperial system, he’d have understood where they were coming from. That new fangled system was buggier than a monkey with a wrench.
The head of station medical came on the line and scowled. “You told me that you would have a work crew over here to check my connection to the main power grid over four hours ago.”
“No time for that,” Spalding barked. “I need a medical team to engineering. Some fool turned on the strange particle generator before we were ready. A few of the men might need stretchers. Busted my own leg up pretty good,” he remarked, looking down at his leg and seeing the foot sticking out at an unfamiliar and unnatural angle.
“Don’t think I’ve forgot how you still owe me that work party,” the Doctor said, signing off brisquely.
A half hour later, Spalding walked out of the Ship’s Infirmary under his own power. It still hurt with every step he took, but the brace the medic had put on his leg made him mobile again. He winced as he gimped over to the lift. It was no coincidence they’d placed him on the only bed with a flickering power supply and jacked his leg full of combat heal, instead of the usual quick heal. Combat heal burned like a son of a gun. It was faster than quick heal, but all he’d said was he needed to be up and back in engineering as fast as possible.
Clearly the Doc was still ticked about his missing work crew. Well, he’d have get over it. Spalding would have sent a team over if he had a full trained crew, or if a certain Admiral (who shall remain nameless) hadn’t instructed him to do the impossible or face involuntary exile from the Clover!
Main Engineering was a sight of complete confusion when its Chief Engineer returned. It took almost as long as he’d been gone to sort it out. When the various chickens masquerading as his engineering crew had stopped flapping around aimlessly, he sent a crew of greenhorns along with one of his few trained slackers to go get a new set of cut out breakers for the strange particle generator.
They didn’t have time to replace them all before the ship transited the system, but so long as the generator wasn’t completely fried by the overload they should be able to replace the breakers after the point transfer.
He pulled himself over to the most important piece of the Star Drive. As far as he was concerned, the part that kept the ship and crew alive during a point transfer was it. He ran a hand through his wild hair and ran a diagnostic. In the end, he was scowling but decided it was still theoretically doable. Cables and workarounds sprouted as he rerouted around the burnt out cutouts and tricked the DI into giving the generator the green light by fooling its sensors. It was an unholy mess to look at, but nothing important had been broken inside the generator itself.
“Alright, lets try this again,” he shouted and then gave the order for the away party onboard the pirate cruiser to turn on its strange particle generator.
He grunted with dissatisfaction as he measured the particles streaming from the other cruiser into the clover. The particle counts were different from what the Clover put out, and in his book different was generally not a good sign when it came to his Lucky Clover. Unfortunately, this was an expected occurrence, and the count would just have to do for the mean time. But as soon as humanly possible he was going to unhook this ungodly contraption. Setting the strange particle generator on the pirate ship so that it worked on overload, charging both ships with strange particles, was bad enough. Mating the pirate cruiser to their hull for the point transfer was even worse. All so the two ships would fit inside the ugliest, most unstable hyper-bubble the Clover had ever formed. He had to be crazy or desperate even to dream a notion like… To actually go through with it, perhaps he was both.
But the Admiral had given him no choice.
The Deposed King
Chief Engineer Spalding was, as usual, quite animated as he protested my order to bring the pirate heavy cruiser with the other ships. “It’s a miracle her Star Drive’s as intact as it is after the pounding our Clover gave her the last go-round. It’d take another Miracle entirely to get that ship through a point transfer without a proper dish, Admiral!”
“I don’t care how you do it, Lieutenant Spalding," I said, my tone light, yet unyielding. "Tow her behind us with bucking cables if you have to, but one thing’s for sure and certain: I’m not going to be the one to tell eight thousand angry crewmen we just abandoned most of their prize money because our Chief Engineer couldn’t figure out how to fix a deflector dish!”
“You can’t just tow something into hyperspace behind you," protested Lieutenant Spalding. "Each ship creates its own unique hyper field bubble. What we need is a new deflector dish, properly sized for a vessel her dimensions.”
“We’re not leaving that ship behind. By hook or by crook, she’s coming with us. So either you figure out how to tow her along for our next point transfer, or this ship will soon be short one Chief Engineer! As well as however many other men it takes to stay behind and make that heavy cruiser hyper capable. The rest of us will just have to carry on as best we can without you!” I couldn't help but recall a naked and unconscious Chief Engineer sprawled out in the middle of the ship corridor. If he couldn’t even fix a heavy cruiser with nothing wrong with her but a stupid dish, what good was he?
“You can’t do that, Admiral,” Spalding said, trying to sound reasonable but coming off more irate than anything else, “The ship will fall apart without a steady hand in Engineering. The whole department’s riddled with nothing but greenhorns and slackers!”
“You have until the end of our twelve hour star drive recharge cycle to figure out how to get that cruiser into hyperspace." I cut the signal before he could protest further.
****************************
The Chief Engineer stomped and stormed around main engineering, barking orders until he calmed down.
Towing a ship through a point transfer, what poppycock. Captains always demanded the impossible, and it appeared Admirals were even worse than captains with their high handed demands. He threw his hands in the air. The strange particle generators made it so a ship survived the jump through hyperspace, but it didn’t actually do anything to get you through the blasted stuff. So it didn’t matter that the pirate cruisers’ generator was still functional. Each ship generated its own hyperspace bubble. Without a main deflector dish, how was that pirate cruiser supposed to form a stable bubble?
A monolith repair ship now, that was the only practical way to carry something the size of a cruiser. The monolith class was essentially just a giant hollowed out skeleton that encompassed the damaged ship and carried it inside itself, and hence inside the monolith’s warp bubble.
For a standard ship type to tow another ship through hyperspace you’d need a huge ship with a big oblong bubble to- Wait a minute, he thought. He pulled up the specs on the clover’s main dish. The Clover had a larger than average hyper foot print, even for her size. This was part of the reason why it took her so long to cycle her hyper engines. He’d been meaning to get the ship resized with a proper dish now that he was the Chief Engineer, but obviously hadn't quite gotten around to it. The Imperials had some fine equipment that they’d brought on board with them and he’d used that to guesstimate the size they needed. According to those calculations, a smaller, more properly shaped dish should cut hyper-bubble formation time in half and put less of a load on the fusion generators as well.
On the other hand, he thought, what if you could generate a large enough hyper bubble and somehow include the former pirate cruiser in it? Refit ships sometimes used their own oversized hyper bubble and strange particle generators to safely transport battle damaged or otherwise stricken starships. Of course, they were much smaller than a nearly six hundred meter heavy cruiser…
Spalding shook his head. It was impossible. Even if the Clover could generate a large enough bubble to somehow haul another ship, one nearly as large as she was into hyperspace, tests had shown when starships inside a refit vessel used their own strange particle generators during a point transfer, they tended not to return from hyperspace.
Besides, the Clover just didn’t have enough power to form a huge bubble and also pump strange particles into the other ship at the same time. Not any longer. Blasted Imperials had installed two high powered fusion generators when they refitted the ship prior to the patrol mission. Unfortunately, when the Imps left for Gorgon space they activated the emergency release feature, intended for instances of extreme battle damage, to eject both fusion plants out into cold space where they could be picked up and taken onboard the command ship.
Idly, he pulled up the specs on the clover’s deflector dish and ran a few figures though the DI (distributed intelligence) network. “Only a damn fool would try to include a ship nearly as large the Clover in her hyper bubble. Especially when the other ship was using her own particle generator at the same time we were using ours,” he muttered to himself.
“Alright you bunch of slack jawed idiots!” Spalding roared to the engineering deck crew. “This is where we separate the men from the boys!”
The deck crew stood there wide eyed, just looking at the Chief Engineer.
“I said get in your heavy load suits, you bunch of would be slackers. That means now,” he cried, lighting his plasma torch. Most of the crew ran for the load suits. A few wild waves of his plasma torch in the direction of the remaining slackers put them into motion also.
“More likely we’ll just sort the fools from the merely insane,” someone muttered behind the Chief Engineer.
Spalding whirled around as fast as his old bones would let him. “Don’t think for a minute that I’ve forgotten the man that tried to get all of three deck killed because he was too busy swilling back an illegal, off brand substance to pay attention to his monitoring boards. That means you, Castwell. I may be old, but my memory works just fine,” said the old engineer, tapping his head with a gnarled finger. The rating turned red and looked away.
The Chief Engineer grumbled in satisfaction. “You just busy yourself with thinking about those bucking cables and that blasted big ship we’re bringing up next to us. Because if you scratch so much as the paint on my fine ship, I’ll have your guts for garters,” the Engineer said, raising high his still active plasma torch.
Deciding everyone looked properly cowed, he turned back to watch the men in heavy load suits as they exited the deck one at a time. He deactivated the plasma torch.
“You’d have to be both foolish and insane to pull a stunt like this,” he muttered under his breath and cursed Captains and Flag Officers everywhere.
Castwell might be a no good sort as far as being a sailor went but he knew how work the bucking cables. There were only two minor bumps getting the pirate cruiser mated to the side of the Clover. For all his glowering when it happened, Spalding had to admit things were going better than expected.
Smoke poured through the engineering deck and men ran screaming from a now sparking power core. Cutout breakers burned up one by one with a series of loud pops. “Turn it off! Turn it off,” screamed the Chief Engineer, waving his hands wildly as he jumped off the walkway onto the main deck.
He felt something snap like a dry twig as he landed, soon followed by an incredible bolt of pain. He hobbled and rolled his way to a control station and tried to ignore a leg bent underneath him like a broken tooth pick. He gritted his teeth and grabbed onto the console to pulled himself upright. Fingers flying, he leaned against the console and shut down the Lucky Clover’s strange particle generator.
“I said place our generator on inactive standby, not turn the bloody thing on full blast while we’re running a direct link to the pirate cruiser’s generator,” he screamed. “Do I have to do everything myself?!” He was ignored as crewmen stumbled away from the still smoking strange particle generator.
“Blast it,” he said and took a step toward the generator, only to fall to the ground as his broken leg bent and twisted beneath him. Pulling himself up off the ground by way of the same engineering console he’d just used, he accepted that there was no way he was walking under his own power in his current condition.
He flipped a few switches to activate an external line out of engineering to the rest of the ship. Selecting medical, he easily opened a connection. He didn’t understand why the younger crew always complained about being unable to get the DI to perform even the simplest of tasks for them. He never had any problems getting the distributed intelligence to do what it was supposed to. It was actually a relief having the old system running again.
Now, if they’d been complaining about the Imperial system, he’d have understood where they were coming from. That new fangled system was buggier than a monkey with a wrench.
The head of station medical came on the line and scowled. “You told me that you would have a work crew over here to check my connection to the main power grid over four hours ago.”
“No time for that,” Spalding barked. “I need a medical team to engineering. Some fool turned on the strange particle generator before we were ready. A few of the men might need stretchers. Busted my own leg up pretty good,” he remarked, looking down at his leg and seeing the foot sticking out at an unfamiliar and unnatural angle.
“Don’t think I’ve forgot how you still owe me that work party,” the Doctor said, signing off brisquely.
A half hour later, Spalding walked out of the Ship’s Infirmary under his own power. It still hurt with every step he took, but the brace the medic had put on his leg made him mobile again. He winced as he gimped over to the lift. It was no coincidence they’d placed him on the only bed with a flickering power supply and jacked his leg full of combat heal, instead of the usual quick heal. Combat heal burned like a son of a gun. It was faster than quick heal, but all he’d said was he needed to be up and back in engineering as fast as possible.
Clearly the Doc was still ticked about his missing work crew. Well, he’d have get over it. Spalding would have sent a team over if he had a full trained crew, or if a certain Admiral (who shall remain nameless) hadn’t instructed him to do the impossible or face involuntary exile from the Clover!
Main Engineering was a sight of complete confusion when its Chief Engineer returned. It took almost as long as he’d been gone to sort it out. When the various chickens masquerading as his engineering crew had stopped flapping around aimlessly, he sent a crew of greenhorns along with one of his few trained slackers to go get a new set of cut out breakers for the strange particle generator.
They didn’t have time to replace them all before the ship transited the system, but so long as the generator wasn’t completely fried by the overload they should be able to replace the breakers after the point transfer.
He pulled himself over to the most important piece of the Star Drive. As far as he was concerned, the part that kept the ship and crew alive during a point transfer was it. He ran a hand through his wild hair and ran a diagnostic. In the end, he was scowling but decided it was still theoretically doable. Cables and workarounds sprouted as he rerouted around the burnt out cutouts and tricked the DI into giving the generator the green light by fooling its sensors. It was an unholy mess to look at, but nothing important had been broken inside the generator itself.
“Alright, lets try this again,” he shouted and then gave the order for the away party onboard the pirate cruiser to turn on its strange particle generator.
He grunted with dissatisfaction as he measured the particles streaming from the other cruiser into the clover. The particle counts were different from what the Clover put out, and in his book different was generally not a good sign when it came to his Lucky Clover. Unfortunately, this was an expected occurrence, and the count would just have to do for the mean time. But as soon as humanly possible he was going to unhook this ungodly contraption. Setting the strange particle generator on the pirate ship so that it worked on overload, charging both ships with strange particles, was bad enough. Mating the pirate cruiser to their hull for the point transfer was even worse. All so the two ships would fit inside the ugliest, most unstable hyper-bubble the Clover had ever formed. He had to be crazy or desperate even to dream a notion like… To actually go through with it, perhaps he was both.
But the Admiral had given him no choice.
The Deposed King
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