You Can’t Win Them All

Lord Admiral Tobias SandFang watched as the last of the tattered cruisers crawled ever closer to the jump ring. He always let a few stragglers limp back to Federation High Command, a consolation price for putting up a good fight. However, the latest round of attacks could barely even be considered a fight. Sloppy attack patterns, weak hull plating, and outdated fighters were welcoming signs from an opponent. Often associated with bands of marauders and rag-tag bounty hunting parties in way over their head but when Federation ships start floundering around is sub-space that can only mean one thing. It was him.

SandFang sighed and took a few moments to walk around his command deck. He had time to think since the enemy graciously presented its engines to SandFang on a silver platter. It had been a while since he had last pondered his domain. The indigo flurries of shaped color emerging from the glossy panels on the floor bathed him in all the light he would need. Projected around him, angular representations of his fleet providing him with his eyes and ears for any battle. He could see everything and, with a gesture from his gauntlet, command the entire flotilla with ease. Below him sat a hub of screens, each with their own engineer working tentatively. The men and women down there filtered information in from every subsystem of every ship in the fleet, giving him the knowledge to do what he does best. Their role on this ship was just as important as his and he was thankful for their support.

“Hail that wounded cruiser,” SandFang said as his command deck nestled back in amongst the mounds of data hubs.

“Which one?” chuckled SandFang’s Attendant “They're all wounded.”

“I don’t know, the least wounded. I need my message to actually make it back.”

The attendant, named Sil, gave an informal salute and began running her fingers across a nearby screen. SandFang didn’t normally take on an attendant for day-to-day operations since they both shared the same type of training, but with the increase in attacks lately, he needed someone to lighten the load. The kid was decent at her job, never missed a beat but would have been kicked out of the Federation Officer’s Academy day one with that kind of attitude.

“Frequencies open, they can hear you loud and clear.”

“Escaping Federation cruisers this is Lord Admiral Tobias SandFang, please tell Pridel to stop wasting my time, or at the very least give me a call.”

Before the Federation crew could respond the channel was closed and the warped wreckage in the making rolled into the mouth of the jump ring. SandFang swiveled on the heels of his boots and strode briskly toward his quarter.

*

SandFang lounged on his couch tapping his glass idly. The flowing, reinforced trench coat caused him to slide every so often which gave him a good excuse to readjust and take another sip. He would stare at his reflection in the frosted orbs of ice that bobbed in his personal ocean of vice. Bags had started to form under his eyes making his face look much older than it actually was. His dark slicked-back hair was starting to obscure his vision as he found himself lost in the reflection of a criminal.

It had been 10 years since he took command of his first vessel and 5 since he was given command of the “Upper Cradle Flotilla” as the militia representatives had dubbed it. He was 33 which didn’t seem that old but still left him as the oldest living member in The Flotilla. People don’t live long out here in the colonies, especially those fighting to defend it. SandFang knew he would get here eventually, he was born to lead. But between the cult caravans and unionized marauders, the creatures the size of asteroids eating ships whole, even his own men trying to turn him in for a bounty, SandFang always wondered if there was some grander entity out for his head.

The militia council told him they were breaking off from the Federation for the safety of their people. They weren’t wrong but they also weren’t exactly in the right. They sent the declaration before asking SandFang if he would lead their defense. A dick move all things considered but one not lacking strategy. He had worked hard for his post and wasn’t finish rising to the top so naturally, he said yes to assuming his dream position. It took years for The Federation to start sending ships thanks to the fact that they were already engulfed in another war. When information leaked that colony planets contained crucial minerals used in creating reinforced hull armor, The Federation gained a vested interest in coming for what was rightfully theirs.

SandFang began pacing around the room glaring at the communications terminal across from him. He felt like the walls were closing in constricting his every movement. Every movement except for the slow crawl he was begrudgingly making toward the comms terminal. He hated being boxed in, even if it was from his own head. His hand hovered over the simplistic array of buttons knowing exactly which sequence equated to his comm code. No, he can’t be the first to call not after the message he left him. Did it even reach him? Those ships were in bad shape. NO. JUST WAIT.

The console began a slow hypnotic blink. A call from the bridge. SandFang scrambled to open the receiver.

“Sir we are getting a contact request from a Federation line, you want me to put it through?”

“Yes,” SandFang said in an almost noticeably hurried tone.

The line went dead for a moment before the information began to flood the systems of his comms terminal. The projection panels began to glow and horror began to spread across SandFang’s face as he realized what that meant.

By the Nine I'm not even close to presentable.

SandFang managed to slick his hair back and fix his posture before the looming visage of Draven Pridel enveloped the room. He looked surprisingly older than SandFang even though he was only one year past him. It must have been the tightly groomed facial hair that seemed to be greying in certain areas. Pridel was in full officer’s regalia leaning forward to show off the various medals that now eclipsed his heart. There was a smirk on his face but malice in his eyes, it seems he had not forgotten how they had last left each other.

“Did you enjoy toying with my welcoming party?” Pridel opened with.

“How’s your scar healed up? Must be aching with all that weight on your chest?” SandFang snapped back.

“I didn’t come here to drudge up the past so let’s dismiss with the personal language. I have come to offer you one last chance to stand down before you are dealt with in accordance with Federation law.”

“Cut the shit Pridel you know better than anyone I’m not backing down.”

Pridel smirked. “Oh I'm well aware. It’s nice to see that you’re still as stubborn as ever.”

“I thought you said you weren’t interested in ‘the personal language’”

“Well seeing your face has caused me to feel somewhat sentimental. Not for any of the gods' forsaken antics we got into but rather our Commander Keep record. Do you remember what we left it at?”

SandFang couldn’t forget.

“122-122, dead even.”

“Well consider this our 245th match,” Pridel replied with a morose look in his eyes. “Remember Tobias, you can’t win them all.”

With that the connection was lost but as the projection tiles powered down the ghastly image of SandFang’s former rival clouded his vision.

You Can’t Win Them All

*

SandFang and Pridel meandered down one of the many winding pathways that flowed into the courtyard of The Duke's estate. He had given the two a 30-minute break from strategy lessons while he took his medicine and rested for a moment. This gave SandFang enough time to search the property for anything of value while Pridel followed him to ensure he was merely looking. SandFang would often make a break for it when he spotted something to his liking, hoping to lose Pridel in the labyrinth of well-trimmed hedges and floating monolithic expressions of “art”. This had been going on for many years at this point so no matter what turn SandFang made, Pridel had learned a way to cut him off. That didn’t stop the two from finding new ways to outmaneuver and outsmart one another. Some days SandFang would be caught red-handed and forced to run the gauntlet an extra time or two, but other days he ended up with a priceless artifact to pawn off for 1/10th its price. The one thing SandFang wished he could get his hands on was The Dukes G-90X Suprimus Command Gauntlet. It was state of the art, gold plated with lavender trim, form-fitting, and guarded by three layers of defensive equipment.

“Who do you think gets the old man’s stuff when he finally dies?” SandFang said as he slowly coasted down a banister that had no business being that long.

“Defining not you,” Pridel responded with a sour grin “After all you’ve probably got half his estate back at your place.”

Pridel was now sliding down the banister across from SandFang at an equally slow pace.

“Nah I don’t really care about any of that stuff. They're just Creds to me. That gauntlet on the other hand…” SandFang let the words trail off as he began thinking about the possibilities.

“Absolutely not.”

“I know, I know it’s just wouldn’t you rather it go to one of us over it being auctioned off to the highest bidder back in the Tri?”

“I support whatever The Duke chooses to do with his wares.”

“Kiss ass,” SandFang muttered.

The boys reached the bottom of the staircase and strolled back into the house. They saw The Duke's servant Eustis but no sigh of the Duke. Additionally, Eustis seemed to be fighting back tears.

“Where’s the Duke?” SandFang Asked.

It took Eustis a minute to compose himself but finally, he was able to choke out the works “Medicine” and “Switched”.

The two boys sprinted for his room but were blocked off by guards. There was an unusual silence from the other side of the door. Normally The Duke liked listening to music when he medicated but the only noise coming from the other side of the door were hurried murmurs.

“You did this,” Pridel hissed through his teeth.

SandFang couldn’t muster a counterpoint aside from “How fucking dare you.”

The two began to brawl in front of the guards, attacking as if the other had just confessed to the murder. The guards pulled them apart and dragged them to their separate quarters. The two didn’t speak during the funeral and didn’t bother saying goodbye when Pridel left for the Federation Officers Academy.

*

SandFang rushed into the bridge aiming for his command deck. A symphony of status updates hit him all at once as everyone on the bridge felt their piece of information was that much more instrumental in their survival compared to anyone else’s. All SandFang could do is point at Sil and strap on his Gauntlet. The gold paint was flaking to reveal the fading matte black underneath. As the Command deck began to elevate he saw the throng of engineers rush toward Sil with datatrac’s in hand.

The Flotilla wasn’t in the worst shape currently but it most certainly wasn’t ready for the impending battle. They currently had 10 squadrons of up-to-date fighters, 3 in desperate need of repair, and an out-of-date pack of bombers. In terms of firepower, there were 5 lightly armored Dorian-class cruisers, 3 Cherub-class frigates, and his capital ship The Brigadier. The rest of the fleet was off on patrol or engaged in skirmishes across the colonies. He wasn’t doomed but this was definitely a handicap he wasn’t used to.

“Sil how many ships we got coming in,” SandFang said.

“Reports are just arriving, a civilian transport was spotted running from Federation forces heading to the jump ring. They reported 7 corvettes entering the ring followed by two frigates flanking a destroyer.”

That wasn’t right, Pridel always detested the use of a destroyer as his flagship.

“Inform me if an Interceptor-class frigate is spotted”

It’s impossible to win a match of Commander Keep if you can’t first identify the location of the commander. For now, SandFang will have to assume he is in the destroyer. Suddenly the jump ring began to glow signaling the approach of the first vessel.

“All ships aim weapons at the ring and wait for the transport to pass before opening fire. Full battery barrage.”

The transport was an unexpected variable, one he didn’t want to have to deal with currently.

“Sil, inform the transport that it has permission to dock to avoid taking place in the battle.”

The transport rolled out and made a B-line for The Brigadier. Moments later the cruisers emerged from the portal guns blazing. Quite a flashy opening move from Pridel. As the cruisers exited the jump ring they were immediately torn to pieces by the volleys of plasma tearing into the unshielded crafts.

“All fighters, get those bombers in close. I want a full payload on that destroyer before it can get its shields up.”

The tiny particles marking each fighter danced into position as they formed into patterns then full shapes. The portal was glowing and the bombers were in position when an emergency signal came through from Sil.

“Sir, the transport is docked but there’s no response from the craft or the docking crew.”

A horrifying realization rushed into SandFang’s mind as he powered down the command deck. He was only about halfway lowered when the bridge doors detonated. Through the scorching clouds came a fully armed Federation commando unit. SandFang reached for his plas pistol but it was shot out of his holster before he could reach for it. Anyone with a weapon was gunned down and the rest were wounded beyond movement. By the time the command deck had finished lowering the damage was done and there was nothing but carnage around him. The few remaining crewmembers all had their hands raised. It was over.

“Sir, we're here to extract you, Commodore Pridel thanks you for taking the deal,” one of the commandos said looking at SandFang.

“Wha No-”

It was too late they already had him in their grips and there was nothing left to do but struggle and scream. His crew watched with both horror and disgust as he was dragged from the deck. The last thing he saw of his crew was Sil shaking her head.

As SandFang sat chained to the walls of the transport all he could do was watch his fleet splinter and scatter. More Federation Frigates had flooded out of the jump ring along with Pridel’s flagship The Resolute. The transport banked toward the freshly shielded frigate and landed quickly.

SandFang’s legs were weak and he had to be dragged most of the way. The halls of the frigate were much cleaner than his and the staff walked with perfect posture. The Bridge was exactly what he expected from a Federation bridge. Boring, Monotone, and devoid of life were the only words that jumped into SandFang’s mind currently. Devoid of life specifically. He looked around for any sort of weapon to avoid dealing with this humiliation but nothing presented itself. All he could do was stare at the floor. Even at Pridel’s feet, he could not look up until something purple and gold was dropped before him.

“A consolation prize for putting up a good fight. You don’t even want to know how much this thing cost at auction. I have faith it will never end up there again.”

SandFang picked up The Duke's gauntlet and tears streamed down his face.

“Remember SandFang, You can’t win them all.”