Another collaboration between myself (the writing) and 
One of the most important things for hardened old soldiers to do is to make sure they get all the support that is available to them to cope with PTSD. I make my appointments, and I mind my triggers, and so do my closest friends in the fleet – we semi-retired admirals and commodores get together regularly and share the stories that impressed themselves on our memories.
The Prameranian usurpers, their toy white hole, their civil war, their even dumber friends, and how all that shook out while we looked at it – that's a common subject of conversation. It was certainly a memorable finish, and one of the few incidents that can get Admiral Robert E.W. Lee to jump right out of all the quiet, composed Southern gentleman ways his name and ancestry would suggest.
“What I'm still trying to figure out is what in the zip dang flood, lightning, and thunderation were those daughters of dog biscuits thinking? You come out here with a weapon that has anti-grav anti-cyclone whirls that are bigger than Jupiter's red spot – but the anti-grav doesn't extend 100 kilometers past the edge? Basically out here in the entire 23rd century doing Disneyland's electric light show for the rest of that flying fig of a rig! My granddaughters have sparklers – have foil pinwheels for the Fourth of July – that were more serious than that piece of glorified tumbling tumbleweed of a hunk of space junk! There ought to be minimum standards of intelligence for the level of fraud upon which you can throw away millions of lives, billions of man-hours, and trillions in resources of personnel and equipment that had to be scrambled from across the Alpha Quadrant – and for WHAT? Of all the tomfool tired tormented -- ”
“E.W. – E.W. – your blood pressure, E.W., your blood pressure.”
And I just get him and sit him down like he has to do for me if my husband can't make it to a meeting and somebody brings up Devorandum Aqua and the latest scheme. Everyone who was at Pramerania at that time understands why he is still triggered.
The thing about a white hole – if you can approach it from any direction, it's not a white hole, in the same way in which if you can escape the gravity of a black hole, it is not a black hole. Both represent extremes – the black hole the ultimate of gravity that even matter in the highest forms of energy cannot escape, and the white hole the corresponding ultimate of anti-gravity. Theoretically, neither could be traversed or approached safely from any direction.
The Prameranian weapon had in common with a real white hole that indeed, it could not be traversed safely. Any one of its anti-grav anti-cyclones at the edge could have put even a ship like the Annapurna in danger of unrecoverable spin, which for airplanes is the prelude to a crash but in space is truly unrecoverable on certain flight paths. The vagaries of high spin in a zero-friction environment – unless such a starship had sufficient ships around it that could tractor it carefully to provide slowing friction, or there was some object it at last could crash into, it literally could spin its way through the universe.
Yet right there was why E.W. had dubbed it a pinwheel with a light show … all the power was at the edge, so once we realized that all we needed to do was not approach it edge-on, the only issue left to solve was to approximate the mass and speed of the comet that had destroyed the Prameranian weapon's ancient analog.
“We popped that thing like it was just a bubble – a bombastic bumbling batty bubble of –.”
“E.W. – your blood pressure!”
It was just that simple: we formed the fleet up tightly and flew it through the center of the weapon at light speed, that much faster than the comet because of accounting for our combined lower mass, at tight formation unified by extending our shields to maximum to make one force field bubble around us. The above picture is what we saw on the other side once we had passed through, and as it can be seen, the edge whirls immediately disappeared.
Then, as its power level dropped dramatically, it fell from white to red:
Then, someone made a desperate effort from somewhere to reboot and recenter it – the result, against the backdrop of the stars, was a breathtakingly beautiful image.
However, the damage was done, and, the now-powerless weapon would go through several forms of glorious failure, including this one:
We studied it an entire hour, and then, now that there was no danger of anti-grav ricochets, destroyed it with photon torpedoes.
At about that time, the reinforcement the Prameranian usurpers had called for showed up, and that was when we found out that at least one other consortium planet had gotten swept up in the foolishness.
You would have to be a big-time Southerner with a big-time Southern accent to be able to imagine the disdain with which Admiral Lee relished the name of the Prameranian usurpers' allies: the Yhoowhoolicans, which of course came out “you hooligans” in the briefing because he made sure that it did. His characterization was not inaccurate: the consortium we served had admitted them by virtue of it being easier to do that than to blow their planet to smithereens for selling out our secrets and position on important starship routes to the highest bidder.
We theorized – and as events would soon prove – that the Yhoowhoolicans were after Pramerania's vast deposits of undersea platinum. It was impossible to get to them without fouling vast tracts of the planet's oceans, but the younger usurping sibling was glad to trade what she had for support to get to the throne.
On a tactical level, the Yhoowhoolicans had turned out their entire fleet, in keeping with their belligerent temperament. Before becoming a part of the consortium, they had routinely bullied their neighbors – but again, this was a whole section of the galaxy in which the masses lived simple lives, and going at light speed was not yet common. They had bullied who they could bully, but a consortium-level fleet was not in that class of opponents.
“Madame Admiral, with your permission, I'd be happy to explain the matter to them,” Admiral Lee said.
“Granted,” I said, and then ordered several commodore to take their flotillas from the main body to reinforce his right wing, and the left wing of the fleet to quietly get into position.
The Yhoowhoolicans came in loud and proud as usual, talking about what they and the Prameranians had a right to and even throwing some warning shots across Admiral Lee's bow!
“Bless y'all little hearts, with y'all photon farts,” he drawled before opening up communication with the Yhoowhoolican lead admiral.
With a pleasant voice and sweet smile, Admiral Lee informed his would-be opponent of the statutes and laws covering sedition, treason, and aiding and abetting terroristic behavior, and just as sweetly informed his opponent of where they and the Prameranians stood relative to those laws.
But see, my old friend Lee has that “1861 switch” in him too, and unlike his ancestor who did not know how incredibly dangerous he was until he found himself in the situation, E.W. knows and has no problem flipping that switch when put to it.
Switch off with pleasant voice and smile: “So, let me tell you what we are about to do here – either you power down your weapons and prepare to be taken into custody, or –.”
Switch on, with sudden cold marble face and even colder and calmer voice: “Or I will blow your little fleet into whatever kingdom the deity you worship has coming for you. You have ten seconds.”
“All vessels,” I said, “on Admiral Lee's mark.”
“Ten,” he said calmly.
The Yhoowhoolicans opened fire!
“Nine,” Admiral Lee said, and never so much as blinked – not that there was any reason for him to, as the full barrage of Yhoowhoolican weaponry was absorbed harmlessly by the shields of our fleets.
“They rolled up to a gunfight with a butter knife – did zero research – how are you going to come into a tactical situation all brand new and yet all be all 22nd century at the same time? I tell you, these pathetic puny pieces of –.”
“E.W. – E.W. – your blood pressure, E.W.!”
He was calm enough in the moment, slow drawling his way through a countdown as only he can. They let him get one halfway out of his mouth before powering down – and for cutting it that finely, Admiral Lee had a phaser blast sent right through the lead ship's shields that passed close enough to the lead ship to blister the paint job.
“Y'all don't want me to have to do more than detail work on y'all's 500 vessels, now,” Admiral Lee said, just as calm as death in Virginia, wearing gray roundabout 1862.
That should have been the last act of the tragedy, but, it wasn't, and I take full responsibility for making the decision that led to the last tragedy.
As a full fleet admiral, the need those coming up in rank to me and the high command around me has is for me to work out tactics in communion with and then make the final decisions on actions based on longer-term strategic objectives for the consortium's defense. In essence, I am the celestial analog to a commanding general in peacetime, most often the one leading expeditionary forces, but also working to defuse threats before I have to become a commanding general in wartime, in the near-Earth sphere.
In near-Earth terms, the biggest dangers come from consortium members who simply are no good. Yhoowhoolic had made the list a long time before this engagement. Pramerania made the list when we discovered their fraud. Therefore, what was necessary from a strategic direction at this point was to neutralize both of them, and possibly expel them so that we could simply blockade and thus control their access to consortium-held space.
Matters were complicated by the Prameranian Civil War: the Prime Directive not to interfere with civilizations in their development meant we could not actively participate in any form of regime change one way or another, so although Pramerania desperately needed to have its true queen restored to power, we could not take a stand on that save to rescue her and her entourage as refugees that had made it off the planet.
Now we come to the subtleties of an old quote: “Never interrupt your enemy while [s]he is making a mistake.” I knew because I had been informed by my communications officer that the usurper queen of Pramerania was trying to hail me after the breaking of her weapon. I could have taken that communication while out of orbit. I didn't. I waited until I had ordered the other half of Admiral Lee's wing of the fleet to take up positions around the Yhoowhoolican fleet and assist in taking those leaders into custody, and settled the rest of the fleet in low orbit around Pramerania.
Again: subtleties. I could do nothing on Pramerania to solve its problems below its atmosphere … but once whatever was done met me in space, that was a whole different ballgame. Low orbit was in space but close enough to the planet for all interested planetside parties in what was really going on to listen in unless the usurper remembered to get on a secure line before cussing me out the second time. She didn't. I knew she wouldn't.
“Your Highness,” I said, “the game is over.”
I called her Your Highness, not Your Majesty, and what did I ever do that for? Her Highness found words I hadn't heard the universal translator approximate EVER in civil conversation, but of course if you spoke native Prameranian, you truly got to enjoy the fact that the woman had no majesty in her. She was furious, and had to tell me all that I had messed up for her – she raged out the whole plan that she had for her life as queen, and all the exploitation of her own people and the planet's resources that would have entailed. She wanted to be one of “the great rulers” before the consortium had brought all its ideas about the value of democracy and sharing resources with the people and modernization and all that – and I, the “iron-headed woman” had ruined all of it.
Interestingly enough, Her Highness had thrown an insult at me that let me know the Prameranians remembered Uppaaimar's admiral in the iron helm … the woman who had defeated the last Prameranian usurper when the Uppaaimar had supported the true queen then and given her refuge and the usurper had declared war on the Uppaaimar. History had orbited; a new “iron-headed” female admiral had arisen, and I wondered if Dr. iMaru and his people, knowing the galactic calendar as they did, had connected the dots, if you will. That comet was flying by the Uppaaimar homeworld again, that very day.
But, meanwhile, Her Highness's consort came on the screen, his face full of terror for the same reason my young communications officer looked over and said to me, “Admiral – oh, no!”
Meanwhile, the lead Yhoowhoolican admiral also was picking up what was going on planetside, and accidentally cut in with “I'm coming to save you, my love!”
This is how Her Highness's consort found out – while just a moment before he was trying to get her to safety – that Her Highness had a lover on the side.
Her Highness's consort did away with Her Highness.
Her Highness's remaining loyal knights did away with Her Highness's consort.
Her Highness's remaining loyal knights were overwhelmed by the rest of the Prameranian military when they realized Her Highness had betrayed them all.
Her Highness's lover and his entire fleet of 500 decided they were going to shoot their way through and stage a rescue, and of course were blown away into whatever kingdom whatever deity they worshiped had coming for them, in the most compassionate way possible. A mass burst of photon torpedoes sends its targets into eternity kindly: if your mind were exceptionally quick, the last thing you would register would simply be nothing left in the universe anywhere around you but light, and the first thing you would not experience but others would see would be the brief remembrance of another sun:
“They had to die, but they didn't have to suffer, what with their pathetic shields,” Admiral Lee said about it.
The whole incredibly destructive end process took five minutes.
Mission accomplished. Pramerania and Yhoowhoolic were permanently neutralized.
Pramerania would ask for its true queen to return and reign soon enough, and she would make amends to the consortium for the trouble, lead her planet safely through the legal disciplinary processes, and then get on to the work her mother had begun: bringing Pramerania into the 23rd century in a way that honored the best of its history while still moving forward.
I released nine-tenths of the fleet two days after the destruction of the Prameranian weapon and the renegade Yhoowhoolican fleet, leaving only a flotilla to monitor the situation around Pramerania and Admiral John Steinbeck in command.
“Enjoy your wedding anniversary, ma'am,” he said. “You've certainly earned it.”
“Thank you, Admiral Steinbeck,” I said. “Can't say we enjoyed this chapter of Travels with Vlarian: In Search of Interstellar Peace --.”
He cracked up laughing, knowing I was referring to his ancestor's most famous book, Travels with Charley: In Search of America.
“ – But in the constant search to find the peace and keep it, this was a sad but necessary saga.”
“Agreed, ma'am. Sad, but necessary, and, done. Well done, ma'am.”
“Likewise, Admiral Steinbeck. Don't forget to apply for time-and-a-half wages for yourself and the whole flotilla on the emergency basis.”
“Right, ma'am. Thank you for the reminder. I will.”