Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (26 page)

The commander nodded woodenly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Third reprimand noted. Don't get too cute in the future, Commander,” the admiral said, holding up a finger. “With me or with anyone else. Don't be playing spook games with your own chain of command. I don't have the time to puzzle out that sort of crap. I need straight answers.”

“I'll try not to, sir.”

The admiral nodded. “Fine. Now, what else did you learn?”

The commander seemed to settle himself. He cocked his head as if he was accessing his notes either internally or with his implants. Quite possibly both, the admiral thought. “Popular support is good on the Federation worlds. There is a slight undercurrent of resentment, but that isn't surprising.”

“The factions? Or wait, bigoted humans?”

The commander shook his head. “There are some deluded fools of different species as well, but no, not just them. No, by the tradesman who are finding themselves nearly out of a job, sir,” the commander stated. The admiral's eyebrows rose in surprise. The commander shrugged. “It's there, sir. If you are a blacksmith and suddenly everyone is driving a car, you are out of a job or soon will be,” he said.

“Damn. Reeducation for the masses,” the admiral scowled. He glanced at Sprite. She nodded once in return.

“Something to consider probably. I was also hunting for Horathian cells, both intel and terrorist cells. I know a few exist here and there. I had hoped, foolishly I admit, to be the outside view that would string together how they communicate on the planet with each other as well as off world. I also know Kathy's World is cleared. I'd had my doubts.”

“Figures since the population is mostly Neo. And with modern civilization including medicine, their population is exploding,” Fletcher stated.

“Yes. But I found cells on Protodon …,” the commander surveyed the admiral's face for signs he knew. He saw them there and nodded once. “And I found them on Agnosta.”

“Agnosta?” Lieutenant Fletcher asked in disbelief. “Your report …”

The commander shrugged. “Doesn't reflect that, I know. I kept it need to know. The best way to find a network is to leave them in place but monitor them. If I'd passed it on, they would have been taken down. That would have been bad.”

The admiral sat back, forcing himself to see it from a spook's perspective. It had been a long time since his courses on intelligence and counter intelligence. What the commander said resonated however with those long almost forgotten lessons. It was basic tradecraft he thought.

“You want to monitor them. Watch their communications? Long term? You know we can get a lot from picking them up and interrogating them, right?” Lieutenant Fletcher asked, catching on.

“Catching them would gain us more,” the admiral murmured, testing the commander.

“If they survive capture, sir. If they don't, suicide,” the commander reminded him. Irons grimaced and then nodded as the shot went home. “Continuing, I know Protodon is an active war zone. I found several threads there and picked up a few from my contacts there.”

“One of them a certain individual who likes to wear white?” Fletcher asked dryly. The commander eyed the A.I. lieutenant. “We've been made aware of Mister Briggs and some of his actions for some time, sir.”

“I see.”

“He's played both sides of the conflict. Some have called for him to be arrested and court martialed for treason,” Sprite stated.

“Intelligence isn't pretty. You have to blend in. Sometimes you have to break the law. If you are a white hat,” the commander's lips puckered slightly, “ …too clean you won't get far. Dirty hands and the knowledge that your hands are dirty can let you find out interesting things. My recommendation is to leave him in place, sir.” He grimaced. “I do admit sometimes our people tend to get Stockholm syndrome and blend in too much. They go native and forget who they are. They feel like they are betraying “friends.” It is a concern in the craft. Leaving him there to manage the networks he's created is essential to my long term goals, sir, also potentially to the war effort there,” he finished.

“Pity you didn't add that in a report earlier, Commander. He's been recalled here,” Sprite said caustically. The commander's expression froze. “He was supposed to be on your convoy but the order was countermanded. Most likely by you I believe. The order was re-sent after your convoy's departure. He is now en route.”

The commander's face worked then his expression schooled into smoother lines. “Damn,” was all he let out.

“We will deal with it,” the admiral rumbled.

“Sir, his absence will send a shock wave through his network. He'll … he'll lose contacts.
Trust
. Trust is hard to earn, even harder to rebuild if it's been lost. He'll be under suspicion when he returns.
If
he returns,” the commander stated bleakly.

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” the admiral reiterated. “For now, what is done is done. Move on.”

The commander seemed ready to continue to argue but then exhaled slowly. “Very well, sir.”

“I'm not going to ask about the networks you set up that are independent of navy lines. I know you did that and most likely other things. But expect all of that information to come out during your debriefs. All of it, Commander,” the admiral stated. The commander nodded reluctantly. “Very well. Get going. I'll clear the way.”

“Yes, sir.”

“JAG and the IG office will need to be informed you're not pressing charges, sir,” Sprite said as the commander rose. He half froze in motion before he corrected himself. He turned to see Sprite had turned to address the admiral. “And the commander's ID will need to be reinitialized.”

“Handle it. Same for his security clearances once he's had his debrief,” the admiral ordered.

“Aye aye, sir,” the A.I. stated as the commander continued to the door. He felt her access his implants but didn't block her. He opened a port in his firewall to allow her to send him a temporary pass. “There.”

“Thank you, sir. Ma'am,” the commander said quietly.

“We've got a lot of work to do, Monty. Let's get it done.”

“Yes, sir,” the commander said. He came to attention once more and saluted. The admiral shot off a brief salute from his chair and then watched as the man departed.

“He's a spook.”

“He is indeed. I'm curious to see what is in that debrief. He obviously kept it bare bones with us,” Lieutenant Fletcher stated.

“He did indeed. Probably aware I have a tight schedule. Speaking of which,” the admiral turned to the three A.I.”

“With your permission, sir?” the lieutenant asked, taking the hint.

“Dismissed,” the admiral said nodding. The trio nodded back and then blinked out.

He sat back, tapping his mouth with his fingertips as he tried to imagine what had passed through the commander's mind. What he'd expected was pretty easy to grasp. The man's mind was a bog obviously. Did he set himself up to fail again? Did he want to get kicked out? He wasn't sure.

“Sir, you’re running late for your nine o'clock,” the morning yeoman said, buzzing him through his desk and implants.

“Understood Tracy,” he replied, swinging back into work.

---<>))))

Captain Naomi Samuels stroked the armrests of the hot seat in her
Newmann
class battlecruiser
Maine.
Well, her's and the navy's, she thought. Well, no, she had to count her ship A.I., Second Lieutenant Lobsterman, didn't she? She smiled slightly.

A lot had changed over the past several years. She now had a new division mate and together they were working on another tactical exercise against Second Division. They still had a bit of waiting though; she glanced at the clock and then nodded. Yes, another half hour. She'd had a hell of a time getting that wait through to some of her crew, let alone some of the other ship commanders. Patience was definitely a virtue. She had lost count of how many times she'd won an op just because someone had lost their patience.

Her ship was no longer the largest in the growing fleet though, she thought turning her eyes briefly to the battered but still serviceable
Bismark
and then to the dreadnaught Commander Sindri had laid down. They weren't quite there yet, but getting up there. Soon her title as Home Fleet flagship would transfer to someone else.

They could have it she thought.
Maine
was a battlecruiser. She was meant for more than standing guard in the fleet. She was meant to be out there, mixing it up. A silent and deadly hunter making it hard for the Horathians to sleep at night, if ever again. She smiled wolfishly ever so briefly at that thought before she banished such signs of amusement from her face. It wouldn't do to prejudice herself this early she thought nor seem overconfident.

The fleet also had her division mate
Taurek Ne Dor
and two new divisions of battlecruisers in its inventory. The second pair
Independence
and
Vigilance
made up Division 3. They were still working up after a series of engineering mishaps and malfunctions. The bugs were still very much in the design she reflected with a shake of her head.

Texas
and
Alaska
made up the Second Division and were the latest ships to have been cleared for duty. They had been playing against her First Division for months now. By now they knew each other's tricks, and it was getting harder and harder to come up with something new.

Pretty soon
Dawning of a New Day
would launch. When she did they'd start the training process all over again. She shook her head. The admiral was playing fast and loose with the naming of the ships; traditionally BCs were named after states or former planetary nations of the Federation, sometimes even major cities. Apparently he was playing the propaganda game by naming some of the ships with names like
Independence, Freedom,
and
Lady Liberty
she thought.

“Are we going to be deployed somewhere soon, ma’am? Or are we going to get stale in Home Fleet?” Pietro Osh asked her. Pietro was a Neochimp, her third XO in the past two years. She seemed to run through them a lot, though all tended to land on their feet once they left her ship. Most ended up as skippers of other ships, like Irina Nobeki had for her sins. Lesser ships granted but still a leg up on playing second fiddle.

“Reading my thoughts again, number one?”

He froze, blinked then snorted. “A good XO's job I suppose, ma’am. I'm glad we're on the same wavelength.”

“So am I. Just not for the same reasons,” she said. He nodded. The captain frowned thoughtfully. “To answer your question, I don't know. That's honestly a good question. It is interesting working up each new ship I suppose; we get a good feel for them. But it's getting old honestly,” the captain said with a nod. “Unfortunately, there is nothing in our inbox about a deployment on the horizon. Unless I missed something?”

“No, ma’am, you didn't. I agree. It is fun to teach the young how to do the job, but wiping noses is getting old, especially when you see them go off to glory and all that,” he said with a grimace. She nodded, aware the bridge watch was listening in. “I'm glad you got the admiral to approve of a live space exercise over a VR one.”

“Even though we can do a lot with computers in this day and age, it's a bit more real when we're out in space. People take it far more seriously. Besides, it's harder for some of the hackers to cheat,” she said dryly. It wasn't exactly fair to the opposing forces however. By now her crew knew the star system inside and out.

Her XO chuckled.

“Very well then. Let's see if we can do this. Time?” Naomi asked, settling herself.

“Five minutes, ma'am,” Lobsterman replied with a professional air.

“Very well. Let's see if we can wrap this up by lunch then, shall we?”

Chapter 14

Admiral Von Berk nodded in approval. He crossed his arms as he stared out the view port. Behind him the conference was waiting. For the moment he wanted time to savor things.

They had hit the first octave of Gamma band to get to B448C, taking five weeks in what should have taken twice as long before. They were doing well. But he wanted better. He aimed to get it too, he thought, turning to the other officers.

As they spent the two short days to cross the empty star system, Admiral Von Berk had ordered the ships to be refueled and resupplied by the support ships. Doing an underway replenishment was tricky, but he needed them to practice it in case they needed to do it again under worse conditions. Doing so under such tight time constraints meant his people weren't going to dawdle either. He hoped they wouldn't need speed, but it never paid to be too careful. After their recent experiences in Epsilon Triangula he was no longer considering the new Federation as a light force. They were obviously building at a quick pace to be able to dispatch such heavy units to ET. That meant they had sufficient forces elsewhere. Possibly even somewhere between him and home.

They had to make up as much time as possible. They had to move like lightning, to haul ass and disrupt the enemy's planning. Get outside their AO before they could get more forces in. They had a long haul to get to Protodon, but he knew how best to do it. He just wasn't sure all of his ships would survive the run.

So be it. If he ran into sufficient opposition, he would sacrifice his slower units. They would be scuttled or dispatched to take the alternate route around the Eastern loop. Most likely he would end up scuttling them to keep them out of enemy hands though he thought. And with them would serve up all sorts of problems with the people on those same ships he thought with a small corner of his mind.

He planned to do another refuel in Centennial if possible, since he was certain he was going to run into some sort of blockade along their route home. Once the resupply was finished, he then ordered his people to distribute the few water dwellers they had to all of the other ships.

Four had committed suicide, another two had died of respiratory complications. But
Apache's
helm team had proven they were worth the extra coddling. He imparted that order sternly onto all of the receiving ships. “If we lose anymore, you will answer to me. They eat what they want. They get daily medical checks. Keep them engaged. Keep them comfortable. That includes water when needed. Salt water preferably. Use incentives as necessary. The carrot instead of the stick, at least until we get out of this crack we're in.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Captain Bordou said for the others.

“We've got to move, move faster than any other fleet has moved. Get clear of the area before they can arrange something hard enough to stop us. And we're going to practice along the way. We know the new navigators can skip across solar systems to save time. They can even helm between star systems along paths we don't have jump data on.”

“Sir, are you proposing we jump blind?” Captain Bordou asked warily.

“No. Not yet. We'll skip and leave the enemy in our dust. Finish the refueling now. Once we are settled, we're going to practice,” he said grimly. “We're going to push the pace hard. Have your engineers on top of it at all times. Do as much preventive maintenance as you can because you won't get the same opportunities in hyper. We'll be hitting the highest octaves of Gamma band at
least
. Delta if we can swing it,” he said, eying them, searching for the weak links.

That earned a startled gasp from the audience. “You think we can do it, sir?” a captain asked.

“We damn well
better
or we're going to be in trouble. So yes, we'll make flank speed. There is no alternative other than capture and internment,” he said. “And I for one have no intention of that … or whatever else the enemy has in mind for us,” he growled, surveying his captains.

The ship captains nodded back grimly.

---<>))))

Captain Fang did his best to keep his head down. He listened attentively when his captors gave them directions, but he tried to act like the others, shocked and dulled by the situation.

Processing had taken time, weeks being moved from one place to another in space. Interviews had been a pain in the ass as well.

They were studiously read their rights and given papers to remind them of them. They were also warned to behave or else. Some were cowed seeing the situation reversed. Others were starting to rally, to become defiant.

When the POWs arrived at what he assumed was an island on Antigua, they went through another round of processing. They were showered, scanned, searched, given buzz cuts, medical checkups, issued orange jumpers, and then sent through the cattle lines.

There they found that they were to be segregated, with the officers stripped out and sent to their own internment facilities to keep them from causing trouble.

The noncoms were next; they went to a different camp. Then the enlisted were sent to the general population camp.

There was a fourth and fifth camp they were aware of. The fourth was a high security facility for those deemed too dangerous. The captain frowned, wondering briefly why they didn't save themselves the trouble and just shoot the idiots.

The fifth camp was the most talked about. It was the most civilized, with light security and touches of comfort that the other camps envied and complained about. But it was also talked about rather darkly since its occupants had chosen to turn their coats and provide information to the enemy. The traitors were segregated for their own safety from the populations of the other camps.

Sharky Fang did his best to blend in with the enlisted group. He'd bullied a few of the smarter enlisted to vouch for him as a half-witted security goon. Fortunately, not everyone recognized him. Those who did had been quietly ordered to keep their traps shut. “Remember, name, rank, and serial number only,” he said to them quietly. “If they are using the Federation playbook like they said they are, they can't touch you. We weren't caught as pirates so they have to use kid gloves. Remember that. Use it against them if you can. They have to treat us fairly, food, shelter, medical care. We can even try to escape as long as we don't harm them,” he said, lip curling in contempt.

“Yes s … um …,” the glare the former captain shot the chief noncom could have shorted out a shielded board. He remembered to turn the voltage down a bit when he saw the woman pale and gulp. There was a reason his name was Sharky. His black orbs terrified many who crossed him.

His mind turned to wandering once he was sure he was safe for the moment. Like a lot of the prisoners he was becoming home sick. He wondered how things were going at home and on the war front.

He would prefer to be anywhere than here, but here he was stuck. At least for the moment he thought, mind already churning with ideas on how to arrange an escape.

He was just going to have to bide his time and be careful of who he selected to go along with him. Their chances of getting off the island were remote, and the idea of getting off the planet let alone out of the star system and back home were ludicrous however.

Still, one had to have a hobby to pass the time, he mused, whistling the Horathian national anthem softly.

---<>))))

Repairs to the two battle cruisers were going better than they'd hoped. Perhaps it was because their expectations had been so low in the first place? Captain Post shook his head as he stared at the icons of damage. Or it was because he was expecting the bare minimum he thought. Just enough to make her sound again, without the trimmings. Patch her up, fix her worst damage, get her back out to fight another day holding the line.

Or better yet, going in as planned, he thought. His proposal of a spoiler raid hadn't been instantly rebuffed as he'd expected. The admiral had accepted that they should at least plan for it. He was probably aware that if he hadn't he would have opened himself up to charges of cowardice and not being sufficiently offensive minded, Arnold thought with a grimace of distaste.

He was right though. Shantell's whisper plan to get the fat ass admiral off his duff had worked to some degree.

His current plan was to short jump into Protodon, as much as a light week out if necessary. From there he could arrange a nasty surprise for the planet, a C fraction bombardment, with nukes and KEW strikes to stir the enemy up. The Feds would fall all over themselves to intercept the bombardment … if they could even see it.

“Think he'll pull the trigger and let us go?” Shantell asked.

He looked over his shoulder to her and then to the status board. “I'm not sure,” he finally answered when she cleared her throat to regain his attention.

“You did enough to sell it to him. It is viable. And picketing the system from the outside will allow us to watch for Fourth Fleet.”

“True,” Captain Post said quietly.

“But you have no intention of following the plan?” Mueller asked. He turned back to her, snorted and then shrugged.

“We'll see. Most of it yes. But, we'll remain open to … let's call it changing circumstances,” he said with a flick of his finger. He had no intention of risking their ships for singletons though he thought.

She nodded. Just so they understood one another she thought. She still didn't like the odds. The losses and damage sustained in Protodon had humbled her, damaged her pride. She wanted revenge just like he did, but what cost was he willing to pay it?

“We still can't scare up any fighters, can we?”

“No,” Shantell answered with a grimace. “He's not willing to risk it.”

“But we can pull crew from the other ships to replace our losses,” Captain Post said. “He doesn't mind opening up holes in their chains of command I see.”

She snorted. “That's because he's not sure if we're still going yet. You realize he agreed to consider it to defer us, right? If he doesn't answer, he can put us off, potentially indefinitely.”

“So, we need something to get him off his stick.”

“I think he's more aware he's got his “
stick
” in a potential shredder,” Shantell said without much sympathy. Captain Post winced and grimaced. “And we are right there alongside him for that matter.”

“True. Which is why I want to go back in. To … rectify the record.”

“Uh huh,” she said, sounding like she didn't quite believe him. Oh, she believed he wanted revenge; that was an easy emotion to proscribe to. But one had to have the right plan or they were just going to get chewed up again. “Did you hear about his little response to
Prinz Zir
?” she asked.

“No …,” Captain Post drawled. “Should I?”

She nodded, face somber. “
Prinz Zir
was a spy ship. Apparently she was tasked with dropping a plague on Antigua. Instead they dropped it on Epsilon Triangula. The admiral was less than enthused let's say, about their … re-interpreting their orders.”

“Ah?”

“Yes. And apparently the captain pissed him off. So, he arranged for the ship to jump to Senka.” She saw his confusion. “It's an eight-placement jump. The ship was only rated for seven.”

He frowned. Now he understood why she kept referring to the ship in the past tense. “They are overdue?”

“The staff believes they are dead. Senka as you know has no planet. Its population is thin and scattered in the asteroid belts. They are
very
well hidden.”

“Rabbits,” he said in distaste.

“Right. Well, if they got there with the extra fuel they took on, they wouldn't have anything to trade to get fuel to return,” she explained. “And not much of a reserve to make more than one jump.”

“So they are screwed,” Arnold mused. “And yet they went anyway?”

“Gotta give them credit, they followed their orders and did their duty. I'm hoping that the captain will do a sun scuttle or at least scrub his computers before he eats a bullet.”

“Not our problem,” Arnold said, dismissing it.

“Oh, no, but it is something to keep firmly in mind. It's Post's way of dealing with it that we have to consider and watch carefully. We don't want to end up like that ship, now do we?” she asked.

Slowly he nodded. After a moment he exhaled. “Tread carefully it is.”

“I thought you'd see it my way,” she replied. He snorted.

---<>))))

“Admiral, we're going to have to do something. I know you don't like Captain Post and Mueller holding your feet over the fire, but we can't win this if we're on the defense,” Lieutenant Commander Dutch Lefou said, looking at his admiral in the eye. He'd more or less resigned himself to being on the admiral's staff. Hopefully, the admiral's bulk would shield him from any blowback from the Protodon debacle.

The admiral's porcine eyes looked away. After a moment he grunted in irritation. “Not you too?”

“Sir, what they are proposing is a harassing raid I admit. It's not going to take the star system, not unless the enemy hasn't reinforced heavily. If he's pulled his wounded back and not replaced them, then they might have a chance. Personally I doubt that happened so we can rule out that rather hopeful contingency plan,” Commander Desi Moriarty stated. “But the idea of picketing the star system from a couple light days out? Force the enemy ships away from their munitions? That is rather brilliant, sir.”