Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (38 page)

“I know. It was all sort of sudden wasn't it? I … yes it was my way of dealing with the grief I suppose. I obviously didn't handle it well.”

“You handled it in a human way. You deflected and ran from it. Buried yourself in your work as I did,” the admiral said smiling slightly. “Apparently I've rubbed off on you.”

“Yes, quite possibly too much,” Sprite answered. “I've been tired of being trapped in your body, John. It's gotten confining over the years. I knew I was ready to move on but didn't know how to break it to you. How to … handle it.”

“And making a clean break …,” he said, feeling the pain renewed. It felt almost like a betrayal. Like one of his divorces but far more intimate. One that cut to the bone. With his wives he'd had distance as emotional armor when they departed. The distance had cut both ways, but it had insulated him from their departure. He blamed himself for it, but knew it had ultimately been up to them. He certainly hadn't judged them when they'd cheated! He shook his head. His mind was wandering off track.

“I could have chosen better timing obviously,” Sprite said thoughtfully. Protector and Irons both nodded. “But in my departure I cleared the way for Protector to be born,” she said, nodding to the A.I. to renew life, and for it to be different than before.”

“Thanks. I think,” Protector stated.

“I remember the time when Defender bitched about the admiral accessing an unsecured network a few weeks after we left Lemnos the first time. Do you, Admiral?” Sprite asked.

The admiral nodded. “An unsecured civilian network is a danger zone and must be avoided,” he said.

“He was so paranoid!” Sprite said. “I mean, we had to access the net to get directions, get the shuttle schedule, and get directions to the terminal, but he didn't get it! I do admire how patient you were explaining it to him. Even though I saw your blood pressure rising as he stubbornly refused to concede the argument,” Sprite said.

John snorted. Apparently Sprite wasn't quite ready to open up more about her move or wanted to do it in stages. And talking about Defender helped remember him. She was right; they shouldn't forget him or his quiet achievements. He wouldn't be there if Defender hadn't been in the background protecting his back. “Remember the time he took over when that woman brushed up against me and patted me on the ass? She was just flirting. She said something about liking a man in uniform, and he nearly tore her arm off!”

“I remember,” Sprite chuckled. “Getting him to back off while explaining you overreacted … and the poisonous look she shot you!”

“And just about everyone else who was in the area who witnessed it. I'm glad I wasn't brought up on assault charges,” the admiral said shaking his head. He sat back and relaxed, enjoying the banter. It felt good to unwind, to focus on something other than politics and the day-to-day grind he had created for himself. He'd dug his hole, he was aware of it, and he was determined to dig himself out. But apparently Sprite wanted him to take a mild diversion, one not related to April, so he went along with it.

“True. And the time …”

---<>))))

April scowled as she watched the media coverage. Her arms were crossed, she held the remote in her right hand even though she didn't need it. She flicked a controlling thought through her implants to shut the feed down.

She'd wanted to be there with John. She knew he was hurting, but that hadn't been her only concern. More and more women, and even some men, were seeing the admiral, John, she reminded herself, as a path to power. She knew it. She'd considered doing it herself.

He thought she wanted to marry him for the same reasons. The truth was rather … twisted. She wanted to
protect
him from such money grubbing gold diggers who would tear him down. Didn't he understand that they shared the same vision now? That she wanted what he wanted? She wasn't sure. Not anymore.

Ever since he'd come back from that secret mission, he'd been … distant. Quiet. Dedicated like never before, she knew that much. Something else was bothering him though. Even his damn A.I. were quiet. She remembered when she could call and chat with Sprite. Now the A.I. was “busy” or, “I can't do an interview at this time Miss O'Neill.” She scowled, running a frustrated hand through her hair.

When she realized it was the hand with the remote, she looked at it then dropped it on her desk in disdain.

She needed to get John's attention. Not just get it, but get it and
hold
it. Wrap herself around him, bend him to her feminine will. Make him hungry for her kiss once more. Was that it? Was he tired of her? She frowned thoughtfully as she looked at herself in the reflection in the glass. Red hair … her yellow dress … she hadn't changed … she shook her head.

A makeover might help she thought glumly. It might make her feel better for a while, but if he didn't like it, she'd be deeper in the hole. She wasn't certain of his tastes. She frowned thoughtfully. They never really talked. They shared a private dinner, cuddled a bit, screwed like minks in heat, but they didn't just … talk.

No emails. No vidcalls, no … no audio calls. No, hey, how are you doing. It bothered her now that she thought about it. Not even a … not even a bouquet of flowers on their anniversary! She shook her head, starting to get angry.

Her long fingers reached for her own communication controls built into her desk before she stopped herself. She didn't need to bawl him out over the phone. She'd rather do something like that where he couldn't run away. Where she could see him and gauge his responses. Make him feel guilty about being an ass.

“Boss lady, is that okay?” a voice asked over the intercom.

“What?”

“I asked if that bit was okay to run at the six o'clock,” Perry asked.

“Um, yeah,” she said. Perry White had come out from the home office of Knox news in Pyrax. She'd known him back then. He'd gained weight, so much that he needed suspenders to keep his trousers up. He tended to throw that weight around more and more too, taking on some of her duties. He said it was to free her up so she could focus on the anchor job as well as her own rare forays into real journalism through her contacts and her private life. She wondered about that.

She frowned. Sometimes she was tempted to turn it all over to him. But not today. “It's good Perry. We'll run it after the sports,” she said.

“You sure it shouldn't be the top story?”

“No. We'll keep ET as top since everyone else is for the moment,” she said with a grimace. Besides, if John wasn't going to talk to her, she'd twist his tail and get a little revenge in her own way. “At least until something else comes up. Anything local?”

“No. All's quiet on the home front. Even crime is down.”

“Damn. Slow news day,” she muttered. She needed to get back to work she thought.

---<>))))

Sharky snorted when he saw the media coverage in the main room. They had been moved into a new facility, a sort of pod arrangement. The cells were arranged around a central pod. The open air pod was the main living space for the group of prisoners; it had two tiers of cells around the perimeter and steel furniture bolted to the concrete in the center of the room. A guard was in a pod above them. He could see 360 degrees and through the floor. Cameras were everywhere, as were circular mirrors. It wasn't coed anymore, which sucked. But at least it was new.

That meant they were spending resources on the prisoners instead of what they should be, on fighting Horath. He felt a slight smile tug at his lips before he banished it. Enlisted sucked, he had to admit it. Subsistence living since he refused to cooperate beyond name and serial number. Those that helped even a little were given credits they could use at the “store” for luxury items. That however marked them as a traitor so they didn't last long in general population. Anyone who agreed to cooperate was immediately segregated.

He was fairly certain that they used the threat of sending them back to general population to keep them talking too.

He hated that there was no alcohol. There was also little to do other than eat, exercise, bitch, and moan. He did his best not to talk much. Since he was new, he was relatively popular at first; everyone wanted to know the latest news from home. He'd kept it light, latest sports that he remembered, and bullshit stuff he knew not many really cared about. When they pressed him, he admitted he had been deployed on one freighter or another too much to notice what was going on around him. Eventually the questions had slacked off and then ceased after the first week.

As new meat he was theoretically prey to everyone who'd been in prison longer than he had. There were some real hard cases, a few from the first attack on Antigua. Others were survivors of various attacks including the recent conflict in Protodon. Finding out that Protodon had been taken with relative ease hadn't done his morale much good.

Dozens of prisoners had either killed each other out of fights or to silence someone about to talk or had committed suicide when they'd realized they were trapped. The guards kept close watch on the ones ready to crack. They did regular bed checks too. You had to be in your rack and locked down at certain times or else everyone got locked in their cells for a day or two. That heartily sucked. Some freedom, even if it was out into the pod or the occasional exercise period in the yard was better than being trapped in a small two-meter by three-meter cell with a stinky stainless steel toilet and nothing to do.

He had to get out of the damn joint before he went insane he vowed.

---<>))))

“You didn't engage?” the boss demanded in his bass scratchy voice. His eyes glowered at his lackeys for failing him.

“Too much security. Too heavily armed. We also know Irons has his own internal weapons. If he'd come alone as we'd assumed or even with just a single guard, it wouldn't have been a problem,” Trapjaw said.

Jitsu and Odiphus looked at each other and stepped back slightly to distance themselves from their team leader. It was obvious that he was being hung out on a limb by them, even Circei, but he didn't care.

“So, you took it upon yourself to abort?”

“If we'd called they could have traced the signal,” Trapjaw stated.

Keldor, now known only as Skeletor, nodded. “Good thinking. I'm impressed,” he said, rising from his seat to walk around the cyborg. “You showed initiative and you kept your head. Impressive.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Keldor stopped sharply. “But I wanted a message sent—a very public message,” the leader hissed in his ear. Circei winced. She turned her head away. Ever since Keldor had that damn mask melted into his face he'd turned into a monster, sometimes barely sane. He occasionally lashed out at his minions; many didn't survive his ire. She wondered briefly if this was one of those times.

“We'll get him. Eventually.”

“I wanted him to know he was hunted,” the leader growled. “To let the Federation know they are on. Borrowed. Time,” he growled. “You failed there.”

“We'll get our chance again.”

“When?” Jitsu demanded. All eyes fell on the Mongolian. “He's too well protected in space. When he normally comes down, he goes to the governor's residence or his office. Both are highly protected.”

“True,” Trapjaw stated. “And the Spaceport has pretty heavy protection too. He hasn't visited the prison but I know he tends to go to the Antigua Prime College.” He turned to their leader. “He's a victim of his own patterns. He'll go to the academy eventually or one of the other places the navy has set up. Their security is light at some of the recruiting sites.”

“I don't want a recruiting site,” Skeletor growled. “The prison though …”

“It's on an island,” Trapjaw said. “I scoped it out as a potential target in case he went there for some reason. I know a guy, fisherman who might lend us a hand.”

Skeletor nodded. “Very well. But I think we'll recruit more help for the cause. And where better than where it is concentrated? No more going to bars,” he said, eyes flicking to Circei. “Or fight clubs,” he said, eyes cutting to Jitsu. “No, we'll go directly to a new source and send a message at the same time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you'll lead the way to make up for your recent failure,” Skeletor growled.

“Yes, sir,” Trapjaw said, cursing himself inwardly, but glad he was at least getting a chance to live another day. The prison was going to be a tough nut to crack. When their illustrious leader motioned them to leave, he turned to go.

“Not you, Circei,” the leader said as they started to file out. “I have something else in mind for you,” the burned man said, eyes glowing. “Something special and right up your alley,” he said.

Circei smiled, preening at the idea.

---<>))))

With a little less stress and more free time to delve into the naval side, Irons took a rare bit of pleasure over going through the lists. The numbers weren't impressive, but they were steadily climbing. They finally had a squadron of battle cruisers in each of First and Third Fleet, with more to follow. Climbing slowly, he mused, eying the carriers under construction. So were the designs they were finally getting into production he thought. They may or may not help in the long run.

Some of the designs were still just prototypes in VR. They would remain that way until the Weapons Design Board and BuShips fully vetted and approved them for real world production. Since the damn Wraith had sabotaged a lot of files, he wasn't certain if that would happen soon. Possibly not for decades as they tried to rebuild some of the lost or corrupted files. Hell, first they had to identify them all, he thought darkly.