Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3)

by Chris Hechtl

  “Oh.”

  That apparently stopped the grumbling, Captain Levinson thought. At least for the moment he judged.

  “Are we doing a necropsy? Autopsy here as well?” the lead doctor said as he examined his tools carefully. He'd been allowed only so much due to the shuttle's weight limit. He didn't even have a change of clothes on him; the navy had promised him a change when he was finished.

  They'd better deliver. When they finished he was going to be a sticky mess he thought as he pulled on rubber gloves.

  “I think we can figure out how they died. Any data you collect there will be of use I suppose. The main focus is on preserving as much genetic material as possible,” the captain said.

  “Why not load it up into a stasis pod?” an assistant asked quietly as he readied a face shield.

  “Because …,” the captain sighed heavily, more from exasperation than any sort of fatigue. It stank to have something pointed out to you that lurked right under your nose he thought. “Because no one thought of that. Okay, we'll do that as well. We'll toss as much as we can into a stasis pod.”

  “Make it two; there is a lot of material.”

  “We only have so many pods, Doc,” the captain retorted.

  “Make it two. The more the merrier.”

  “Okay, okay. We'll take one from each ship. That leaves us two left in case of accident or injury.”

  “Sucks to be you or your crew,” the doctor said. He picked up a saw and checked it for sharpness. “Now, if you'll excuse me?”

  “Yeah,” the captain said, choking back a grimace. The doctor put the blade implement down and then checked a long wire he wasn't sure was needed. Captain Levinson shook his head. It was positively medieval, he thought, gulping back nausea.

  “Don't barf here. Go. It's just another day of work for us,” the doctor said, as he picked up an electric bone saw and checked to make sure it was plugged in. “This should do,” he said.

  “Yes, um, good luck, Doctors,” the captain said hastily as he made his retreat. He shook his head once he was on the other side of the hatch. He could hear the high pitched whine of the saw, and his imagination did the rest. He turned a bit green and tried not to think of what was going on as he got away.

  They would need to replace the filters for that compartment. Maybe use something to mask the odor he thought as he ordered his overtaxed implants to keep his stomach on an even keel.

  :::{)(}:::

  Captain Levinson was chagrined when he found out that the salvage team had found a stasis pod with remains carefully preserved inside. The body of the second Ssilli apparently; when he'd sent his people to find extra stasis pods, they'd hit the jackpot again. Someone, most likely the ship's doctor, had preserved as much tissue samples including the brain and reproductive organs. The stasis pods had lost power when the ship's power net went down, but the battery backup in the pod had been fully charged.

  In fact, the blinking red light of the battery dying warning had been what had attracted the salvage team in the first place. So good fortune for them. Not so much for the crew and definitely not so much for the Ssilli. He pitied them. To have ended their lives like that … not knowing freedom was within grasp …

  He pounded out the updated report and gave credit to the ratings involved. They deserved it. He also found the doctor's logs and copied them. He couldn't send them over the ansible; there was too much data. They'd have to be hand couriered to the nearest ONI secure facility for further processing. Once he was certain of them, he made copies and put the master in his safe for safe keeping.

  :::{)(}:::

  Fleet Admiral and acting President John Henry Irons read the new revised report from Descartes as well as an amendment with another urgent request for relief and refit from the picket force. Apparently Phil had gotten to it first; the rear admiral had anointed it with scathing comments about the crews wanting to abandon their post. Admiral Irons shook his head. Phil didn't understand the problem of being trapped in a small cramped ship with no relief for the crew. That a civilian on the planet had gotten a small cargo shuttle working at all was a minor miracle, at least they could get some downtime on the planet with liberty. But it wasn't enough.

  And obviously, they'd expended munitions in each encounter. Irons tapped out an upgrade priority to the status of Nightingale as well as Airea 3. Phil would need to find a way to send something bigger and better to picket each star system or swap the picket in Nightingale with a similar or larger force.

  There was one spot of good news; the crew and especially their officers were long overdue for promotions. Getting his hands on some combat veterans was good news in any book. Captain Levinson deserved his recent overdue promotion. He should by rights be skippering a tin can by now, perhaps even a light cruiser or heavy cruiser. A lot of his graduating class had passed him by. That probably burned, John thought with a twist of his lips.

  He made a note to have the review board work through each of their spots of combat, appoint medals where needed, then break the crew up after promotions and liberty. The skippers would make dandy tin can skippers at the least.

  :::{)(}:::

  Nara came in to the office and tossed her bag into her guest chair as she sat with a flounce into her office chair. She'd had time to think about it during her shower and morning commute from base housing, and she'd come up with a tentative plan on the walk to her office. It all hinged on Helen over at the naval hospital in Epsilon Triangula being amiable to reason. She'd initially thought to send a medical team to Nightingale, but they'd never make it there in time. And neither would one from Pyrax, if one could be scraped together. But if Commander Richards sent a team with the remains once they got to ET to Antigua to keep them viable, then maybe, maybe she'd agree to that.

  It would also allow them to do a sort of medical exchange—a little cross pollination. She cracked her knuckles and got to work pounding out the email.

  :::{)(}:::

  Rear Admiral Phil Subert read the upgrade in the Nightingale status when he got it in his inbox from the ansible the following morning. He was not happy about the shift, but he'd half expected it. He should have done something about it earlier. Fortunately, frigates and corvettes were a dime a dozen. He had Saul draw up a plan to send a relief force with a Dora class freighter and a shuttle as well.

  The Dora class, like the Liberty class, was a flexible platform. In the Dora's case, it was the smallest support ship in the navy's inventory, built on the corvette and frigate production lines before they'd been retooled. He had plenty in the basic configuration of a freighter.

  He typed out a missive and note to himself about the performance of Descartes and Loch. Captain Levinson should have allowed the enemy ship to get into orbit before he'd hailed them. He definitely should have gotten a lot closer before doing so as well. Granted he had been cautious, but given that the enemy ship had been a freighter, it would have behooved the man to have let them get into orbit, perhaps even shut down their engines, then gone in and boarded, pinning them in place where they couldn't escape.

  At least he hadn't used any of the defenses Prometheus had left behind near the jump points. He added a second note to have the two frigates and support ship tow the gear from the ET jump point to one of the other two jump points in the star system. There, he thought as he finished his order with a flourish, that should keep them busy and humble.

  Lastly, he ordered Captain Levinson to secure basing or at least hangar rights on the planet for the shuttle and crew. He'd have to secure hangar security and support staff as well and pass on any contacts he had to the incoming commander relieving him once they arrived. It was a pity Marengo's shuttles had been destroyed. That sucked. He grimaced when Commander Teague's ONI office put in a request for the derelict. He knew she would want it, but she was a bit far to dispatch a team. The ship was also too damaged to warrant it being salvaged and brought back to Pyrax as a prize.

  He tapped his chin thoughtfully, then picked up his cup o
f coffee and took a sip. When he set it back down, he'd collected his thoughts enough and tapped out another memo.

  He ordered Teague to contact ONI assets in ET and have them dispatched from there to secure the ship's databases. Then he ordered her to have a follow-up team ready for when he sent the replacement force. He tagged it with a link to Saul as well as to Admiral Sienkov and Captain Levinson.

  “That should put a bee in a few bonnets,” he said as he rose from his chair.

  “Sir, your working breakfast with System Senator Abernathy is in ten minutes,” his yeoman said, leaning into his doorway.

  “I know. I'm coming,” the admiral said as he finished the coffee off and checked himself briefly. He was still dealing with the fallout from his splash in Pyrax. Apparently it had been a bit messier than he'd expected. A few people didn't take to his abrasive shake-up, and he still had to deal with people like Abernathy.

  Of course the damn senator might just want something and was playing at being affronted, he thought as he put his jacket on. He shook his head. It didn't matter; he wasn't about to give the guy any favors, nor take any. He made certain his implants were recording as he headed out.

  Chapter 4

  Captain Shelby Logan shook her head as she watched the picket line on the video feed. The ET news was filled with protests, and for some reason the locals were up in arms about her. Well, not technically her, but at least her ship, Prometheus. For some reason someone down there, or more importantly several someones, had thought she'd become some sort of permanent fixture in orbit.

  Hardly, she thought with a snort.

  Cynthia glanced her way and then shook her head. “We'll be yesterday's news soon enough. They are getting their dander up, aren't they?” she asked rhetorically.

  “It's all BS,” Lieutenant Silverfish grumbled. He stroked his whiskers, ears flat. “Seriously, to get all pumped up … don't they have anything better to do?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Why get upset? They've got enough industry down there; you'd think they'd actually be happy about the work and less competition!” Cynthia said.

  “Apparently not,” Shelby replied dryly. Her crew had a lot of cadets and trainee recruits along for the short ride to Gaston and then on to Pyrax. The big ship was rather crowded. They were still waiting on the last shuttle to dock. It was filled with even more recruits.

  “ETA?” she asked, looking over to the CIC rating.

  “Unchanged, ma'am. Ten minutes out,” the Veraxin star sailor replied.

  The captain nodded. “Good.”

  “I thought they'd send back our people. Fat chance of that. Oh well,” Cynthia grumbled.

  Shelby snorted. She wished Zeb her former XO, Conrad her weapons officer, and Oz her former assistant chief engineer the best in their future endeavors whatever they turned out to be. Both had been sent off as prize crew officers on the captured freighter Charleston Lake Folly. Apparently the powers that be had decided not to be bothered replacing them. So, Prometheus like the other ships in the sector was running short-handed.

  Well, not quite, she thought, glancing at the rating who was giving a small group of students a crash course on the bridge. They had plenty of hands on board, but they were untrained hands. Some had some basic training from the naval recruiters, and she shuddered to think about what the cadets thought. She'd made it plain that they were students and were hands off though. No matter how undermanned her ship was she wasn't going to put critical functions in the hands of untested kids! They had the implants; they'd been sworn in—a few even thought of themselves as in their final form. She had other ideas. She'd use them to man light duty watches until she got a handle on them.

  Fortunately, she wouldn't need to keep them around for long. A couple months and they'd be in Pyrax and the lot would be off to the academy or boot camp.

  “The shuttle jock said the marines had a hell of a time keeping the bird secure, ma'am. Apparently a few of the last minute recruits turned out to be protesters in disguise. Luckily they had to wait for another ride anyway, but he said they tried to force their way aboard. When that didn't work, they took a seat and tried to form a chain in the way.”

  “I bet the Marines had fun extracting them,” Cynthia replied with a sniff of disdain.

  “Are they in the brig?” the captain asked mildly. She, unlike her crew, was glad the arrest hadn't been filmed by anything up close and personal. She somehow thought Admiral Irons and the other brass would also be grateful. And with events going on elsewhere, the protests might make a minor footnote in the nightly news throughout the sector.

  Which was just fine with her. She didn't want or need the fame and notoriety. The very idea! Like she was really running out on them in their “desperate hour of need”! She shook her head in annoyance. She could see everyone was fed, they had shelter, and they had plenty to do to keep them occupied. They were back on their feet. It was time to move on, not feed the greedy lazy bastards who just wanted a handout.

  “Yes, ma'am. And boy are they howling about the arrest! Doing their constitutional duty indeed!” the rating shook his head indignantly. “They signed up on false pretenses, a Federal offense, and then tried to block a movement. Yeah, they aren't going to like it when the hammer comes down.”

  “If it comes down. Somehow I have my doubts. I understand the governor might give them amnesty. He's not happy we're leaving either,” the skipper replied as she watched the shuttle roll with puffs of expelled gas until she was lined up with the factory tender's port boat bay. “As soon as they are on board, get them settled while we break orbit.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am,” Cynthia said.

  Shelby eyed her. She could tell her XO wasn't thrilled about being drafted and stuck on the bridge. She snorted as her friend squirmed. “Go,” she finally said.

  “Ma'am?” Cynthia asked.

  “You heard me. Go check engineering and go walk about,” the skipper said dismissively.

  “I'm fine,” Cynthia replied with a lifted chin.

  “Suit yourself,” the captain replied indifferently. She checked the status board. “Though I see there is a log entry about the starboard emitters coming up slower than they should …”

  “I'm on it!” Cynthia said, shooting out of her chair and out of the compartment without hitting the floor. Shelby shook her head and chuckled. Trollop didn't like being stuck on the bridge in the hot seat. She, like her captain, was far more comfortable in engineering fixing day-to-day problems.

  “We've received final clearance to leave, ma'am,” the comm rating said. “Ready to break orbit.”

  “And not even a thank you from the local government. Well, I suppose we did our jobs out of duty not for the thanks. Pity though,” Shelby drawled.

  “Boat bay reports the shuttle is secured, ma'am,” the A.I. stated.

  The captain nodded. “Helm, the engines should be warm enough so let's put them to good use. Nav, feed them our course and let's get to Gaston.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am,” Lieutenant Silverfish stated. He turned back to his station and entered the commands. After a moment the plot changed as the engines woke and the ship began to speed up on a course for the Gaston jump point.

  Shelby took one last glance at the muted news feed and then did what she should have done an hour ago. She shut it off.

  :::{)(}:::

  Courier UFNDV-005P arrived in Pyrax with her precious cargo from Epsilon Triangula. She was ushered through the defenses of the star system quickly and as efficiently as possible. Three days later she arrived at the naval annex and docked.

  His was a plum command for someone only a few years out of the academy, Lieutenant JG McGlock thought. Even though it was a tiny thing, with a crew of six, she was still his—a gold star on his record that he intended to use to move on to bigger and better things eventually.

  For the moment he was still savoring being a ship's captain at such a young age—not that he'd thought it would last long.

 
; Captain Chase McGlock thought his ship had become a bit redundant when he'd gotten news of the ansibles being set up. That had changed when he'd realized his place as a mailman hadn't been as affected as he'd thought. The ansible was good, fast, and efficient, but by no means the only tool to deliver the mail. It was also the least efficient to transfer large amounts of data, so he'd found that he and his crew still served a purpose and wouldn't be banished to the ever growing outer edge of the federation's sphere of space. Instead they ran milk runs every month between ET and Pyrax, with a brief pass through Gaston. Apparently there was a lot of data to transfer between the three star systems.

  He had a general idea on what his ship carried in her data banks. Logs of course, information, low priority mail, and of course any in-depth INTEL that resided in the encrypted files. Fine, let ONI keep its secrets he thought as his watched the robotic arms make the final attachments, and his ship was drawn in for final docking to the waiting lit tube.

  To his surprise he got a signal that he was going to be boarded. So he pressed past the eager cadets and their gear to get to the lock. He blinked when Commander Garretaj personally boarded with a pair of armed Marines and a navy tech. “Where is it?” the commander demanded, ignoring the usual boarding protocol.

  “Um, here, sir,” the captain said, indicating a canister. “I'm guessing this is the 'it' you are referring to?” he asked, resting a hand on the thing.

  The commander looked it over and then nodded. “It is indeed. The rest of you can go,” he said, making a hole to allow the cadets to pass.

  Captain McGlock frowned. Apparently the news in her databanks were for once secondary in importance to those people anxiously waiting on her arrival. Even her cramped cadets were secondary to the small package that was carefully loaded under heavy guard.