Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3)

by Chris Hechtl

  Apparently, as he'd settled in, he'd found it hadn't been that easy. Not only had the people been learning on the job, but they'd had to learn what questions to ask … and the limits on the answers they were given. Drawing conclusions was messy if their source material was inaccurate, so believing what the POWs said was tough.

  The ships initially captured, such as those from the battle of Pyrax had come from ships drawn from the Gather Fleet. Apparently the two service branches kept separate databases and didn't interact. In a way that made sense since the Gather Fleet, the true pirates, he thought with a mentally curled lip, were out and about being the scourge of the galaxy while the Battle Fleet were at home protecting it.

  Of course the Battle Fleet was built from the salvaged or captured ships that the Gather Fleet brought in but not the personnel. Apparently they were clannish, with navy families that stuck to one branch or the other with few crossovers. So getting information about Battle Fleet out of Gather Fleet POWs was tentative at best.

  Then there was the nature of the information both in the interviews and the databases. It was all out of date. The task force that had attacked Pyrax had been en route there for almost a decade before it had arrived so had no knowledge of events and things in Horath during their absence.

  To date, their most accurate and up-to-date information had been procured from the capture of the personnel from the Nevada task force and Fourth Fleet survivors. They had finally gotten full copies of the information along with the actual POWs when they'd been shipped to Antigua.

  But the analysists were swamped. They had too much information and not enough people to process and integrate it all. Hence the practice of “borrowing” middies and INTEL students from time to time.

  He made another mental note to find a way to accelerate the civilian INTEL branches. Where to get the personnel, the budget though …

  “It's nice to unwind, sir. Present company accepted,” Monty said saluting the admiral with a beer. The admiral snorted. It had taken the captain several days to agree to a quiet evening over beers with his boss.

  “We backslid. I don't know why we didn't try to make water dwellers. I think ethics might have been involved but most likely politics. But as I was saying, we backslid, and the priority was always the defenses, not hyperdrives. We didn't want to go out and poke the bear and lead them back to us.”

  “I see, sir.”

  “I know we made mistakes. Bad ones in some cases, and we were probably a little too cautious in others. But after getting bit once or twice, we had good cause to be cautious. And it probably didn't help that our guiding hand was a very conservative historian who knew all about the First A.I. War,” the admiral said.

  “Meaning the dangers of A.I. running amok as well as nanites, sir?”

  “Yes. We had one incident of a senile A.I. That was scary enough.” He shivered. “Before my time actually.”

  “I haven't gone that far back. I'm guessing the burned-hand teaching method was involved though,” the captain said.

  The admiral nodded. “Something like that. So, as I said, we backslid pretty far.” The admiral paused to take a sip of his beer.

  “It was worse out here, Admiral,” Monty replied. “I spent a few years as a child on an agro world with animal-drawn power—no electric, nothing. Everything mechanical was either animal, wind or water powered. I think a lot of the colonies went that deep into the dark ages because they were terraformed so they didn't have oil or other fuel sources.” He grimaced. “Starships and electric lighting came something of a shock to me.”

  “I … see,” the admiral drawled. He paused as he processed those concepts and then shrugged. “That explains why the education sucks. Except the college education. Top notch. They rely on data dumps and implants heavily though.”

  “Something I noticed Bek doesn't have. Cybernetics I mean,” the captain said. “Another burned hand thing?”

  “We have ID implants for security,” the admiral said, waving a hand. He paused to examine it briefly. His hand was no longer gnarled and aged; it was almost back to what it had been in his youth. Remarkable, a small corner of his mind thought as he continued the conversation. “And yes, I'm playing catch-up with my implants. Among other things,” he said, taking another pull of his beer. “I told Izimay, my late wife, we'd grow old together. We did. But when she passed … I couldn't stay in Bek. Not if I could get away. The idea of going back to that lonely house into retirement …,” he shook his head.

  “So, you get a second shot.”

  “Yes.”

  “And more personnel. Though I understand we keep losing people to ship deployments. I think I need to talk to a few people about getting more A.I. support. Fletcher and a couple dumb A.I. aren't enough, not nearly enough.”

  “Yes, sir,” Monty said.

  “And we need to reduce our tasking. But that means getting the civilian INTEL organizations off and running. I understand Admiral Irons is reluctant to do so since it would draw attention to them in the political arena. It would also mean having some redundant effort and some power struggles he'd liked to avoid. Keeping everything under one umbrella is nice in theory but it isn't working out. ONI is too saturated, too busy juggling too many missions.”

  “Yes, sir. I'm glad you understand,” the captain said wryly.

  “Oh, I understand,” Yorgi said, snorting dryly. “It's doing something about it that's the hard part.”

  “Yes, sir. That it is,” Monty drawled, taking a pull of his beer. “I don't think we'll ever get a handle on the location of every ship in the Gather fleet. At least we've got a better handle on the Battle Fleet war book, even if it is out of date.”

  The admiral nodded. “Yes. I hadn't anticipated them deploying capital ships so soon. I'm at a loss as to how they are managing it.”

  “From what I understand,” Monty said musingly, looking up, eyes distant as he focused on the problem, “the Gather Fleet would find a ship, either capture her or salvage a derelict. They'd put a prize crew on her and if possible get her functional enough to limp home. But if she couldn't under her own power, they'd get word back to a Pirate Den; we're still getting probable locations on those by the way,” he said in an aside.

  Admiral Sienkov nodded sagely.

  “Anyway, they would get word there, and if possible the den would ship in a salvage crew to assess the ship and make further repairs. If they had hardware, most of it civilian, they'd use it. Otherwise, they'd have to send home to Horath for someone to send out a ship with a big enough hyperdrive and the components to go with it.”

  “Ah,” the admiral said. “Now see, that part I got.”

  “Yes, sir. They would use the gear to get the ship back, then yank it and send it out to the next ship while their yard did what they could with the ship. Which was why our numbers were off. Many of the ships were listed as in mothballs or as sublight only with civilian hardware.”

  “But that changed.”

  “Yes, sir. Can you imagine it though?” Monty asked. “They've got to have dozens, potentially hundreds of ships still coming in. And how many did they lose in the process? And their crews?” He shook his head.

  “Right,” the admiral drawled, thinking the problem over. “So, you assumed you had less than what we're dealing with?”

  “I'm remembering what ASSume stands for, sir,” Monty said with a snort. Yorgi grimaced but nodded. “As to where they got the parts, I'm thinking it is El Dorado. I don't think they shipped them in though.”

  “Oh?”

  “A few years ago Firefly ran into a Cutlass class destroyer in New Andres,” he said. He related the story of the engagement. “After it, we, we meaning ONI and Admiral Irons, was puzzled by how they could unlock his hardware. He'd sent a care package in Kiev 221 you see.”

  “And they got past the lockouts. I see,” the admiral mused, rubbing his chin.

  “Yes, sir. We found out there had been sleepers on board. We're not sure what possessed them to help t
he pirates though.”

  “Brainwashing?”

  “Any sign of captivity and someone's implants prompt the host to suicide. Any attempt to bypass them and it will suicide the host on its own. Any use of chemical or other means triggers it …”

  “So they did something else—something psychological. Tricky to pull off, but apparently it's doable,” he said.

  “Yes, sir. My people believe they pulled the humans out of stasis, then isolated them. Shipped them in to Horath first, then put them to work. Our INTEL says most are yard dogs, civilians,” he said.

  “Which doesn't explain the unlocked hardware. But if they were construction workers, they could unlock some hardware. And show them how to build more.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Still no location on this El Dorado?” the admiral asked suddenly intent.

  “No, sir. I'd let you know if we thought we had nailed it down.”

  “I thought as much. Just checking,” the admiral said, sitting back in sudden defeat.

  “The problem is people expect us to get what we don't know. The people we've captured and the databases can't tell us what they don't know, sir. It is frustrating. Some know about it, obviously, but it's word of mouth at best—scuttlebutt. A friend of a friend, that sort of thing. It isn't just a case of loose lips, though we're seeing some of that too.”

  “Ah.”

  “We know it is in Sigma. Somewhere in all that … clutter. Devastation. The void is vast and well …,” he shrugged helplessly. “We also know they've got a Kaiju coming in as well,” Monty said with a grimace.

  “Damn,” the admiral murmured.

  “Yes, sir. One of the ships the Gather Fleet found. It has been en route to Horath for decades,” he explained.

  “Damn,” the admiral muttered. “I guess we can count our blessings that it isn't in Horath yet.”

  “Yes, sir, there is that,” the captain said as he took another sip of his beer.

  They made small talk for a little while, comparing life histories. Monty was ever respectful. Yorgi was fairly certain the other man knew what he was doing. The informal setting and alcohol was to put him at ease and to allow them to form a bond. He picked up on some of the resentment the other man still had but didn't comment on it initially.

  “You're dancing around the subject,” Monty said taking another pull of his beer.

  “And what's that?” the admiral asked mildly.

  “Why I still have my job even though I never wanted it in the first place,” Monty replied wryly, studying the label on his long neck. “Why I did what I did.”

  “It has come up in my thinking.”

  “I … I always liked a mystery and spook stuff. But I never wanted the responsibility of sending people off to die without ever knowing if they did the job. To die, perhaps horribly, with no one knowing how they died or why. I knew it would eat at me. It does, but I also realized someone had to do it.”

  “True enough,” the admiral said simply.

  “I understand where Admiral Subert was coming from since he has a background in intelligence,” Monty said with a grimace. “I had fracked up—a lot.”

  “You did what you could with what you had. You were learning on the job. Not easy. Same here. You were also overwhelmed with the data. Still are actually. I'm glad Irons cut you some slack.”

  “Some say too much, sir. He's done the same about a lot of people and turned a blind eye to threats.” Monty grimaced. “That wasn't me talking bad about a superior officer.”

  “That did sound a bit like it,” the admiral said coolly. “Too much beer?”

  “No, sir,” Monty replied, immediately setting the bottle aside. “I don't know if you were briefed on his girlfriend …”

  “The reporter? Yes.”

  “Fully briefed, sir?” Monty asked carefully, eying him curiously. It took a moment for the flag officer to stop and study him back to realize there was a bit more to the question and situation then he knew.

  The flag officer frowned thoughtfully, curiosity awoken. “Fully … I know she is a leak due to her profession but …”

  “She's far more than that, sir, far more than an easy security leak.” The captain stiffened. “I um … damn. My implants are pinging me. I'm getting a warning that I can't discuss it further, sir. Sorry, sir.” He shrugged.

  “Well, you have intrigued me. I'll talk to Irons.”

  “Yes, sir. Please do. You need to be fully briefed,” Monty said, changing the subject.

  “I'll make certain it gets on my calendar.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  :::{)(}:::

  Sprite was amused by quartz business that had recently started up. Someone had taken the idea of permanently etching crystals with information to what it had been in the days prior to the Xeno war.

  She knew who too, John. Admiral Irons was determined to not let the dark ages happen again. Therefore, he had hired a company on Antigua Prime to laser etch quartz crystals with data. The process was a permanent one, done on the molecular level. A second laser could read the changes in the crystalline structure to get the information out.

  It was almost useless for an A.I. who didn't just have to access the information, but add notations or other markers as realizations were made. But for some things, things that were bedrock to their society, she could see how having them in read-only memory would be appropriate.

  The technology had been pioneered in the ancient days on Terra. It had also been used extensively by bug species and even the Taurens. Hard coded data was important to keep safe and involatile.

  New Alexandria had taken that concept to the extreme. They had created glittering spires, bridges, and other monuments of sheet crystal throughout the star system. It had been a magnificent sight to behold, especially at night with LEDs and lasers lighting it all up in splendid displays of color.

  There had even been a city dedicated to hard storage of data, appropriately called Crystal City.

  Apparently the idea was trending and spreading throughout the federation. Admiral Irons had ordered data to be encoded and crystal monuments to be placed on every world or station. There were several monuments, one with basic information like history, science, medicine, and education. Another flashier version held the constitutions of the federation, both old and new.

  She knew the one that touched the admiral's heart the most was the monument to the dead. This one was a monument unlike the first he'd dedicated in the previous year. This one was a shaft of crystal in space. Each layer was a list of names. Embedded with each were images of them, holograms, video, and their life story. So long as the monuments were there, they would not be forgotten. Their sacrifice wouldn't be forgotten.

  :::{)(}:::

  Admiral Irons realized he had a headache, a novel thing since he'd had implants. Also a rare thing since his nanites usually made adjustments like those to his BP. He knew he was frustrated by a number of things. His temper was growing shorter and getting the better of him, which exasperated the situation further.

  Ordinarily Protector or Proteus would have adjusted his BP and administered measures to stop the headache. He checked as he made the adjustments manually. Protector was in a conference and Proteus was in a class.

  The dumb A.I. had come a long way since he'd been first envisioned as an engineering tool and design aide, he thought. He checked the class—Theoretical Engineering System Design. He nodded, appropriate given the A.I.'s core programming. Next on his schedule were Engineering Diagnostics and Repair 101, also appropriate. Apparently Proteus had stretched himself, but stuck to his roots in the process. Probably a good thing, he thought, envisioning the silver blob trying to teach history or math.

  He was tempted to play hookey. To audit the class just to see the reactions of the students. He wouldn't mind being a fly on the wall but it wouldn't be worth it. What he'd wanted to see had already transpired, the student's initial reactions to the novel experience of having an A.I. and silver holographic blob as t
heir instruction. The hands-on must be interesting he mused.

  He shook his head. Did they have trouble with their digestive tracts when Proteus got moving too much? He snorted at the whimsical thought. It was so fascinating to see their reaction to what he took for granted. The wonder was … good for him. Unfortunately, it was in the middle of the semester. He made a note to check at the beginning days of the next semester if he had the time.

  To see that wonder … it was refreshing. Everything new for people like them but yet old. He noted the students were both young and old. He nodded. Good.

  Slightly reinvigorated by the momentary distraction, he took a deep breath and then went to work on the next project.

  :::{)(}:::

  The admiral read the morning news brief and nodded in appreciation as he took a sip of coffee. Pelican, the Moth class freighter he'd been on board briefly during his travels with Io 11 had finally turned up in Triang of all places. He shook his head. It had taken them over a decade to get from Avalon to Triang. He sat back and whistled softly to himself. It had taken them nearly thirteen years to jump a measly four star systems! They'd spent three whole years in hyper going from Senka to Triang! He shook his head. The mind boggled at such traveling at such a slow plodding pace! Their itinerary said they'd made long layovers in orbit of New Texas and Syntia's World... he frowned thoughtfully and did the math. It didn't add up. Wherever they were, they weren't talking about it either, he noticed. He tried to put the thought out of his mind for the moment. He checked who was on Pelican.

  ...And found of course Captain Albright was still in charge. He and his Chief Engineer Garth had tagged the admiral's name and were trading on it with the Triang people. Along the way they'd picked up news of the new federation and some of the things the navy did. And he'd put in a request with the naval station in Triang for his ship to be repaired and upgraded. He'd also put out ads that his ship could haul cargo cheap.