by Chris Hechtl
Surprisingly, the Centaurian responded within a half hour. “Commander?” she asked, opening a live chat window to the A.I. and then authorizing the A.I. to enter her office.
“Sorry to bother you herd mother, but I believe you know about the ET proposal? I was curious about your thoughts. It is probably what the admiral should have done,” she admitted.
“I understand, and I understand his view point. He went to those closest to him first. I have hesitated on acting on the request because I did not know his reaction … and I was unsure of precedence. Some of my staff is researching it now. I know they've drawn in D'red's staff to some degree as well.”
“I don't think that is the major problem here,” Sprite said carefully. “The problem is control—losing control and oversight. We have to maintain it to some degree, but I do agree we need to loosen some restrictions or we might end up in the same boat we as galactic civilization was in not so long ago during the dark age,” Sprite said.
“True.” Sandra'kall agreed. “But the constriction was a big problem as you pointed out.”
Sprite cocked her head. “I am glad you agree. But those reasons for restrictions remain good ones. How do you propose we find ways to meet the modern demands?”
“Some,” Sandra'kall stated. “We can go over them and find the reasoning for each. That is a lot of work, however. A major endeavor that will draw in others to express their opinion.”
Sprite smiled. “That is what interns are for,” she quipped.
The Centaurian chuckled and then clucked her tongue. “I have plenty in my department now to use and abuse.”
“Good. I've got a few in my own, I suppose we can toss them into a blender and see what they come up with,” Sprite said.
“You humans … sorry. Your human personality programming is bleeding through with the metaphors, Commander,” the Centaurian said, turning her massive head to eye the A.I.'s avatar. “But I see your point.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I believe the restrictions on military hardware are sound and should be left alone. Wiping the slate clean for the patents and unlocking them will help a great deal.”
“Turning them into open source …,” Sprite nodded. “That is the general direction I believe we've been moving in the E-key market,” she observed.
“Agreed. It is past time I believe. I admit I am … not conversant on the restrictions on medical technology,” the Centaurian admitted.
“Some of it is law enforcement. Some of it is safety. I bet a lot of the restrictions have to do with preventing bioterrorism of some sort,” Sprite observed. “You don't want someone with a lab creating something that can wipe out an entire population.”
“Truth,” the Centaurian agreed as she accessed her implants. “Ah, I see. The drug trade is also involved. Fascinating. To restrict recreational substances …”
“Some of which are poisonous if used in excess,” Sprite pointed out.
“Agreed. That is where … ah, I do see tangles. Age of consent … the usage of such materials while using vehicles or machinery … it is quite the tangled web.”
“Correct.”
“So I agree, the attorney general and surgeon general's office will need to be involved in the decision making process,” the Centaurian stated.
“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Sprite said.
:::{)(}:::
Governor Jeff Randall looked out the bay windows of his office then turned back to his wooden desk. His administration was still dealing with various problems on their radar, including fallout from the assassination attempt on Admiral Irons and himself … and more recently, storm damage along the eastern coastline.
He grimaced. Apparently the investigation was over, and the finger pointing had heated up. He was doing his best to remain above the process despite efforts from a few of his political opponents to draw him into it. It wasn't like he'd known it would have happened! But he did feel a little guilty at setting it up. He'd been pressured by a political donor. The investigation had cleared them of wrong doing, but he regretted the lapse in judgment.
The storm was brewing into a different sort of storm, one he didn't like at all, he thought with a grimace. The slow response for emergency crews told him they still had some work to do, some voids to fill.
And some people who just couldn't hack the job. They either needed to be retrained, eased out—if they were politically appointed—or they needed to be fired. Figuring out which was which was a minefield he would rather deal with on Monday he thought, rubbing his brow tiredly.
He looked up at the flash of cloth and motion in the windows. He couldn't help but grin as his daughter smushed her face against the glass and made funny faces. She waved at him to come out to play. She was wearing her yellow dress; her mother would kill her if she got grass stains on it he thought. Which, he noted, she was in the process of doing as her sister tugged her braided pig tail and then tussled with her.
He rose and tucked his shirt in as he grabbed his jacket off the coat rack near the planetary flag.
Since the storm was over and finding out whom to shitcan wasn't critical, he judged even the governor deserved a day to play catch and picnic with his family.
:::{)(}:::
Apparently it was just a week for manufacturing headaches, the admiral thought as he noted the latest problem. It had been a minor one up until a few weeks ago; now it was coming to a head.
A sub manufacturer on Antigua had been taken over by some sort of self-styled marketing guru. The man had promised a major return if he'd been put in the top slot. The board had gone forward with it.
And he'd delivered. But at a price. The company made major small components for a number of industries. Their most lucrative line was in bolts, nuts, cotter pins, snap rings, castle nuts, and other devices. The new CEO had turned into something of a market manipulator. He'd quadrupled the price of those same items overnight. That had set off a fire storm as it had filtered through the various manufacturers downstream. Just about everything was affected.
John frowned thoughtfully. He had no problems with a capitalist system. Enlightened self-interest was why the galaxy worked after all. But he also believed in another creed, moderation. But he also knew that even moderation needed the occasional example of excess in order to inspire or to make people realize why moderation was important.
Antigua Nut and Bolt's competitors had gotten on the band wagon and had matched or raised their own prices to just undercut AN&B's. Apparently Governor Randall had his people on it, but they'd gotten stupid. The original manipulator had hit the government and navy with an inflated bill. That had seen the shipment returned and warehoused. It hadn't quite thrown construction off quite yet. There was a small reserve, but it would soon enough.
JAG investigators as well as lawyers from the Attorney General's Office were descending on the planet. It was the weekend, so they couldn't file briefs with the court until Monday. That was fine; it gave them time to get their shit together Irons thought.
One thing that was going to be settled right off was the government contracts. They had a fixed-price contract that couldn't be voided or altered by either party without consent of both. So screaming to the media about people possibly losing their jobs in order to leverage the government into backing down wasn't going to help his case.
According to Jeff the CEO was on the hook for market manipulation, but since the competition had also stepped in, it was murky waters. Slapping him down and making an example of him was therefore vital.
There was a secondary problem though; one of the competitors had also cut quality control and materials to the bone in order to also enhance their profit margin. Everything was still meeting spec but only by the barest shred of the margin. That simply wouldn't do. Ordinarily one did that to cut cost because the cost of materials or manufacturing was too high. Neither was the case and everyone knew it.
It was a simple cash grab, greed on a grand scale that was threatening to throw a monume
ntal monkey wrench into the system.
Jeff had promised his attorney general was on it, and D'red was also on it from his end. But Irons had another fix in mind, one to help permanently fix the problem or at least for the time being. Eventually one of the manufacturing fish would get big enough to start gulping up the competition.
Can't have that.
So, he attacked the problem from another direction. He ordered his people to explore open bids with the other companies … including the ones out of the star system. He also ordered a production run of equipment for the navy to make the components themselves.
Then, just to be nasty, he'd had Liobat in public affairs type it all up for a Monday news release.
“Let them choke on that,” he murmured with a grin.
Chapter 17
Captain Red O'Shanasae had thought the axe would fall but Commodore Eichmann hadn't said anything. He hadn't forgotten his faux pass, and he was pretty sure the princess wouldn't soon forget either. He knew better than to draw attention to himself by prostrating himself with apologies either.
He did his best to make do. The delays in jumping had allowed his engineers to work some miracles of their own with a little help from Goibniu. Captain Breakthrust had lived up to his ship's Celtic smith god's reputation for hospitality by covering for Daring's repair efforts. Red had no doubt that the man would call the favor in later. If there was a later, he thought. For now, that wasn't his concern.
The engineers hadn't gotten the keel primary engine back, but they had gotten the smaller engines back online and cobbled together something for the port engine. It only fired at 50 percent and overheated fast, but it was better than what they'd had before.
But he knew they had delayed long enough. The flagship had finally signaled it was time to jump and the countdown clock had begun.
:::{)(}:::
Admiral De Gaulte had his staff organize his force. The most damaged ships clustered around the factory ship, occasionally shuttles moved out between them. Once the final stage of repairs was underway he ordered his staff to begin prepping for the jump to B-95a3. “We'll need to work on our formations. Defensive of course,” he said by way of preamble as he opened the morning staff meeting.
“We're still getting a handle on the crack problem, sir. The engineers said they need a few more days. The good news is they are pulling a few of the beams instead of patching them. Just the few they can get to in the allotted time and get out and then in on each ship,” Berney reported.
“Okay …”
“And I know you don't want to leave a ship behind, sir,” Berney said hastily.
The admiral grimaced. While the flagship and her division mate did their best to deal with the cracks, he was well aware that the ships that had taken the most damage were taking advantage of the situation. They were working flat out to make the best of what repairs they could in the allotted time. All of them were well aware that the clock was counting down.
“Any ship that is less than 80 percent gets sent back to Dead Drop. Anyone that can't keep up with the flagship gets left behind to go back to Dead Drop,” the admiral ordered. “Tell them to get with the program. We have a battle to finish.”
“Aye aye, sir. Everyone wants in on this action. They are pulling out all the stops,” Berney said, sounding harried and distracted.
The admiral glanced at his tactical officer then nodded. “Good. See that they keep their noses to the grind stone,” the admiral ordered. He was aware that the repairs were also serving as a distraction. The clash had gone surprisingly in his favor, but he wasn't certain he'd have surprise in his favor again. Definitely not since they knew he was going to come after them eventually.
“Plot a transition zone for the fleet outside the normal one. Far enough out to avoid an obvious trap,” the admiral ordered.
“Aye … yes, sir,” Jeremy said cautiously.
“A problem, Lieutenant?” the admiral asked mildly.
The staff navigational officer grimaced. “It's just dangerous to take the risk of jumping into unknown space, sir.” He flicked his hands. “Too many variables. Even a pebble in the wrong place could be bad. The ships translating in will normally brush them aside, but as our drives go down, the shields won't be at full strength. If there are enough rocks in the way, they'll be kicked with a lot of force potentially right into another ship.”
Catherine frowned thoughtfully. She cocked her head at the admiral. He seemed to be genuinely considering the concern.
Finally, the admiral grimaced then nodded. “We'll risk it. We've had ships through these star systems often enough.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“In the meantime, we need to go over what happened. I want intelligence and the tactical teams to pull everything they've got.” He looked at Myron and then to Sedrick. Both men nodded. “All the sensor feeds. Run them through the computers. I want to pick that battle apart and work out the various players and how much damage we did.”
“For the report to the emperor and admiralty, sir?” Sedrick asked, bobbing a nod.
“Hell with that. Yes, that reminds me, we'll have to send a courier with that report as well.” The admiral grimaced. He only had so many, he was regretting kicking the other one off so quickly. Once they were gone he'd be left with sending tin cans or emptying some of his support ships and sending the empties back. He didn't like either of those options so he had to limit how many and when he sent a courier back.
“I want our people to take a hard look at every ship. Find any weaknesses in their training as well as in their ships. I want a second team to do the same for our own people,” he said, swiveling to face Catherine. “You'll have to oversee both projects, Commander,” he ordered.
The princess nodded dutifully. “Aye, sir.”
“On top of that, I want to game out possible responses the Feds might try to pull in B-95a3. We need to start contingency planning now,” the admiral said stabbing his index finger into the top of the table meaningfully. “I know none of us planned on running into the enemy fleet like we did. I hadn't considered they'd be so big or have gotten in so deeply so quickly. That sort of thing has to stop.”
“Aye, sir.”
“It will probably mean tearing up the plans we and the admiralty had previously made most likely,” he mused, rubbing his chin. He turned to look at Catherine again. “I need that material, Commander; we're going to have to plug it in quickly. Make sure it's solid, not garbage,” he warned, holding a finger up.
She nodded. “Aye aye, sir. No garbage in, no garbage out. Understood. We'll keep it solid. I do want to run assumptions though. I'm leaning to pessimistic now after what we just saw.”
“You do that too,” the admiral ordered with a nod, “if we have time. I know we'll have time in hyper, but you can't transmit much in hyper so get the sensor records now.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
:::{)(}:::
Catherine did her best to appear poised as she listened to Myron, Jeremy, and Sedrick pick apart their engagement for … she frowned, and then shrugged the thought off mentally. She'd lost track of how many times they'd been over it.
And they'd go over it again and again and many times in hyper and then again when they returned home she knew. They couldn't afford to leave any datum unturned or overlooked; the consequences could be bad.
The discussion had settled down into a what-if game again. The latest was if they should have kept the range open and zig zagged across the federation's base vector to open up with their broadsides.
Tactical officer Myron Chekov did his best to pick apart the plan. He had apparently considered the option; he pulled up a simulation and then ran it for them. “As you can see, I did need consider this,” he said.
“No need to be defensive, Myron,” Jeremy said soothingly.
“I'm not,” Myron said, then settled himself. “Sorry. Maybe I am a bit defensive since it's my job here. But I did think it through.” He glanced at Catherine in appeal. She f
licked her fingers and then nodded her chin regally to the simulation.
He cleared his throat, seemed to settle himself and then indicated the plot. After a moment the simulation crept forward then sped up. “As you can see, each time we would have turned broadside on it would have allowed the enemy to do the same. They could also have also slowed their retreat in order to answer in kind.”
“Move and counter move,” Catherine murmured, studying the simulation. She copied it to her tablet then used her fingers on the controls to change the point of view so she could see the firing angles from different points. Myron had highlighted their own firing arcs in blue and the enemy's in red. She agreed with him. She looked up and nodded.
“It's solid,” Jeremy said as well.
“Thank you,” Myron said with a slight head bow. “The conclusion I can draw is that we would have both been hurt a lot worse.”
“And my addition to your conclusion is that it is a clear case of coulda, woulda, shoulda,” Jeremy replied, setting his own tablet down in front of him. “What is done is done. We need to learn from it and move on, not cover our asses,” he said firmly.
“Point,” Myron stated with a nod.
Catherine glanced over to see Sedrick making a note as he surreptitiously pointed the camera built into his tablet at them. Her lips thinned. She knew what he was up to but didn't make any moves to call him on it. It wouldn't do any good in the long run, and any attempt to silence him would just seem like a cover-up.
No, it was best to just put the entire crap behind them as quickly as possible. No doubt the armchair idiots would pick it apart until they were heartily sick of it when they got back to the empire and then the academy professors would do it as well as they trained the next crop of recruits.
That did seem the small bright spot of their analysis. That it was the first major engagement of the empire. It was a draw, but it was the first time the Battle Fleet had fought as a coherent unit and had been blooded in the process.
Hopefully, they'd be able to pass on some of those hard-fought and paid-for lessons on to others, she thought moodily as she crossed her arms.