by Chris Hechtl
Reaction to what could happen. No longer the easy mission they'd thought it was. Need to reassess. She needed to sit down and rethink her plans and work on a possible exit strategy.
Unfortunately, she didn't see one right away.
:::{)(}:::
Chief Engineer Riker exhaled noisily as the grinders were shut off. “Almost got it,” a PO said, wiping sweat from his eyes with his forearm. “Damn it,” he muttered when he noted the slick sweat had a tinge of red in it. “Did I …,” he grimaced when he saw the red lines and smeared blood.
“Get it fixed quick,” the chief engineer said gruffly.
“Sorry, sir,” the PO said.
“Nothing to be sorry about. Just get it cleaned and then get back here. Don't dawdle,” the chief warned.
“Aye, sir,” the PO said, setting his tool down before he took off with one hand clamped over the wound.
“Sparks?” a sailor asked.
“Or he hit a burr somewhere; I'm not sure. It doesn't matter. What matters is getting this done,” the chief replied, pulling his ear plugs out. “And we're almost there. Let this cool a bit, and then we can work on it some more,” he said, adjusting the heat sinks clamped to the metal. He brushed the cable aside as well. The heat sinks drew off the thermal energy that helped to keep it from overheating and potentially warping. Some of the sinks were just that, heat dispensers, but he'd also wisely hooked a couple up to heat exchangers. They didn't provide much power, just enough for a couple fans that cooled the people in the tight confines of the cubby hole and kept them from passing out. There wasn't any duct work into their location after all.
He squinted then snorted. He'd turned a blind eye to the hookups someone had left conveniently in the area too. The power and water lines were not regulation he knew. Most likely for the ship's still he thought happily. Whoever was in charge of it was probably cursing and moving it as they worked.
It was an old game between officers, noncoms, and enlisted. Every ship had one; it was tradition, just like they had some sort of mascot. But regulations said they couldn't have one, so “officially” the officers were supposed to find it and smash it.
He snorted. The very idea! There was a competition between ships on who could brew the best potables. He preferred beer over the rotgut some put out.
He sighed as he rubbed his aching shoulder and then twisted about to work a knot in the small of his back. He knew he was going to feel it for a while but didn't care at the moment. The admiral's speed during the chase had caused more unseen cracks to open up, just as he'd feared. He was behind the problem in some areas. But some were holding for the moment. The engineers were down to three major repairs left on their docket. One of which was a replacement.
The good news was the salvage from the fleet had allowed Goibniu to create a few replacement beams that his crews had wrestled into place. Star Mauler had one left on the factory ship. A shuttle was supposed to pick it up next shift and get it back to them.
The replacements had allowed them to take down some of his patches and turnbuckles and then reuse them in other places where they couldn't pull a beam out of. Some of the cracks were in beams that were impossible to get to without ripping the ship apart.
But they were getting there, slowly. If they only had more time, he thought tiredly, wiping sweat from his brow.
:::{)(}:::
Catherine hesitated before she put the call in. It was a vid chat, one on the family's encrypted frequency. Technically that didn't matter much; she knew her siblings could and probably would record it.
It also meant that the nosy bastard Sedrick could also eavesdrop into their private conversation since he was the head spy of the fleet. Undoubtedly someone in Imperial Intelligence had given him the key codes. She doubted he'd be stupid enough to flaunt his knowledge though. Most likely he'd copy it to his dispatches.
“Katy? What gives?” Mason asked, first to come into the chat. “I know you know we're supposed to be getting ready for the jump soon,” he said then yawned.
“I thought … hold that thought,” she said as Adam logged in. “Good to see you, big brother,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.
“That's Crown Prince big brother,” he said coolly. He crossed his arms in front of the camera. “What's this about? I am busy,” he pointed out, jutting his chin out to show his dominance.
He'd undermined it with crossing his arms, Catherine thought. Grandam would have boxed his ear if she saw it. She probably would anyway, given she undoubtedly saw every conversation they had between each other, she mused.
“We all are actually,” Mason replied, cocking his head. “And I thought in the family we didn't use titles?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
“Normally no,” Catherine said slowly. Mason was their half-brother. He had shown his independence and stupidity in one collective act when he'd chosen to join the Marines over the navy. “And we're supposed to be adult enough to put away childish names and such,” she said. “That whole act your age and be mature thing Gram kept talking to us about,” she said.
“She's not here. We are,” Adam said.
“True. I for one am glad she's not,” Mason interjected. Catherine glanced at his image. He was acting as … well, not a peace maker, that was too much to hope for. But he wasn't immediately on the attack like Adam was.
“I'm glad you are okay,” she said quietly.
“Are you?” Adam asked, eyes narrowing.
“Of course I am! You're my brother, you idiot!” she said, waving a hand in exasperation.
“Who just made the point about name calling?” Mason demanded.
“Look you …,” Adam snarled. “I'm the eldest,” he said cutting his rant off. “I should be the one calling the conferences here,” he growled.
“There you go again, pulling rank,” Mason said, throwing his hands up in mock despair. “We all know you are the eldest; you never let us forget it! Not for an instant!”
“And you shouldn't,” Adam said with a slight simper in his voice.
“Nor will we,” Catherine said. “And yes, I am glad you are okay. Both of you,” she said, her eyes cutting from one image of a brother to the other. “That was too close.”
“If you are trying to get me to stick my foot in my mouth, Katy, …,” Adam said warily.
“I'm admitting the truth. We all came here because we thought it would be easy. We just got our first dose of reality.”
“Some wake-up call,” Mason said, yawning again. “Sorry,” he said, scratching. He began to pull his shirt off.
“Mason, really!” his sister said indignantly, turning from the camera.
“Oh don't be a prude, Katy,” Adam said maliciously.
“She … is she really?” Mason asked.
“Didn't you hear? Our beloved sister is known as the tin-plated bitch. Some say Grams put a chastity belt on her. You know, so we won't have any more competition,” Adam said snidely.
Katy flushed. That wasn't entirely accurate. She'd had the implant procedure to stop her period, but someone had taken that a step further or at least had attempted to do so. The doctors, her new doctor, had undone the damage though.
Or they'd said they had, she thought with a dark corner of her mind. Heaven help them if they hadn't … she thought.
“Look, what's this all about? I need to get a shower and get ready for my shift,” Mason said.
“And I need to do some more rounds here. Not to mention a ton of paperwork to wade through. And are you ever going to finish with the logistics checks and tactical updates? The damn audits alone are a pain in the ass!” Adam snarled. “I swear if I find out you ordered them on purpose …”
“Believe it or not, Adam, I didn't do it to inconvenience you or anyone else. I passed the order on. The admiral wanted a complete inventory down to the last nut and bolt. His words,” Catherine said, clearly nettled by the dig.
She hadn't planned on getting into a pissing contest with her brothers. The path of good int
entions she thought.
“So what is this about?” Adam demanded.
“Family. I finally realized; we're up to our necks in trouble—both as a fleet, as a nation, and as a family. This is my attempt to call it as I see it and …”
“And what?” Mason asked. “You don't think we're going to be all lovey dovey and bury the hatchet, do you? You know we're likely to bury it in each other first the moment our backs are turned!” he said shaking his head.
“I find myself very surprised to actually agree with you on something,” Adam said.
“Thank you … wait,” Mason paused. Adam snorted.
“Damn it, listen to us! We're like three dogs fighting over a bone when a pack of wolves is stalking us! We're in trouble here! This is bigger than any of us!”
“Perhaps. But I don't quite see it that way,” Adam replied stiffly. “You know you and I are at odds. We may be siblings but …”
“We're family. Family trumps just about everything. Keeping the secretary seat and now the throne in our family has been a common goal we've shared for generations. It's only slipped from our hands a few times. Each time we've banded together and wrestled it back.”
“But then the ruling families fell to fighting over who got to take the hot seat,” her brother reminded her. “The infighting has been bad from time to time. We can't have it.”
“If we don't band together, if we can't at least agree to work together towards a common foe, we're going to be torn apart, Adam,” Catherine stated. “You and I both know that. So do you, Mason,” she said looking at their younger brother. “We know how big a threat this federation is.”
Mason nodded once but didn't commit himself to the conversation.
“All I know is that father will not like that we are getting our spurs. That we are going to be perceived as a threat to his rule,” Adam said reluctantly.
“Only if we make ourselves one,” Catherine warned. She too had thought about that. She'd discarded it since she knew their father needed an heir. “As I said, we need to stop the infighting and focus on the threat that is ready to tear us all down. Otherwise, we're just going to help them.”
“I … do follow your logic, Katy,” Adam said after a moment. “I'm not going to stick my neck out obviously. But you are right; we need to focus on the job at hand. I suggest we get back to it,” he said as he cut the connection.
“And you?” Catherine asked, eying her younger brother.
“If you were fishing for allies or looking for Adam to drop his guard, I doubt it worked on either front. If you are calling a truce …,” Mason cocked his head and then shrugged. “I know I'm not in any league compared to you two. I'm the backup to the backup to the backup,” he said, smiling thinly. “And my job isn't exactly safe compared to either of yours,” he pointed out.
“I can … help with that,” she said cautiously. “Mason, we need to watch each other's backs. You know this,” she said, locking eyes with his image.
“All I know is that we have a job to do as our big brother, the crown prince, pointed out. And I'm on shift in an hour, so I'd better get back to getting ready. Even if I'm only standing up a bulkhead right now,” he said with a shrug. “Later, sis,” he said as he reached out and cut the connection.
Catherine frowned as she sat back heavily. She'd extended the olive branch; she'd hoped one or both of them would have taken it. Apparently that was too much to hope for. She glanced at the clock on her HUD and grimaced.
Apparently time for such talk was done for the moment. She needed to be on the bridge in a few hours before they jumped.
:::{)(}:::
“We're ready to jump, Admiral,” Lieutenant Herod stated. He turned to Catherine who nodded and then turned expectantly to their boss.
“Then let's do so,” the admiral stated. “We've delayed long enough,” he growled. His intended three-day wait had been extended twice when he'd received promises of some of the ships being able to squeeze a bit more speed out if they had just a little bit more time. They had supposedly come through; they'd find out in a few hours. They'd damn well better he thought, his three-day delay had turned into a full week and he was past ready to get back on the campaign road. “We have a date to catch and a fight to finish,” he said.
There was a muted growl of agreement from those within the flag bridge, but it settled quickly as they went back to work.
“I'm still struggling with an ape doing this much damage. Irons is traitor to his race and to bring …,” Sedrick stopped when his admiral waved an impatient hand. “Sir?” he asked, tempering his rant into a more respectful tone.
“I keep telling people not to underestimate their opponent. I learned that a long time ago,” the admiral said, looking at the officer then turning to the others. “We've advanced so much but at great cost,” he admitted. “The bigotry has blinded us. It's unfortunate that it became so wide spread.”
“Sir?” Myron asked, clearly alarmed. He glanced at Catherine, and then the intelligence officer. The princess pursed her lips but only shrugged minusculely.
“Does someone make a better officer because he's male? What about eye color? Hair? Skin?” the admiral shook his head. “All stuff and nonsense. What matters is here,” he said, tapping his head. “And here,” he tapped his heart. “And a hell of a lot of here,” he said, pointing down to his waist and crotch. That earned a startled chuckle from his staff. It ended when he flicked his hand for silence.
“As you know I'm far older than you. I actually spent a brief stint in stasis,” the admiral said, smiling slightly. “I suppose I have that in common with Admiral Irons,” he said wryly. The smile froze and then fell as his expression changed. “I remember my training, and more importantly, my trainers,” he said, looking out with eyes to the window nearby. He drummed his fingers on the table edge like he was typing or playing a piano. “My tactical instructor at the academy on Horath was a Neochimp,” he said.
There was a small gasp from his staff at that small bombshell. He smiled a crocked smile. “I see you didn't know that. We've spent a bit of time re-inventing ourselves. Rewriting our history. It wasn't so long ago that aliens and Neos were a part of the fleet. That changed though.”
“They are inferior, sir,” Sedrick said carefully.
“Are they? Perhaps in some ways but not in all. Some have their uses, and they definitely can hold their own when they are pushed into a corner.” The admiral sighed. “I remember Lieutenant Baker and his talks. He was a lieutenant because the bigotry had started and festered. Most of the alien species had seen it or experienced the hatred, and they'd left if they could. He'd made it up to captain before they'd knocked him down. He was one of the last Neo officers in uniform, relegated to training at the academy,” the admiral said.
“They allowed him to continue to serve, sir?” Myron asked curiously.
“He was an outstanding tactical officer, also a patriot. He turned a blind eye to a lot of what was going on around him; when we plebes asked, he refused to answer. I remember …,” he stopped, exhaled slowly. “I remember his last day when MPs came and took him away. He told us it was our duty to stay above the politics, the drama, to think with cool heads and keep our passion for our homeworld without judgment.”
“You've said that before, sir,” Catherine said softly.
The admiral nodded. “I have. Now you know the source.”
“He was taken away?” Myron asked.
“I found out later it was the final purge. He was sent to the gladiator pits. He managed to survive for a while despite his age. He made a name for himself until the people in charge became fearful that he might make their plans backslide. He was pitted against a slew of opponents and eventually thrown into a hopeless battle. He had to fight with one arm tied behind his back, if you can believe it, against four opponents, young men. He fought and killed two of them before he died with honor,” the admiral murmured.
“That's why you don't like the gladiators, sir? Why you won't watc
h it?” Sedrick asked him.
The admiral seemed to settle himself. He nodded. “Yes. Such a waste of talent. The original hatred had been focused on those who hadn't come from the Terran star system. When they had left, the people who'd started it went for anyone different than themselves. Had he been born in the right species …,” he shook his head. “But a couple genes said he was different than the rest of us so he became disposable. Pity. But he's dead, we're not,” he said coming to a decision. “We owe our duty to the living and to the future. We owe our respect to those who have served in the past. We learn from them and their mistakes.” He cocked his head. “Another saying of his.”
“I wish now I could have met him,” Catherine murmured. That seemed to shock some of the staff. “I'm not … completely behind my family's policies. I know a few have … expressed different opinions from time to time. I remember the period of time you mentioned. Some of your fellow students resigned in protest I believe. That was swept under the rug of course.”
Sedrick grimaced. The admiral saw his expression out of the corner of his eye. Undoubtedly the discussion would make it into someone's report sometime soon. So be it.
“One of the things that Irons can draw on is that talent—those different perspectives, and more importantly, manpower. Neos can breed far faster than we can for instance,” the admiral said. “We have one species to man our ships; he has dozens to draw from.”
“But he loses something in coordination and life support, sir. We know how each other thinks,” Myron stated.
“Do we? Sometimes I wonder.” He shrugged.
“The manpower issue … I don't know if anyone has explored that question,” Catherine said slowly. She glanced at Sedrick. He shrugged. “But what is done is done. We can't undo it at this point.”
The admiral nodded. “And it's in the past. We need to focus on the future. So, lesson for today,” he said, rising to his feet. “Don't ever underestimate your opponent. Don't let those bigot blinders lead you into a trap of your own making. Don't let others blind you to the potential of an opponent.”