by Chris Hechtl
“Or you'll lose,” Catherine agreed with a nod. “Always consider your opponent as smart or smarter than you. I remember that saying, sir.” The princess surveyed the audience and then nodded as her eyes returned to the flag officer. “Noted, sir.”
“Good. Now, we have to figure out a way to get in there and kick his furry ass. Preferably without taking so much damage that we'll lose the next fight.”
“That's always the rub, isn't it?” Myron asked with a twist of his lips.
“Yes. Which means we need you to find interesting ways to cover our weaknesses while finding the enemies,” the admiral rumbled.
“Ouch. Tall order but we're working on it. That extra time gave us a lot of skull time. I know you've read the reports,” Myron stated.
The admiral nodded. “I have indeed. Now you,” he turned to Sedrick. “And you can work on a psychological profile of our enemy, Commander. I want to know how he thinks, and you can simulate how he'll react to stimuli based on what we know about him and his past actions. Then we'll plug them into your simulations as the opposing force, Commander, and try it out.”
“We are still having problems with A.I., Admiral,” Sedrick cautioned. “You know the empire has recently banned exploring the field.”
“But we haven't ignored it. We need counter tech to A.I. obviously,” the admiral stated. The spook nodded grudgingly. “And we need A.I. in sims as well as smart systems to run the computers in our ships. Which,” he frowned pensively, “is another advantage the enemy has over us, their A.I..” He turned to the tactical officer. “Another thing to factor into your plans and sims,” he said.
“Aye aye, sir,” Myron stated.
“Good. Get on it,” the admiral ordered by way of dismissal.
:::{)(}:::
Chief Riker exhaled slowly when the board came back all clear. Not all green, that was too much to hope for, but all clear. Star Mauler would live to see another day he thought.
He checked once more and then started his log update before he stepped out of engineering. The extra time the other ships had required to get in order had allowed his people to fix every new crack and make additional repairs on the ones they'd already known about. He smacked his hands together then rubbed them. It was past time he visited the ship's still for a much-needed reward.
:::{)(}:::
“Translation complete. We're holding steady in the seventh octave of Alpha band,” the helmsman reported, looking over her shoulder briefly to the captain and XO.
“Looking good,” Commander Ramichov stated. He looked at the captain. “Skipper?”
“I know. I'll man the fort here. Adam, go check out engineering; make sure they aren't struggling,” the captain ordered.
“Do you think they are, sir?” Prince Adam asked carefully.
The captain grimaced. “I doubt it. Just go check,” he ordered.
“Aye aye, sir,” the XO replied dutifully. He nodded and exited the bridge.
He walked calmly through the companionways, nodding as juniors scurried to get out of his way or flatten themselves against the sides. He did like that juniors had to make ways for seniors. They'd done it through his entire career though. Even the captain occasionally got out of his way.
He stood in the lift car and politely took a step back as a noncom came in with him. The noncom nodded to him. “Going walk-about, sir?”
“Something like that. How is she hanging, Chief?” he asked.
“Still one lower than the other as usual, sir,” the chief replied, cracking a smile. He sobered when the XO didn't respond in kind. “Sorry. We're okay. Potemkin took more hits than we did. Musashi too. I think they're struggling, but I haven't heard anything obviously.”
The prince nodded. Even the chief's phone had its limits he thought. “Anything I should be worried about, Chief?”
The noncom cocked his head as if to consider that then shook his head. “Not that I'm aware of. I'm going to check and make sure the kiddies are doing their jobs on level six. I've heard there is a dice game that keeps cropping up there from time to time. If you could make a pass through on your way back through the back ways just to keep them on their toes …”
That did make the prince crack a smile. “Sure thing, Chief. I always like to spoil someone's fun when they are supposed to be on duty.”
“Thank you, sir,” the chief replied with a nod as the lift pinged. “This is my stop,” he said as the doors opened.
“Dismissed, Chief,” the XO said as the man exited. The doors closed again and he stood there calmly as it moved sideways and then down again towards central engineering country. If the chief believed everything was good, then it was. He could trust that; the man's word was bedrock.
But he was still going to check anyway.
:::{)(}:::
Commander Sedrick Lovato put the last finishing touches on his report or at least, the last for the night he thought as he continued to type. He was fairly confident that the report wouldn't be a nail in Admiral De Gaulte's coffin. It would, however, be potential ammunition for someone back home to second-guess the admiral.
That was Cyrano's problem he thought. He shouldn't have been so eager to close into energy range, he thought as he formalized his conclusions. The admiral himself had pointed it out in two of the hot washes, so it wouldn't come as a surprise to many.
Had the Retribution Fleet sacrificed some of its speed and range, they could have come in at an angle or parallel to the retreating federation fleet. Then the admiral could have opened up with his broadside launchers for a devastating volley.
It was armchair quarterbacking, and well, a stab in the back to his nominal boss, but that was what he had to do as a spy. He took no pleasure in it, he thought as his fingers hovered over the keyboard. After a moment to get back into the groove, his right hand dropped to the mouse. He selected a video file and then linked it to the report. The video was of the relevant speech during the hot wash, potentially damning in some eyes.
Should the admiral ever run for office or attempt to attain higher rank, he knew that the material he had compiled would be used against the man. He shrugged such considerations off.
What did interest him was Catherine's reaction and role in the decision-making process. She hadn't counseled the admiral to hold back and fire their broadside tubes instead. She too had supported his decision to close and try to get as much damage in as possible before the enemy hypered out.
He conveniently left out the counter discussion about how the enemy could have countered the broadside plan by delaying their own jump to open their own tubes up and Herod's entire explanation about how it could have been more devastating for their own forces was “accidentally” deleted.
When he finished up, he hit the enter button with a flourish, then double clicked on save, then dragged and dropped the file into his encrypted archive. He then copied the encrypted file and tucked it into the next courier dispatch log.
Now it was someone else's problem he thought as he rose and flexed his fingers. He glanced at the clock and then yawned. He had thought about going walk-about, but he didn't want to. And as much as he liked his voyeurism in watching the various camera and sound feeds on the ship, he just wasn't in the mood.
He frowned pensively. Besides, the admiral had assigned him more work, to find out the amount of damage they'd inflicted on each ship and what it could mean to her in the future. Also what the enemy could do to repair it would have to factor into that simulation.
He shook his head. He had no clue how to go about that. Herod's off-the-cuff suggestion at starting with the ship class and models of their hits … he frowned as he glanced at the clock again. Finally, he sighed. He had a couple days to get the report in, but he might as well see what he could do with one ship and then see if he could use it as a template for the others.
:::{)(}:::
Prince Mason Ramichov shook his head as he noted Chief Riker's passing. The Marine lieutenant liked the larger ship. Star Mauler was a
nice ship, but all the talk about structural cracks made him leery. He was starting to regret allowing the transfer.
He wasn't certain if his sister or brother had been behind the transfer. He wouldn't put it past either of them to put him on a potentially doomed ship. He was, after all, third in the running for the throne. Dominitia might not be able to play the sweet and innocent princess consort that Marina could, but he knew she was also plotting and planning.
Most likely she was also playing the field while he was gone. He wouldn't put it past her, he thought as he continued his jog. Dominitia was smart enough to keep her machinations low key; neither one of them wanted to appear as a threat on anyone's radar. Such actions tended to have painful and quite possible final outcomes.
No, it was best to bide their time, be the best at what they were, and wait. It didn't come easy though. He was young, full of life, and he was certain he could do things as well as if not better than his older twin siblings. They might have had a longer time to get to where they were, but he intended to play a role in any future administration … whenever their father relinquished the reins of power, either willingly, or more likely, unwillingly.
He fought a smile. “Pried from his father's cold dead fingers” tended to come to mind when he thought about the future. And he knew, that his father knew, that the twins were the biggest threat to his reign. Their positions in the Retribution Fleet … he paused to leap a knee knocker then kept going. Their position, he thought, getting his mental train back on track, to gain glory that he lacked would play well with the public in the future … if it didn't blow up in their face.
If Admiral De Gaulte was forced to withdraw, it wouldn't look good for any of the senior officers involved. He was insulated due to his position in the Marines and his low rank however. So, if the next engagement went south enough to force a retreat, he'd get a small slice of glory while his sister and brother would be tarnished for bungling it.
He could live with that, he thought as his face cracked in a brief grin.
:::{)(}:::
Commodore Eichmann grimaced as he contemplated his second glass of whiskey. It wasn't the taste of home he'd been hoping for, far from it. He checked the label then grunted. Right, he thought, shaking his head, Dead Drop rotgut. Most likely cut with something to double its profit. Most of the hicks there didn't know the difference between paint stripper and real whiskey, he thought. He was almost tempted to consign it to the maintenance department but instead held off.
His liquor cabinet had taken a significant hit. He knew Red would replace the losses eventually, but that was then. He had no intention of going dry until that time, which meant he had to nurse what he had even if it was perilously close to paint stripper. He swirled his glass.
The admiral's brief mention of Admiral von Berk and Fourth Fleet had made him look into the mission a bit more, which had startled him. He'd found an unpleasant connection to himself; his cousin was a major in intelligence and had been assigned to Fourth Fleet.
Was Leuben dead or alive he wondered? Did it matter to him? He wasn't certain. It wasn't like they'd grown up together or been close. Leuben had chosen Marine intelligence as a career over a naval one after all. He had turned himself into something of a black sheep in the family.
He shook his head. It didn't matter. Dead or alive, it was out of his hands, and he most likely wouldn't learn one way or another for some time—perhaps years. It was best to focus on the future.
Admiral De Gaulte's attack on the federation fleet had seemed like the greatest adventure, at least initially. But when he'd seen how brutally efficient the enemy was, how they'd cut through the destroyer screen and obliterated Evan and her squadron … well it hadn't sat well with him. The past week he'd done his best to distract his errant mind from focusing on that. Now that he was in hyper though, he had no refuge from his own thoughts.
Well, one, he thought, looking into the depths of the glass once more. Before he could stop himself he knocked it back and then grimaced as he swallowed the rotgut. “I am going to need to talk to Red. See if the ship's still is better. Gods of space I hope so,” he said weakly, shaking his head as he coughed.
Chapter 18
First Lieutenant Monica Okankwo never felt so grateful at being in a star system, even an empty one until she saw her ship translate out of hyperspace into B-95a3 space in an explosion of light and gravitational waves that alerted everyone in the star system of the visitor. Courier UFDV-010S had arrived and with it news of impending disaster.
“Corgi, transmit our IFF with the first log. Let the picket know right off. Then stand the drive down from hyperspace, secure for subspace, and get us underway.”
“Plotting a least-time course now,” Corgi, the canned A.I. stated.
“Good,” Monica said. She liked her job, she felt a little junior to be a ship's captain, but the courier was hers. She'd never felt comfortable in the academy's tactical track. She'd known once she'd seen her tactical scores that she was destined as a supporting role somewhere. Finding herself in command of a ship though … it was … nice.
She checked her fingers, flexing them. She was tired, they all were. All six of them, they'd flown the little Sojourner class boat's heart out. They could only get faster if they finally took on some antimatter … and swapped her helm and navigator with a pair of water dwellers.
Personally she hoped that never happened. She liked her crew just as they were.
“Ship secure from jump. Course plotted,” Aden reported.
“Then get us to the Protodon jump point, toot sweet,” Monica ordered.
“Aye aye, ma’am. Helm executing course 213 by 42. All speed ahead full,” the PO intoned.
“And we're off,” Monica murmured quietly. Undoubtedly she was going to be barraged with inquiries by the picket once they received her IFF and message. That was to be expected.
She hadn't gotten her reputation as the gossip queen of the academy for nothing after all. But this was a bit of gossip she wished whole heartedly she didn't need to pass on.
:::{)(}:::
Captain Daisy Leon hummed happily as she tossed a tennis ball against a wall. She knew it drove some of her bridge crew nuts. It was a small part of the appeal, but she had to have her kicks.
She noted Bob's wince at the sound of the last bounce near him and so called her little game by catching the ball in her mouth. She then had to get it out of her muzzle, wishing for the umpteenth time she didn't have such a beak of a mouth.
“Ma'am …”
“I'm done,” she said softly.
“It's not that. We've got a hyper footprint at the B-97A jump point. It's a small one, consistent with a courier or small vessel.”
“Well, that's probably not good. Get the SITREP off to Shepard before she calls it in,” she said.
“On its way … and we're getting the same back,” the rating reported.
“Figures,” the captain said. She keyed a comm sequence to Captain Song's ship. “Running late are we, Adam?” she asked mildly.
“Last time I checked it was odds even, Daisy,” he retorted. “We could always look at the logs and compare exactly when they were sent out,” he said.
“Why don't we see who our new caller is,” she retorted.
He raised an eyebrow. “Chicken?”
“No, just hedging my bets and maybe letting you off the hook,” she said. “A courier. See, I still think we should be allowed to have one of us positioned at that jump point. So we could talk to each other.”
“But then we'd get lonely,” Adam mock pouted. Besides, it's … hang on, getting an IFF,” he said.
“We are as well,” Bob said, glancing over his shoulder to the captain.
“She's Courier UFDV-010S. What a mouthful!” Adam said. “Uh oh,” he said, playful tone deserting him.
“What?” Daisy asked, flicking her ears. She read the text then her green eyes met Adam's. “Uh oh indeed.”
“Damn,” he said softly.
&nb
sp; “My sentiments exactly. Bob, let the staff know we're going to have company. Soon,” she said. “Then lay in a comm laser on the courier.”
“She's undoubtedly on the way here, ma'am,” Bob replied. “Hitting her …”
“Then do an omni, get her location, then set up the link, Bob,” Daisy growled.
The rating blinked then nodded. “Aye aye, ma’am,” he said in a crisp tone.
“Good.”
:::{)(}:::
Captain Adam Song of the North Hampton class light cruiser Shepard grimaced when he received his copy of the courier's log and warning message six hours later. It was not news he wanted to read, not when he was going off shift and getting ready for bed. It was news that was likely to haunt him and keep him up all night.
So instead of knocking off, he headed to the ship's small gym. The only way to put the mess out of his mind for the moment was a good, long-hard workout. He grunted as he saw Pericles there as well. “Coming in or going out?” he asked.
“Just got up,” the XO replied with a grunt as he put the weights away. “I read the log. Fracking sucks,” he growled.
“You do have a gift for understatement,” the captain sighed as he went over to the small bathroom and opened his locker. He started to undress but left the door ajar. The XO and a couple of ratings were the only ones in the gym. Most were about to start the shift. “The really sucky thing is, it didn't come with a casualty list,” he said.
“Yeah. That's haunting you isn't it, Skipper?” Pericles asked.
“You could say that,” Adam said as he finished changing into his shorts and tank top. He stretched, trying to work the bugs out. “Which is why I'm here I suppose,” he said.
“Then I'll stop talking about it,” the XO said. “Let you get settled in,” he said as the captain did some stretches then got on the exercise bike for a light warm-up ride.