by Chris Hechtl
“Yes, Doctor,” she replied again as he walked off. She frowned, tempted to stick her tongue out at his back but decided against it. It wouldn't be prudent and the man seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.
She continued to frown as she watched the kids playing. She couldn't just walk in and shut it off; that would be a dead giveaway that they were doing something the doctor didn't want, which would cause problems with their conditioning. And the good doctor hadn't considered it; he'd just dumped it in her lap. Perhaps an engineering malfunction? She frowned. Perhaps with one, she thought with a nod. The other … it would have to wait. The surfing she thought as she saw a young fishman take a header off the boogie board he'd been riding. She winced. There was something to be said there she thought as the fishman was picked up by the wave and casually thrown back into the pool behind the surfing area. She nodded. Yes, a little subtle sabotage, blame it on the salt corrosion … That would work she thought.
But they could keep the water slide. At least until the doctor took note again.
:::{)(}:::
It took several days for the ship to travel to the Garth jump point. The bridge watch and techs took that time to get the kinks out of the grav tank and realign the sensors for optimal efficiency.
Admiral von Berk had spent a great deal of that time convincing the dubious skipper that it would be worth the extra effort once he saw how fast and efficient the water dwellers made his ship in hyperspace.
When it was her time to start the first shift and jump them into hyperspace, Doctor Milgram met her at her quarters. She was nervous but not unduly so. She'd done it before, and she loved the god sea. It was a treat, even better than swimming in water. It was also her duty to the empire to fly the ships, and she wanted to do it to please the doctor and admiral.
She smiled briefly as the doctor looked her over. “Ready, my dear?” he asked as he indicated she should precede them. “Ladies first,” he said.
Her smile briefly widened as she stepped in front of him with a slight curtsy. “Thank you, Doctor,” she said.
They made their way silently through the ship to the bridge. She realized the ship was quite large and rather splendidly outfitted in some places, what with brass fixtures and fittings and real wood inlay. She would have liked to have lingered at the sights, but the doctor urged her on, which triggered a sense of guilt about dawdling and taking up so much of the doctor's time. After all, he had the others to look after as well, she reminded herself.
When they stepped onto the spartan bridge, she nodded, all smiles as her eyes lit on the grav tank. Out of the corner of her eyes though she saw the cool looks of … disdain from the crew. They bothered her distantly, though she wasn't certain as to why.
When she saw the gruff-bearded captain eye her, she cringed internally. But he didn't talk to her; he just turned to the doctor. “This had better be worth it, Doctor,” he growled.
“It is. You'll see in a moment,” the doctor said smoothly as he eased his charge past the dark brooding looks and over to the grav tank next to the helm. The bridge was tight quarters before the addition of the grav tank, even more so with it there. But there hadn't been any other place to put it, not and still tie into the ship's system and for the helmsperson to be under constant watch of the bridge crew.
“I had hoped to have gotten you wireless implants, my dear, but that will have to wait,” the doctor said as he started to make the connections to her suit. She held her arms out and waited passively as he hooked up the monitoring equipment. “All set,” he said with a smile.
“Remember, she's a transport, not a warship, so take it easy with her. Mind her limitations and her age,” the Doctor told her.
“I'll do my best, sir,” she said dubiously. She was determined to try, but she didn't want to cause any problems for the doctor.
“We've only got civilian grade sensors so don't push it,” the captain warned.
“I'll try not to, sir,” Mara said with a nod his way.
“I know, dear,” the doctor said with a sympathetic smile as Mara was prepped for her position in the grav tank. “Did you thank the admiral and Commander Roushou for securing the fish and sea food? They did their best to make certain it was as fresh as possible,” he said.
“No, I need to do that,” Mara said, rubbing her arm in sudden discomfort.
“I'll pass along your thanks then,” the doctor said as he helped place her headset on her. “And if you do a good job that will be all the thanks the admiral needs. Comfortable?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, sir,” she said as she let go of the side of the tank and drifted to the center. “I'm ready, sir,” she said blindly.
“Very well. You're in good hands, Mara. Take us home,” he said.
“Yes, Doctor,” the woman said as she took over the helm.
:::{)(}:::
Two weeks after Admiral von Berk's departure, the Retribution courier arrived in Dead Drop with news of the battle of B-97a. It also carried news that wounded ships would be following in its wake.
Initial elation over the unexpected victory changed to concern and then consternation over the damage that had been reported. The news that seven ships had been destroyed outright came as a blow as did the news that Cat Scratch, one of the ships Admiral De Gaulte had commandeered in the star system, was one of those ships.
Commander Abernly also felt concern when he put that news with the prior report of cracks in the ship's structures. Would that be a factor in future battles? What about just moving around from star system to star system? Or traveling around Dead Drop? He wasn't certain but ordered an engineering check of all ships that came to the star system. He had no intention of getting in trouble if one of them failed.
His happiness over scoring Ma Deuce had long faded. The Cutlass class destroyer was old and had the damn cracks. She was taking up the entire slip for an inordinate amount of time to get sorted out.
His mood was even lower after he got the courier turned around and sent out as well as the convoy. He wasn't at all happy about losing the ships and personnel. They had strict orders to stop in B-97A and go no further until the courier brought back word of safe passage. If they didn't receive word within a set window, they were to return to Dead Drop.
Chapter 20
The Horathian Empire received word of the engineering problems with the Retribution Fleet when the first of Admiral De Gaulte's courier message packets made its way into the star system aboard the monthly courier from Garth.
The crack warning hit the praetor's office like a blow. It was something that had happened on his watch and at a very bad time. A time when someone somewhere should have seen it, especially with all the refits currently underway.
Admiral Cartwright quickly ordered a check of all ships and an investigation as to why they hadn't been seen before. Within hours his office received tentative replies back that some cracks had been found. He cursed. He cursed the refit teams more. He was so tempted to find someone to ball out or execute. Oh so tempted, but he couldn't at the time.
Instead he ordered a complete strip down during the overhaul process. The work crews were to scan all of the structural beams, even the hard to reach ones. Admiral Post shook his head as he came unceremoniously into the praetor's office. “Kicking over ant hills, Malwin? You know that's not going to go over good. And I bet BUSHIPS is going to shit a brick when they see how badly you're going to throw the refit time table off.”
Malwin worked his jaw as he looked away from the OPS officer. “So be it.”
“The emperor won't like it,” Lewis warned, raising an eyebrow. “Hell, I don't like it. I know it's necessary but damn!” he threw his hands up in despair as he threw himself into a guest chair. “There goes my OPS plans in the crapper!”
“He'll like it even less if we lose a ship. If we haven't already,” Malwin said. “I'm more focused on damage control now and making sure it doesn't get any worse than it already is,” he stated.
“True,” Lewis said uncomfortably
.
“At least the problem is limited to our old salvage. It should have been caught long ago. But it wasn't, so it's on us to fix it. So be it. Get on that.”
The operations officer nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“You can still drill the new construction. Nothing should affect them I hope. We're what, up to the Archer class?” Admiral Cartwright asked.
“The new destroyer class? Yes. It's based on the Arboth, but we pulled one of her dorsal graser turrets for more magazine space.” He left unsaid that it was also because their fusion reactors were still not quite up to federation standards so they couldn't fire all of the ship's energy mounts effectively.
“Good. By the gods of space, it's good to see we've finally got our own home-built designs going into production!” Malwin said with a tired smile. “But heaven help us if any faults are found in them,” he warned.
“Way to puncture a balloon,” Lewis sighed. “You and I both know every class is going to have its share of teething and settling-in issues while it gets its sailing legs under it. We need to keep people from making too much out of common problems.”
“But we also need to make certain they aren't overlooking bigger issues that'll turn around and bite us in the ass.”
“True,” Lewis replied. “I'm curious on how they'll stack up to tell you the truth. We pulled out all the crap for other species in the original Fed specs and tailored the design to just Terrans. We also simplified as much as possible of course. It's been a chore, but according to the bean counters, it should save on material and construction time.”
“Should. And the next up?”
“That's where we're getting some requests for guiding input. Do we want to go with escort carriers or cruisers? What class of cruisers? Now that we've worked out the simplification changes in the Archer class, do we extend them to the new construction of the other classes? That'll mean some design changes that will prevent us from putting them into production. Not that we can right now anyway since the refits and the small ship construction have saturated the home yards. Throw this new crisis in …,” he threw up a hand in disgust.
“I know. The painful thing is, yeah, it's going to play merry hell with our schedules all over the place. But I'm more concerned about what certain parties will say when they get clued in.” Malwin grimaced as he looked at the clock. It was getting late, well past quitting time. He was about ready but he wanted to make certain the investigations were going well before he turned in for the night.
“Not looking forward to tomorrow, I take it?” Lewis asked, smiling with sympathy has he rose in unison with the praetor.
“Now that you mention it, no. For the past several years, I've enjoyed coming in to work damn near every day,” the praetor said as he gathered up his coat and cover. “But ever since this damn federation popped up under our noses, and now this … it sucks.”
“Mom always said if you love what you do it's not really work,” Lewis mused. “Except at times like this when work becomes a bitch,” he said with a smile of sympathy.
Malwin snorted as they exited his office. He nodded to the late night Yeoman.
“Off for the evening, sir?” the Yeoman asked.
“Yes. Dinner then I'll be heading home,” the admiral said as his plain-clothed security escort rose. The duo looked at the vice admiral then instinctively quartered the area around their principle. “Any problems page me,” the praetor ordered.
“Aye aye, sir,” the yeoman said, making a note in the log.
“Well, I hate to be a third wheel, and I know you'll want to spend time with your wife before the crap coming keeps us busy for the next month or two so …,” Lewis smiled.
“Get out of here, you old fart, before I dump it all on you,” Malwin growled.
“Heaven forbid. I'll do my fair share though. This wasn't on your watch. It's just the watch that caught it. And I'll tell others that too,” he said.
Malwin nodded at the show of support. “Good enough. Say hi to Irma.”
“I will. Good evening, sir,” the vice admiral said. He nodded as he exited the outer office.
“Okay, folks; let's get this cavalcade in motion. I've stood up a beautiful woman long enough, don't you think?” Malwin asked as he motioned for the security team to move out.
“Yes, sir,” the lead guard said, taking point ahead of her principle as her partner took up the rear. “Rook moving out,” she murmured into her implants.
:::{)(}:::
Emperor Ramichov heard the report of cracks in the ship structure the following morning during his intelligence briefing. He initially discounted the danger until he received word that Admiral Cartwright had ordered a thorough review and check of the fleet. Several ships had reported problems and were already headed to dock for repairs. When he heard that, he called the praetor in for an accounting.
It wasn't a pleasant experience for the praetor, but one he had been expecting. He hoped and prayed the axe wouldn't fall, but if it did he could shift blame enough for it to fall on someone else's neck. Politics at their level were rather cutthroat, especially with the federation now becoming an increasing concern. They didn't need to open up old wounds or begin in-fighting so he did his best to keep himself in check as he marched through the halls to the emperor's office.
He remained cool as the emperor's guard ran through the usual battery of identification and security checks. He remained taciturn as they went through his attaché case, then released him once more to his guide for the last stretch of halls to the emperor's office.
The fact that the emperor was meeting him in his office told him small hopeful things about how the conversation might go. He knew there would be a bit of finger pointing; he accepted it intellectually at least. But that the man was doing it in the privacy of his office and not in his throne room or on the Senate floor meant hopeful things. Things like the emperor didn't want to escalate the situation nor did he want to humiliate the praetor.
Or it could mean he was about to be asked to resign … or worse, be “disappeared” in an “accident.” The last hadn't happened in nearly a century though so he might be safe. Might, he thought as they made it to the final door and last security check.
“You can go right in. He's expecting you,” the aide murmured softly as she keyed the door open and stepped aside. After he walked in, she closed the door behind him.
He didn't need to look around the office as he entered but did so a little anyway. Not much had changed. It still had the high ceilings and round light green walls, bay windows behind the emperor's desk that were actually simulations since they were over a thousand meters underground. Not many knew that the office the emperor maintained above ground was just for the media … and to trap any potential would-be assassins.
He came to attention in front of the emperor's desk and waited.
And waited. Apparently his majesty wanted to finish reading the report in front of him. He knew the game was childish, but he had to put up with it just the same. His eyes remained above the emperor's bowed head. He idly thought about the simulation, how the techs had created a program to feed the videos from tiny cameras upstairs outside the false office onto the video screens. It was an almost perfect simulation; it just lacked warmth from the sunlight.
And from the emperor himself, he thought as the gray-haired man finally looked up. He sat back as the praetor bowed again. “So, busy night I see.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“I've been reading about it,” the emperor said in a cold, seething tone of voice. “But the report didn't come from your office. Odd that.”
“I wanted to see if it was true before I took it further, Sire. Unfortunately, it is a viable problem,” Admiral Cartwright stated.
“How badly are we talking?”
“That I don't know. I've ordered a review. Some cracks had been found in the past, but a systematic check of every structural beam had never been done.”
“Not on your watch,” the emperor stated snidely. H
is temper was still hard to control, but he was starting to get a handle on it. The fact that Malwin had instantly taken steps to find out the information and rectify the problem without trying to cover it up was helping in that regard. He had a grudging respect for the man.
“I mean never, Sire,” the praetor corrected with a shake of his head. “Not even when these ships were first brought in and refitted, nor in any of their refit cycles. Of that we are now sure of. Why is a big question.”
“Why indeed,” the emperor murmured. He knew Malwin could shift blame only so far, but if the records backed him up … which they could. His people would inform him if any tampering had gone on though. But the admiral wouldn't have brought it up if he wasn't certain of his facts at that point.
“So, is it limited to our capital ships or …?”
“At this point I do not know,” The praetor said, spreading his hands apart. “I've ordered samples of the other classes to be checked, and of course every ship currently getting refitted is going to be scanned from stem to stern. I can think of three reasons why it hadn't been done before. One, it is a labor-intensive, expensive process,” he said. “And two, if found it would mean an expensive fix.” He grimaced. “The third reason his highly speculative, but I believe that our people were a bit, shall we say, overconfident in the material sciences of the federation. The old federation,” he stated.
“I see,” the emperor drawled as he sat back with his elbows on the desk top. He knitted his fingers together. “The question is, where do we go from here? We obviously need someone to explain the situation to the Senate and media.”
Malwin hid a grimace. What he meant was a scapegoat. He didn't like it, but he'd find someone in BUSHIPS if he had to. “If it comes to that, I can have my people work on it. If necessary we'll spoon-feed it to them raw. They won't like it, but at least we caught it now instead of when a disaster struck,” the praetor replied with a shrug. “If you want my resignation …”
“No, I don't think so at this point. I'm a bit concerned with who is running BUSHIPS, but you can look into that,” the emperor said as he put aside the threat of the praetor's replacement. Malwin felt something internal sigh in relief. “Bringing someone else up to speed would take time. Time better spent correcting the problem,” the emperor stated, eying him.