After the admiral had gotten things under control and sent Vulcan out to repair the colonies the colony populations had let loose, dropping their mandatory population controls in favor of expansion into the new life support. Free love, he thought with a wry twist of his lips. Even some of the military personnel had gone along with that, applying for and usually getting permission to marry and have kids.
Last year the unofficial census the media had performed reported the system's population had tripled. Tripled, when up until the admiral's arrival it had been dropping by a few thousand a year as colonies failed or people left... or died at the hands of the corrupt.
With the system economy in the tank more and more people were turning to the military. Some thought of it as a free hand out, a free pass to get an education and pass the time without having to pay taxes. Some were desperate to provide for their children, he could understand that. But those who wanted a free ride were abruptly disabused of such notions when they learned about military discipline and how hard military life was.
They had a few problem cases, people who just thought it was one big joke. The JAG office hadn't been called in for many such cases, a Captain's mast was all it took to sort out the flakes, and a few incidents of hazing had sorted out others. Only the genuine wannabe hard cases and career fuck ups had been stupid enough to push it beyond that. He'd had to sign off on only 3 dishonorable discharges this quarter.
They had something like four, no closer to five percent of the system's active middle class population, somewhere around 45,534 people in uniform right now, and another ten thousand civilian contractors serving as support personnel. Many of these people had families, dependents who weren't in the service and or had children. That made an already complicated situation worse in some ways since San Diego was still up in the air.
The Marines were getting out of hand, they had grown by nearly two hundred percent last year, with another four thousand waiting for the next boot camp cycle. Which was another headache, he thought with a pang. Major Forth and his jarheads were like rabbits. Go forth and multiply was a joke among some of the staff.
John hadn't planned on the focus being on the Marines. He'd wanted a strong navy with a light but growing Marine company on each ship... and more on San Diego. Right now they had almost as many Marines as they did enlisted, it was a problem he hadn't anticipated.
Part of the problem was the way the Marines recruited. Marine recruiting was all inclusive, if you could walk, slither, or crawl they'd take you no matter your education. The navy however was a bit more picky, it had to be. You couldn't have people who knew next to nothing working on something that could kill a lot of people after all! Jarheads, he thought, shaking his head. They really did only know which end of the gun the rounds came out of.
Right now a lot of the recruits were in four categories. The people wanting to get a better education, the ones who wanted to support themselves or their family... those were the better ones, they were ready to listen and in most cases eager to do the job. The dreamers wanting a new and better life with a bit of adventure, and then there were the lay about sods who wanted a free ride without having to actually work. They thought it was just shining a seat with their ass and staring at a console. Free medical care, implants, just kiss the right ass and you're kosher.
The parasites were coming out of the colonies with a vengeance. All thought they'd get their kicks, look pretty, and many thought they would be an admiral in no time. Resentment over how stifled the command structure had become was a problem. Also, after the return of the first Marine Expedition to Agnosta, several people have realized they really could die in the job they were in. That apparently had made the rounds and sobered the worst of them.
A lot of the parasites were people with nowhere else to go. They either signed on out of desperation, or in order to try to con something... or were coerced into doing so after committing some crime.
He really couldn't blame the colonial leaders, the colonies really needed only so many people to run them, the excess needed to do something. Normally they did make work, stuff to keep busy or stuff a droid or drone could do. Or “service work” another growing headache they were going to have to deal with soon.
There wasn't much of a backlash yet against repairing the robots, but there was a tide of resentment for those who didn't have a job and sucked up resources. A colony couldn't afford that, and space colonies like Pyrax even less so. It was no wonder that artists, musicians, and other entertainers were few and far between in Pyrax.
Anvil had its own share or problems, her repairs and restoration had drawn thousands to her to share in her new found wealth. Some had been worthy to stay, but he'd heard a lot of grumbling lately about the refugees. There was a growing transient population on the station. Some were students, they had overtaxed the dorms and were now sleeping in the park or in the halls or hot bunking. Things were getting crowded.
Pyrax had a population that was expanding, with only so many places to expand into. Not many people knew how to make a colony. Sure Capital Colony was supposed to be the showcase, but so far that had turned into a debacle of corruption and overspending. Everyone was looking at the navy to clean up the mess. It wasn't their job!
There were three startup companies that were on the books as colony makers. One company was called just that, colony makers. How original. He liked Sod busters. Unfortunately not one had the industry or ability to actually do the job. Again, dreamers, they can talk the talk, but they can't walk the walk. They can't actually go beyond pretty words on paper.
He rubbed his jaw. No, the more he thought about it the more Agnosta was sounding appealing. It would solve a few of his problems. But it would open up a can of worms with the politicians. He wasn't sure he was ready and willing to deal with them just yet.
There was however, something he could do about the colonies. He'd have to look into it carefully, but maybe he could sell some of their surplus to the 3 start ups, see if they would put it to use and not warehouse it or resale it. He'd have to look into that, he mused.
John had left him in one hell of a lurch here, he knew, in some ways he resented it. This exile a year ago was a problem and an ever growing one the longer John was out of the system. Dealing with Walker, the public, and the various corporations cropping up was getting to be a headache. Spirit of space! Before the Xeno war he'd been a Yeoman himself!
Agnosta had been a bit of a headache. He'd approved the mission, it had sounded like a good way to get some of the Marine equipment tested, get some face time with the colony administers, check on their progress, and maybe get some idea of what had happened to the admiral. Losing a pair of promising Marines hadn't been a part of any of that.
He knew intellectually he was going to lose people from time to time. They'd lost dozens during training, some were washed out, but others had died. Some of the Marines had been wiped out in a training exercise, the infamous 'geyser minefield'.
But for now, he wanted a tour of the yard again. He was a techy at heart, he loved hands on and he'd be damned before he'd let anyone keep him behind a desk anymore than necessary. John, admiral Irons, had had the same feelings. He'd had a bit more discipline in containing his ire and handling the political crap though. But one thing they both agreed on, sometimes it was good to get away, even if it was only for a couple hours. “It's good to be the boss,” he said nodding to his yeoman in passing. The yeoman sighed, knowing his boss was off playing hooky while he was left with the paperwork. “Hold the fort,” Horatio said, nodding as he tucked his cover under one arm and left the administration center.
“Don't forget your appointment at one sir!” the yeoman called, leaning over the desk to see his boss and make sure he got the message. He could have sent an e-mail to the Commander's implants but that would have been overkill. Horatio waved a hand to acknowledge he'd gotten the reminder but didn't look back. He'd get a quick look and then lunch then head back for his conference call with Firefly and the oth
ers at 1.
...*...*...*...*...
“Any word at all on the investigation?” Horatio asked, turning to Firefly. He was starting to regret that kielbasa on a stick he'd had for lunch. He was getting some heart burn despite his implants. Spicy sausage did it to him every time. He loved the stuff but without someone like Shelby around to nag him about his intake he always over indulged.
The AI avatar pursed his lips. “ONI isn't saying anything. They are keeping things tightly compartmentalized until they know more. Either that's because the trail has gone cold or someone high up is leaking information.”
“That's always a good sign,” Horatio sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Your hypothesis?”
“I think they're still trying but they don't know how to ask the right questions and don't have the skills to really do the job. You're all learning on the job so to speak.”
“If we are, the saboteurs in the yard are as well. You'd think they'd slip up.”
He'd heard about Destiny and all the hijinks on that ship. Someone had gotten that virus onto the ship. The virus, the screw ups with the swapped cargo... the list went on and on. So far the Office of Naval Investigations, or ONI had drawn a blank. All the hard suspects involved had either disappeared or had been confirmed as dead. That told him whoever was behind it was playing hard ball. It also tied the sabotage to the swapped cargo.
To be fair, ONI Pyrax was one of the smallest departments in the navy. It had 24 officers and 20 enlisted. They were a bit top heavy with officers, but each was a semi-trained investigator and interrogator. Or so they said. Unfortunately Horatio spent more time on the ops and logistics side of the navy instead of taking a broad interest in things.
Admiral Irons had set up each branch of the navy with a kernel of interested officers and enlisted. He'd turned his AI loose on briefing each, providing them training materials and then for the most part, left them alone to absorb and muddle through their duties, learning on the job when necessary. ONI had cut its teeth for the first time while interrogating the pirate survivors. In fact some still did interrogate them, picking at their stories and trying to tease out new tidbits of intel that had been over looked. Some were showing definite signs of being good at their job.
Which explained their focus, they were focused on exterior threats, the Horathian pirates. Only when the admiral had been exiled had Horatio steered them to keeping an eye on the domestic side of things as well. Their department head was a hard headed former private detective named John Montgomery. He was now first Lieutenant Montgomery, he'd started as an Ensign interviewing the surviving pirates. He'd developed the protocols to do so.
“You'd think that but survival is a powerful motivator, as well as a stress inducer. The ones that couldn't handle it either backed out or transferred or were disposed of. We may never know.”
“I think we can narrow down the suspects right there,” Horatio said, eyes narrowed in thought. He stopped playing with the stylus in his hands and looked at the AI. “Everyone who has worked in the yard and died is a suspect as of now. So is anyone who quit, transferred or disappeared.”
“None have disappeared,” the AI reported. “Do you understand that you've just quadrupled the suspect list?”
“Is that all? Well we have to start somewhere. Tell ONI I want a report. It can be off the books but I want to know something now. They can protect their sources, let them play their games but I want results.”
“I am shooting them a memo now. Done,” Firefly reported.
“Good. I don't like what's going on, what the implications are. We need to get a lid on this. If you can sit in on any of their interviews please let them know.”
“I have Commander but most of it led to dead ends.”
“Most of it?” Horatio pounced, eyes glittering.
“The leads we have generated are still undergoing investigation. They are... thin. Circumstantial and well... third or fourth hand rumors. You said you don't want a witch hunt.”
“If I can't have a body I'll settle for a witch hunt if it will flush out the perps or make them a bit more cautious about playing games. Pass that onto ONI and let the Lieutenant know he better have something for me by the end of the week or I'm going to take a personal hand in things. He doesn't want that, trust me,” he growled.
“Yes Commander.”
Horatio waved a dismissive hand. “Now, what's next?”
“The yard. We were discussing the build schedule...”
The staff looked over the details of the various construction projects and stockpiled gear. They were building everything they could, and anything they couldn't immediately use was stockpiled for later use. They had enough to build a hundred ships of every class, but not the critical components, which was intensely frustrating. “Sir, the latest orbital depot is full. The next one is coming online in a week. Until it is finished materials will have to be stored outside it or elsewhere.”
“Great, that'll be fun. Moving it to and from vacuum.”
“It's work. We've got to keep our people busy and we've got to keep it up. It goes the same for yard growth and the various stations. I want to hit the ground running when we're back on track. Until we learn otherwise we stick to the revised plan.”
“That's a lot of stuff Horatio,” Firefly replied. “Enough to refit second fleet.”
“And it's going to keep growing. We'll turn out a sublight corvette every three months to add to system security.”
“Can we sell off some of the more common components?” Firefly asked. Horatio blinked at him. “I'm talking about life support modules and equipment. General tools, that sort of thing. Also surplus out anything older than a year that we don't need to hang onto. MRE's for instance.”
“An interesting idea. That would free up some of the space in the existing docks and help with our public image.”
“Seems like a lot of make work for the warehouse people.”
“It is and it isn't. I see your point, I don't want to draw too far down though in case of another emergency like the Port-a-Prince solar flare.”
“Good point.”
“But check the records and draw up a plan to sell some of the MRE's and other equipment or trade them for things we need.”
“That's an idea. You know we can't build milspec hardware but I understand Anvil can build some civilian tech we can't. It's civilian grade but something is better than nothing. Like oh, say, fusion reactor parts.”
“Really?”
“It's civilian grade like I said. Same for the EPS conduits. They've got a glut since a recent order was canceled due to the economic downturn.”
“We can certainly look into it.”
...*...*...*...*...
Governor Paul Walker paced in his office. He was a big man now, important. 'Paul the people's man', that was a slogan from his election campaign. 'Governor Paul, the man who could do it all'. The most important man in the system. He was handsome, charismatic, and he knew how to play yes man when someone applied the right influence to him. He had a beautiful wife and 3 children, all of which complimented him and helped him secure his current position.
He was building another office in the capital colony, one more commiseration to his rank and style but it had yet to be completed. For now he was stuck in a former council room until they finally got the damn capital sorted out.
He regretted all the graft that went along with the project now. Sure he'd had his hand in the till, but he hadn't expected it to make much of a difference. Skim a bit here and there and no one would be the wiser. But in assigning jobs to his 'friends' and his 'supporter's he'd created an incredible headache. Cost over runs, lack of supplies, delays, fees for delays... it all snowballed into a tangled knot. And at the center was graft and skimming. Everyone had to have their cut of the profits.
Which was a problem, now there weren't a lot of profits to go around. He sighed, rubbing his brow. This was all her doing, Felicia's. The so called speaker's mess. He could lay it all at
her doorstep, after all, it had been her plan, he'd just signed off on her implementing it. She'd gotten cute with trying to run Irons out of the system, and now this.
No one had expected it, not even him. He should have, he'd been warned he didn't have the keys yet. They hadn't counted on it. Enrique had been kept out of the loop in order to keep him from warning Irons or one of Irons supporters. When the governor of Anvil had found out he'd been livid. When Walker had found out why he'd been livid too.
They hadn't expected or planned on Irons getting the word out. Or in their carefully laid plans falling apart as they had. Oh they'd gotten the desired result, the admiral had left in shame, but he'd dumped them in the crapper right along with him. He'd recorded the entire thing and uploaded and broadcast the entire thing system wide despite their efforts to muzzle him.
After Destiny had left the hue and cry had come from the uneducated masses. Even the industrialists had gotten involved, those who had supported the effort turning their coats. They couldn't confirm anything, but they could scream right along with the rest of the pansies, he thought. Traitors, he thought.
Felicia had been hounded into hiding and out of office, throwing the Pyrax Congress into almost permanent paralyzing recess . The gridlock had hampered any effort to get anything done, and drawn the morale of the system down. Throw in all the contracts that had been delayed or canceled since the admiral and his precious keys were out of their hands and the economy spiraled back down to just slightly above what it had been before the admiral's arrival. The gridlock had lasted until she'd been assassinated, now that she was gone chaos reigned in the congressional chambers.
He wasn't sure how they had done it, how they had found her. He was fairly certain the navy had been involved, after all, their flagship Firefly had been reported nearby. He regretted not being able to tie them to her murder. It aggravated him.
Her death left him in a lurch, for she had been the true architect of their group, her intellect and resources dwarfed his own. She'd been one of the reasons he'd been elected, she'd handpicked him for the job and then sent enough credits his way and tossed him enough cookies in order to win. She'd even arranged a few accidents and scandals to destroy his competition too. She'd made him aware of all her machinations when he'd pulled ahead in the polls. She'd also made it clear to him that if he didn't play ball with her she and her supporters would yank their support in an instant and he'd be in free fall, or at worst, dead.
Jethro: First to Fight Page 3