by Chris Hechtl
“Exactly!” Malwin said excitedly, turning until the harness forced him back into his seat. “I've been keeping an eye on her recently. She's damn good, Lewis, damn good. She's what we need in the yard and R&D. You realize she's doing both? And she's doing her own research and design at home on the side? I had Sabina look into it.”
“Interesting,” Lewis said in a different tone of voice. “She's the Varbossa version of Vinatelli?”
“Well, she has a long way to go before she's at his genius level. But, she's a synergist. Did you see how she pulled those concepts seemingly out of thin air?”
“I did. Anyone can brainstorm, Malwin; it's getting it right that matters. Idea pitching is easy.”
“I know. But, I bet you she could execute her ideas fast. I want to fast track her for the yard.”
“You are thinking of sneaking her on the next board early?” Lewis asked. “Do you owe her family a favor?”
“No, it's not about that believe it or not. It's about what is good for the service. I think she's good for the service and the empire.”
“It doesn't hurt that she's good looking too,” Lewis said.
“Again, missing the point. I think we should implement some of her ideas.”
“I think the other yard managers are leaving the little details to the individual crews already. That her people aren't and yet are matching them is surprising,” Lewis said slowly.
“Agreed. I've seen her record. Her people have the lowest amount of problems in all of the yards. She is on top of them, not lazy. She nips things in the bud before they become big problems. She's also taught her people that and it's stuck so far. That's a good thing. BuSchools likes her. I think she's right though. We can get BUSHIPS to set up kits for them to finish installs. Good training. They have to learn to run the maintenance on the equipment anyway, right?”
Lewis nodded slowly. Malwin had a point. Besides, clearing the ships out a week or so early would speed up the schedule that much more, allowing the yard dogs to get in more ships and get to the truly critical repairs that mattered. Fit and finish details could wait. “Agreed.”
“Her point about the smaller ships is also valid,” Malwin mused. “The problem is we can shotgun a whole lot more of them through the smaller yards faster than the larger ships.”
“But, it's the bigger ships that matter in fleet engagements,” his chief of staff reminded him.
“Agreed,” Malwin replied absently. “What I'm thinking is we send the smaller ships and kits to Garth. Anything smaller than a cruiser that is waiting. Duchess Tucket will have fun sorting them out and getting them into shape. The crews can also take hand in the work. That will clear a lot of the work here.”
“That plan is interesting, but we don't know what sort of capacity the Garth yard can handle. We sent workers, we didn't send equipment to refurbish it or update it. We've never actually built anything at the yard though,” Lewis murmured as his right hand lifted off his knee to rub his chin in thought. “I think it could work. It would put them closer to the action.”
“We don't have to send many all at once; I don't want her people overwhelmed.”
“Agreed.”
“I still want to see the captain's idea in writing. She might have a few things our staffs might miss,” Malwin said.
:::{)(}:::
Ahab grimaced as he noticed the stream of ships that were being sent out as reinforcements. Most of the ships were going out in pairs every few days. There were a few supply ships too. To date nothing above a heavy cruiser had been dispatched. Recently they had started sending Gather ships that had yet to be refitted to Garth. He knew it was to get more ships near the front, but it rankled for those ships to have sat in the system for months, some years waiting for their chance at a refit only to be finally directed to Garth. They could have done that years ago, he groused internally.
Ah, but they hadn't. Garth's yard had been stripped and shut down until only recently. Pity about that.
What bothered him even more was that those ships wouldn't get the full refit treatment. Other ships were getting torn down to the frame and then rebuilt. Those rebuilds took time, months, in some cases years to perform correctly.
The ships going to Garth were going to get a slapdash treatment. Swap out components they could, clean them up, and then send them to the front. They were going in with limited training in fleet actions as well. Against well-armed, apparently well-trained opponents. He shook his head in irritation over that. What vexed him the most was that there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
They had plenty of freighters to draw on for use from mothballs. The majority of them hadn't been upgraded, however, so they would go at their own pace. They were drawing down the stockpiled supplies in the star system however. It was also playing merry hell with the logistics pipeline to the various yards. Some of the parts being shipped out were old civilian grade hardware. He wasn't certain what Glennis or Cyrano would make of that.
:::{)(}:::
The courier exited hyperspace in a starship's usual flair. Catherine was near the bridge when she heard sudden cursing. It died suddenly. She glanced in to the bridge to see the view screen and the fortresses and picket beyond. She frowned until the captain snarled about lanes.
“What is going on?” she asked softly.
He turned to look over his shoulder to her. “Sorry, ma'am. The jump point has inbound and outbound lanes but someone was in the wrong lane. It was close.”
She paled noticeably at that news.
“But we're okay now,” he said hastily. “And we've transmitted our IFF,” he said.
Her ears thundered with a blood rush as fear rushed through her system. She managed to get it under control and give a short, choppy nod. “Well, it would suck to die this close to home,” she said in gallows humor.
“I'd just as soon not die at all, ma'am,” he replied as he turned back to the view screen.
“Let me know when we're going to dock,” she ordered.
“Of course, ma'am,” he replied absently as his fingers flicked over his tablet.
“Course through the minefield has been confirmed,” the navigator said as Catherine retreated. She hesitated, remembering her recent joke but then forced herself to continue on her way. She had calls to make and preparations to begin.
:::{)(}:::
Catherine watched impatiently as the courier made its way through the star system over the course of three days. It took time, precious time, but time well spent in other ways. She did her best to make contact with everyone she could think of that could be an ally, priming the pump for what was to come. She thought of it in some ways as the battle for her life, if not for the empire.
That meant she had to get it right, first time without any slips. She also needed desperately to keep the wolves from tearing into her. And keeping the suck ups at bay would help keep the family happy or at least less suspicious of her for the time being.
Along the way her courier had passed two familiar ships. She had been grateful to have passed the two battered destroyers on their back way in to the empire one jump back, along with the reported sightings of ion trails and two warships going in the other direction. According to the news she had picked up, Malwin and Theo were doing their best to deploy ships to reinforce Garth and Dead Drop despite her father's paranoia.
She needed to press home the importance of that. That the battle had been real, that the threat was very real. He needed to understand it wasn't some trick to split the fleet and push him and the family off the throne.
She wasn't surprised by some of the warnings she had received. She had gamed it out and had come to the conclusion that she would be forced to defend Admiral De Gaulte in order to defend herself and the Empire. It was the only clear path forward. In order for them to succeed they had to have Cyrano there, defending the Empire. He might very well die out there. In fact, he could be dead already. She bit her lip ever so slightly at the traitorous thought. But, either way
he needed support. More than what was being sent, that much was plain.
Getting that through some thick heads was going to take a lot of work she thought, wondering if she was up for the challenge. Hopefully. Marina and the others hadn't responded to her entrees, so she wasn't certain how much support she could draw on from her and the Stuart family.
She shook her head. She had already received no less than ten marriage proposals since she had arrived in the star system. It was ridiculous! Didn't they have other things to consider? And two of the prospective suitors had come to blows over her honor! She knew they were only after her for power and prestige, but it rankled her.
“Focus people,” she murmured to herself as the courier made its final docking arrangements with Command 1.
:::{)(}:::
Elvira heard about the princess's return and saw the media coverage. What surprised her was that the coverage had started to blow up, to inflate with anticipation, innuendo, and every sort of talking head imaginable. The spin was on for some. She couldn't make heads of tails of any of it. Eventually, she got tired of the feed and turned it off.
:::{)(}:::
“So, she's here? Should we be doing jumps for joy?” Marina Stuart demanded as she stared at herself in the mirror. She liked to wear black when she chose to do so. Wearing it because her husband was dead bothered her.
“We knew it was a risk sending all three out for glory. They did too. They were full of life, all of them volunteered for glory. They got a bit more than they bargained for I admit. To get one back after what they went through is something of a blessing I suppose,” Irazabeth murmured.
Marina's eyes cut to her. “If you say so, Mother,” she said softly. Technically, they were no longer related. She was testing the waters. She was certain Irazabeth was hanging onto her as an ally for the future. “Please forgive me for wishing the one who had come back was my Adam however,” she replied with an artful sniff.
“It has made the line of succession rather interesting all of a sudden. The field has narrowed a bit,” Irazabeth said bluntly, clapping her hands together and then rocking slightly as if in amusement by the idea. She leaned forward and looked at her shoes and then up to her guest.
“I doubt Pyotr is concerned with the succession. He can always make more babies after all. Besides, he has regen therapies to rely on,” Marina said acidly.
Irazabeth nodded. She was aware that Jezebel had some work done. She herself had some basic regen therapies but nothing overt. Just enough to maintain some of her youth to keep her lock on Pyotr. Not that she wasn't aware that he was sleeping around. They both were doing that.
“True enough. His family has used them more than most. Many of the ruling families have, but they've been—discrete about doing so. One tends to get jealous or annoyed when there are no signs of upward mobility,” Irazabeth said whimsically. In truth she had mixed feelings about the entire situation. On the one hand, she didn't mind the loss of the princes. It put her two children two steps closer to the throne. On the other she was not thrilled that it had happened like it had. It had been outside of her control. She also wasn't certain either prince was dead; after all, there was no bodies to confirm it. Just the idea that one of them might have survived could undermine future bids for some time to come. They could also invite pretenders, though a simple genetic test would rule them out.
Unless someone had a gene sample of one of the princes? She didn't like that idea. A clone pretender, a puppet? She shook herself mentally, forcing herself back to the here and now. She needed to focus.
“How do we deal with her?” Marina demanded. “To look in her eyes knowing she was safe on the dreadnought while her brothers died?”
“She was the smart one. She always took the long game,” Irazabeth said with a shrug. “Catherine has focused on her career and wasn't out for glory like the boys. She was smart in that way.”
“Now what do we do? Do we support her as the heir?”
“We have to. We have to have unity and solidarity in the family,” Irazabeth said, meeting Marina's eyes with her own and locking onto them harshly. “We can't afford any games—not now.”
Marina swallowed and then nodded, eyes arrested by the other woman's sudden intensity.
“Still,” Irazabeth rose from her chair. “Catherine is a big girl and a naval officer. I doubt she'll go out again into combat, but then again, you never know. She might answer the call,” she said.
“But …”
“I meant what I said. We need to pull together to win this.”
“And Pyotr? He hasn't exactly been helpful,” Marina ventured carefully.
“No, he hasn't,” Irazabeth said as she turned and leaned her hips against the counter. “It's partially paranoia; he didn't want the boys to get the glory. And he didn't want our dear prime minister to get his claws on any additional ships.” Both women smiled dyspeptically at that thought. They had the duke and duchess's number pegged. “I was easing him, but I think I need to get him marshaling the forces and out ahead of this,” Irazabeth said, crossing her arms and then running a hand through her bangs. She turned and finger combed her hair and then checked her makeup. “He takes such careful handling,” she sighed. “How do I look?”
“Quite well, Mother,” Marina murmured with a nod as Irazabeth reached out and dropped her black veil of mourning. Marina hid a grimace but curtsied slightly.
“Come along then. Let's represent the family and welcome the princess back into the fold,” Irazabeth said as she gathered up a stole and walked out with a flick of her hair. Marina nodded and followed.
:::{)(}:::
This should be interesting,” Malwin said with a shake of his head as he scanned the report from the princess. He looked out the rain-streaked window and then over to the fireplace with the raging fire and then finally to Theo. “Is she going to testify before the House of Lords?” he asked, turning to the minister of war.
“Eventually, yes. She is supposed to do so in a closed session. We've got dibs though of course,” Theo replied. “After us is Imperial Intelligence.”
“Of course.”
“I understand his majesty will be on hand for the initial interview. I judged him as … moody,” Theo said with a grimace.
“Oh, that's just peachy,” the praetor snarled as he shook his head. “Frack.” He downed his drink angrily, then threw it into the fireplace. The residual alcohol flared the fire up ever so briefly.
“My sentiments exactly,” Theo murmured as he downed his own drink.
:::{)(}:::
Catherine rounded a corner in the Admiralty and swore under her breath as a gaggle of reporters confronted her. That they'd been able to get in to the normally secure facility bothered the hell out of her, especially now. She had a single escort, an aide, and no security since they were in Admiralty proper. She rather regretted making a show of her commander persona over her crown princess one. Apparently, that had backfired, she thought in a corner of her mind.
But, it was a gaggle of reporters and not an assassin. That was the good news. The questions they were shooting at her the moment she came into sight were the bad news; they were just as dangerous as shots fired at her. Perhaps more so. “Princess! Princess! A word if you may …”
“I don't have a lot of time, folks,” she said patiently. She noted two of the reporters were from INN, Imperial News Network. Undoubtedly, they'd pulled a lot of strings to get there.
“Just a quick series of questions, Your Majesty. Is it good to be home?”
“Normally, yes.”
“Are you looking forward to relaxing and catching up on past pursuits?” another reporter demanded.
“No,” her eyes narrowed. “I can't waste time on frivolous pursuits at the moment. We are in a dire situation. The Empire needs to pull together and focus as never before. If we don't, the aliens will be here and the Empire will be gone. I for one don't want that to happen.”
The reporters were a bit taken aback by her fier
ceness. She brushed past them and then down the corridor. Her guide smoothly blocked the reporters from following as he closed the doors to the anteroom behind her. He turned and quietly demurred any further questions as a group of no nonsense imperial security guards arrived on the scene to get rid of them.
“What the hell do you think you are doing talking to the press?” a familiar voice snarled at her as she entered the inner conference room.
“Nice to hear you too, Father,” she murmured, making a show of curtsying to the emperor as she entered the room. “I didn't plan it. I'm not happy about how they got through security. Maybe you should be taking your ire on whoever let it happen,” she riposted.
His eyes narrowed dangerously.
“She did a good job despite being ambushed,” Theo interjected. “Shall we?” he asked, indicating the seats around the table.
Catherine had the opportunity to note the others in the room. The prime minister was there along with all three of the praetors, the minister of war, Countess Newberry, the minister of security, and a couple other familiar faces. She didn't recognize the stenographer in the corner. She was surprised that they wanted a witness to the proceedings. Hopefully, the little mousy man knew just how much his neck was on the line. More than one person could want his head if it came to blows.
“Tea? Coffee?” a steward offered. She demurred, but the others put their orders in. She took her indicated seat and did her best to settle herself. She'd wanted to go to the head one last time but apparently that was out of the question.
Her training would allow her to hold it, but she knew things were going to be rough. And they'd deliberately set her up like this to keep her off balance she noted. She superstitiously checked the others as they settled themselves. She wondered whose brainstorm it was and which of them had arranged to have her ambushed like that.
“You had a good message,” Malwin said. “We need to focus and pull together. I've been pushing that too.”
“We all have lately,” Theo stated with a nod of support.