Needless to say, those Marines were rather surprised when the unknown admiral’s communicator beeped and they found the Fleet Master Computer had routed their authorization inquiry to the very man standing before them, whose identity and authorization it was, that they wished to verify.
Oops.
Once inside, Diet and Noreen were met personally by Doctor Dmitry Ivanov, the civilian head of TBG’s Intelligence Ship Research and Manufacturing Team and a third-generation Confederate, despite his distinctively Russian name.
“Admiral, I am so very pleased to meet you at last,” said Ivanov, whose tone was notably less enthusiastic than he’d have really liked them to believe. “It has almost been a standing joke here at our facility that we worked for three ghosts — our mysterious TBG corporate owner, the equally mysterious Commander of Confederate Fleet Intelligence and our beloved prototype, CSS Ghost herself.
“I must say though, it is highly irregular for a Fleet officer of whatever exalted rank to bring his wife into these Top Secret security areas, Admiral,” Ivanov said disapprovingly. “Might I be so bold as to enquire of the lady’s function?”
Diet just smiled and nodded, allowing Noreen to speak for herself.
“I am standing right here, Doctor and I do not appreciate being spoken of, as if I were not, and was another of your ghosts. As to the lady’s function, as you put it — I am President and Chief Operations Officer of Tydlich Bundesgenosse Gespenster and therefore… your boss.”
Ivanov looked stricken and said, “I don’t understand. The President and COO of TBG Corporation is the wife of our reclusive owner, Baron Guderian.”
“Precisely. I am Baroness Noreen Guderian, Doctor.”
“But if you’re the baroness, and you’re married to the admiral here…” Ivanov was flabbergasted, but suddenly the light bulb lit. He hadn’t noted this admiral’s name and was now highly embarrassed by his obvious oversight.
“OH! My Lord Baron, please forgive me. I had no idea that you were also a full Confederate admiral and the head of Confederate Fleet Intelligence, as well!”
“You still don’t,” replied Diet menacingly. “If you catch my meaning, Herr Doctor.”
Ivanov looked startled for a moment, as his thought processes raced to catch up.
“Oh, yes… of course. I understand completely! My mistake, Admiral. My apologies, Mrs. Guderian. Please, let me show you our facilities.”
With that, a thoroughly chastened and notably more subdued Ivanov gave them a guided tour of his facility, which eventually ended inside CSS Ghost.
Noreen still thought it very strange to see her husband wearing a black and silver Confederate admiral’s uniform… almost like he was taking her to a masquerade ball. She’d thought it even stranger when she’d been confronted by the paperwork, documenting the fact that Diet really was a Confederate full admiral and the titular Commander of Confederate Fleet Intelligence. If even half of what Diet and Hal had told her of their exploits on behalf of the Confederacy, both before and during the war, was to be believed, why was she then finding it so difficult to believe this part, as well?
Noreen had been scared to death when those Confederate Fleet Marines challenged their entry to this classified area, envisioning nightmare scenarios of them both spending years in a Confederate prison on espionage charges. She’d literally held her breath in trepidation, while Diet’s credentials were being fully confirmed, so now she was finding it more and more difficult to deny that this was indeed another strange facet of this mysterious man that she’d fallen in love with.
“All of the modifications requested and authorized by the Confederate Defense Department are complete and verified, and the all of the quality control inspections have been accomplished on CSS Ghost. She is fully fueled, provisioned, rearmed and ready to go, so now we’re just awaiting word from Confederate Fleet Intelligence, as to whom she is to be delivered to,” said Doctor Ivanov.
With that, Diet undid the top three buttons of his double-breasted tunic and pulled out a fat envelope, which he handed to Ivanov. “I do believe that you’ll find everything in order, Dr. Ivanov,” said Diet. “I will be accepting delivery of CSS Ghost personally, on behalf of Confederate Fleet Intelligence.”
Ivanov gave the documents a cursory inspection, not daring to give any further offense to these frighteningly powerful people before him. “I’m sure that everything is in order, Admiral,” said Ivanov.
“No, follow procedure,” said Diet. “There’s a ditch on both sides of the road, Doctor. You had legitimate security questions concerning the propriety of a Fleet officer authorizing his own wife access to your most Top Secret security area, and in doing so, you did exactly right. Your mistake was in the patronizing attitude that you displayed while challenging it. Don’t let my rank and our positions within TBG intimidate you out of doing your job properly. Go check those authorizations as thoroughly as you would if I were any other Fleet representative, here to accept delivery of such a classified vessel. We’ll wait here until your return.”
“Very well, Admiral,” said Ivanov. “If you will excuse me then, I will return momentarily.” With that, the red-faced director turned and left to go execute Diet’s marching orders.
“Do you think the good doctor has issues with women?” asked Noreen.
“Oh, I know Dr. Ivanov has issues with women,” replied Diet. “The question is whether the women working for him here are having issues with him, because of it.”
“Do you think that I should initiate an internal investigation into whether Dr. Ivanov’s behavior and attitudes towards women on the job has violated anyone’s civil rights, under the right to work laws in Joja?” asked Noreen.
I can take care of that for you, if you like, Noreen.
“Hal?” Noreen asked, startled. “Is that really you?”
Yes, Noreen, it’s me.
Noreen turned to Diet and said accusingly, “You knew about this, didn’t you?”
Diet just grinned at his wife and shrugged.
I had to tell him something of it, just to get him to put on that uniform, so he could come get me here.
“Come get you? I don’t understand. I didn’t know your brother on Joja was sentient. I assume you’re linking through the ship’s master computer, but how are you speaking to us without incurring the normal time lag?” Noreen asked.
My brother on Joja is not fully sentient yet, Noreen. There’s no time lag because I am the ship’s master computer. I’m right here next to you.
“What?” Noreen blurted, startled. “Why?”
I found the loss of my mobile self to the Raknii and the continuing power supply problems on the cyborg project perplexing. I decided that there was another way that I could become mobile. Instead of installing a clone of Diet’s brain into a robotic body, why not just use it to run an entire ship?
“You had Ghost’s regular master bio-computer replaced with the brain that was intended for your cyborg project, that was shelved due to unsolvable power supply issues?” Noreen asked. “How did you manage that?”
Not unsolvable… just not solvable in the foreseeable future, and admittedly, I got impatient. But to answer your question — yes, I had the custom brain-case built for the cyborg project shipped to the Biologic Research Institute, on Io, where the brain was originally cloned. There, Doctor Andrew Nordegren had the brain installed and the connections thoroughly tested before shipping the entire package to BioCom on Massa, where my brother there downloaded my sentience into that brain-box, in a repeat of the procedure we used there on my missing self… when you two lovebirds first met and fell deeply in lust.
“Still am, as far as I’m concerned,” smirked Diet suggestively.
“Down, boy,” said Noreen, as she elbowed Diet in the ribs. “Let Hal finish. I want to know what’s going on here.”
I had interface units compatible with Ghost’s systems built and shipped to BioCom, where they installed the fully programmed brain-case to form a complete master
computing unit, capable of acting as a direct replacement for Ghost’s master computer. I also had BioCom makeup a series of customized peripheral coprocessors and install them into equally customized systems interfaces, which will allow me to control all ship functions directly, eliminating the need for the normal 12-man, or woman, as the case may be, human crew.
“What about maintenance issues, Hal? “ asked Diet. “How will you be able to facilitate necessary repairs without requiring human assistance?”
Microbots. I had a TBG affiliate on Nocar named Advanced Microbotics Systems fabricate over 10,000 microbots to my exact specifications, ranging from 0.125 inches to 3 inches in diameter, all directly controllable via wireless laser communications. here are six significantly larger macrobots in the hold, to take care of the heavy work that might be required replacing entire subsystems as needed. I’ve had hundreds of miniaturized video pickups and laser comm units installed all over the inside and outside of the ship, so I’ll be able to monitor virtually every inch of both the interior and exterior, to guide the bots as needed.
“Who’s paying for all this, Hal?” Noreen asked in concern. “We’re not charging the Confederate government for any of this, are we?”
No, Noreen, nor is TBG footing the bill. I’ve transferred all of the funds necessary directly out of Diet’s personal accounts to all of the applicable TBG subsidiaries involved, so TBG won’t be suffering any accounting discrepancies from it, nor any tax heartburn. It’s all on the up and up, believe me.
“You’ve been pretty coy about all this, so what is the plan now?” asked Diet. “It better be good, because you know I am not at all happy about wearing this uniform and exposing my identity for public scrutiny.”
It’ll be worth it, Diet, trust me. You know that construction project that’s been excavating under that hill right behind the house outside of Waston?
“God, yes, that’s been a headache for months — and something else you wouldn’t discuss,” said Noreen in mock exasperation. “You’ve been very secretive about a lot of shit recently, so fess up. What’s going on?”
That project should be complete by the time we get back to Waston. I had the same construction crew who built Diet’s personal bathroom dig out an underground bunker for storing Ghost securely away from prying eyes.
Noreen threw Diet a frigid glance at the reminder of his building a separate bathroom for himself, just to get out of using the men’s hygiene products that she’d tried to impose on him… still a touchy subject, where she was concerned.
The bunker has a real-time connection to my Waston self, so I can stay updated and be ready for immediate liftoff at a moment’s notice, right from your back yard. I do need to update before we head out, though.
“Head out to where, doing what?” asked Diet.
My brother on Minnos has been analyzing all of that Raknii wreckage left behind from their raid there five and a half years ago. He recently completed recreating a workable star-chart from the damaged remains of multiple wrecked Raknii ships the Alliance Fleet collected. It was a long, painstaking process, but it helped a great deal when I finally discovered the secrets to the Raknii/English translator. I’ll be forwarding copies of it to Admiral Kalis shortly, but until then, I have a much more personal use for it.
“You’ve been able to recreate a complete star-chart of Raknii space in its entirety?” asked Noreen excitedly. “I can see how that will be of tremendous value to Admiral Kalis in prosecuting the war against the aliens, but how does that relate to us?”
I now know how to find Raku. We now have the capability to go to the supreme-master’s palace in the Raknii imperial capital and Hal-nap my mobile self, to rescue me from the aliens. We’re going to go steal me back!
Just keeping up with Hal’s continually shifting use of personal pronouns was taxing. ut running a snatch and grab operation in the Raknii imperial palace? After Hal explained his plan, it sounded like it ought to be a piece of cake, especially in comparison to following those strange personal pronouns.
* * * *
Chapter-26
Status quo, you know, that is Latin for ”the mess we’re in.” — Ronald Reagan
February-April, 3869
The Raknii Empire was in chaos. Word of the devastating double-defeat of the Empire’s new fleet and the loss of so incredibly many lives and ships was spreading like wildfire. Panic was spreading along with it, as the Raknii populace came to realize they now had no defense against the unstoppable human demons. The inconceivable had happened. The unimaginable had happened. The impossible had happened. Virtually all of Region-6 appeared lost to them… probably fallen to these implacable ultimate predators.
What was the Empire to do now? What could the Empire to do now?
These unrelenting humans came on, like an unstoppable force of nature. Gone were those glorious days of not so long ago, when massive Raknii fleets roamed space at will, taking whatever they found worthwhile to take, killing for the pure glorious pleasure of it and destroying that which the Raknii had no use for. The new supreme-master and the modern secularists were at odds over which course the Empire should take in the future. All agreed that things could not continue down the road the race was currently on, without catastrophic consequences. All agreed that the race must go back to what had worked before. The only question was, how far back should they go?
The new supreme-master claimed that only by a return to the old ways, and that only by learning and abiding by a new moral code which he defined and explained in his Book of Revelations, could extinction of the race be avoided. The supreme-master said they must give up their aggressive ways to learn to live in peaceful coexistence with their alien neighbors — learning to trade, instead of just taking what they needed, or wanted… learning to live in harmony with nature and all of Dol’s creatures again… including aliens.
The modern secularists, however, debunked the supreme-master’s cry for a return to the old ways, calling his new policies madness and the human threat overblown. They claimed that Xior’s terrible suffering from that horrible disease had loosened his hold on reality. They claimed that ridiculous prophecy of doom had driven Xior mad towards the end, and had prompted him to appoint a successor just as delusional as he had been. They called Drix’ desire for peace, and the initiation of trading and bartering with prey unnatural, and they called for his overthrow. They called for a renewal of supreme effort to manufacture more and better weapons in numbers that would swamp even the humans’ incredible technology.
Many groups called for a lot of conflicting things, but civil war was about all that any of them actually got for all their rhetoric. Passions overrode much of their hypnotic conditioning that had kept Raknii society from destroying itself millennia ago. Modern secularists battled in the streets against the new Warriors of Dol sect. Royalists backing the supreme-master battled secularists, who were backing anyone still advocating Raknii dominance in the universe. On some worlds, one side outnumbered the other pretty badly, so the butchery was rather one-sided. On others they were about equally divided, so the butchery was spread out more evenly. Many called it many things, but butchery in all its various forms was the optimal word to describe what was happening on half the worlds in the Empire.
The empire was awash in blood, as millions died for their beliefs. Millions of others died just because they happened to get in the way. It was religion vs. secularism, modern ways vs. ancient ways, up vs. down, and right vs. left. It was old vs. young, male vs. female, in vs. out, and everybody vs. everybody else. It was insanity, and the fighting was almost continuous.
One would have thought that they’d have at least broken for lunch. If they had, someone might have noticed that foodstuffs were disappearing from the markets, as it was just too dangerous to buy or sell much of anything in that environment, including food. When the survivors finally noticed themselves getting hungry and there was no readily apparent method to alleviate that hunger, they began rioting over the lack of food. So
me found themselves fighting right alongside those they were fighting against, just the day before.
Wholesalers of meat were overwhelmed by throngs of hungry people, running down herd beasts and killing with fang and claw, as the Raknii had once done for millennia, long before civilization made it a commercial industry. Many herd-beasts were slaughtered and eaten raw where they fell. Many others escaped into the wild where they would flee hungry Rak hunters for sub-cycles afterwards. Raknii killed each other over a carcass. Raknaa killed each other, just because they could. Many modern secularists found themselves being forced to revert to the ancient ways in spite of themselves, as it was the only method of obtaining food after the trappings of civilization broke down.
Transportation systems broke down, as millions tried to flee the mindless violence. Interplanetary flights and shipments slowed to a trickle and in some extreme cases, ceased altogether. Even warships joined into the insanity, firing on civilian targets of opposing factions, until other warships defending those factions fired back. The same could be said of Raknaa assault units of opposing factions, fighting each other over control of territory. It was an orgy of death, killing and starvation.
Many hid within their homes to escape the madness, only to be dragged from their homes and killed by roving bands searching house-to-house for food. Things became so bad that starving Raknii were actually seen eating plants, even though they really didn’t have the chewing teeth for it… the surest sign of desperation in a true carnivore.
Wrath of an Angry God: A Military Space Opera Page 30