by Chris Hechtl
“Soon,” she murmured, stroking her belly. She got a kick in response. She smiled. Doctor Milgram had told her she couldn't bear all of the children at one time, it would tear her apart. So, they were going to perform an early C-section. The babies would be transferred to a premature ward where artificial uteruses would make sure they finished their development.
She had asked what would become of them and had been told that she was silly for wondering. Of course they would be trained for service in the empire! That was their purpose after all! As was hers, she reminded herself.
She checked the clock and then rose carefully. It took a bit of work to support herself until she was on her feet. Then she waddled through the halls to her assigned simulator. Even though she was pregnant, it didn't excuse her from practicing and maintaining her skills while also training the others.
:::{)(}:::
Doctor Milgram did his best to keep a professional impassive expression as he watched the subjects practice with their implants. Some had protested giving slaves implants, but they would need them. Besides, some of the neural adjustments and especially the pharmacology implant needed to be hardwired into the subjects anyway.
Each of the males had received basic helmsman cybernetic implants to go along with the neural inhibitors and pharmacology implants. The neural inhibitor implants insured their behavior. It had been crushing to lose one of the subjects during the surgical procedure. They had always known they might, he'd made certain to do a full exam to find out just what had gone wrong to learn as much from the mistakes as possible.
Another subject was ill from a series of infections and was in extensive recovery. He wasn't the only one unhappy about that. Doctor Nutelle had expressed his own concerns and had passed on concerns from the administration. Apparently, he was seeing incredible pressure to show results quickly. That explained the fast pace. He'd pointed out repeatedly that moving fast caused its own share of mistakes. Some of them could very well be fatal if not caught.
But, Doctor Nutelle had bowed to pressure from above. They were about to graduate six of the adult male subjects for helm duty. Each would be paired for a single ship. They would work six-hour shifts on, six off around the clock. He was not sure how long their conditioning would hold under such long-term stress. He made another request for periodic upkeep checks.
He also constantly fretted about only having two weeks of tests and the subjects being out of his sight. But, the decision was out of his hands. He had to make the best of it. Two pairs were destined for two special couriers. The remaining two were to be set up in a battle cruiser as a test case.
That had opened up another problem, one that had only just come to their attention when some of the officers on those ships, advised of the changes during refit had protested the mutant's inclusion in their ranks. They had managed to get additional medical personnel that would have to be assigned to each of them to monitor their health. However, the crew had to be trained to interact with the subjects without adding to their stress or potentially breaking their conditioning. He'd stressed often enough that if the subjects broke out or became depressed it could endanger the ship. That hadn't gone over well with the crews; they had renewed their protests and turned up the volume.
But, the Admiralty was ignoring them. He was a little bemused by being in the same boat as the crews. From what he had been told, the battle cruiser was intended for Dead Drop reinforcements. She was destined to lead other ships going out at the same time. The other ships would have to keep up with the better helm team. They would not be able to communicate well in hyper however, so that was a problem for coordination.
He had a feeling his people would leave the others in their wake by the time they got underway.
:::{)(}:::
Two weeks after her arrival, the two crippled destroyers arrived in Horath. The sight of them made the news despite late attempts to censor it. Countess Newberry put a lock on the images of the ships as well as interaction with the crew but a lot of the damage had been done. Social media sites were lit up with speculation and concerns. Many of the military families pressured those they knew to get answers. Not many knew if their loved ones still lived or not.
The sight of the ships and the pressure did do one positive thing; it finally got Emperor Ramichov to act. He authorized additional reinforcements be drawn from the fleet and sent out. He made a speech about it the following day.
“Many of you know by now that we have been at war with a new organization that claims to be the Federation Reborn. We, the true heirs to civilization, dispute this, and we have come to blows over our righteous position. We did well in the initial exchanges but recently suffered a setback. We are moving to rectify the situation decisively. We will crush this rebellion before it spreads further. There can be no doubt over who is the victor in this for it is a battle for the future of the galaxy. We will be victorious!” he thundered with a fist in the air to a standing ovation.
Chapter 29
Dead Drop
The arrival of the reinforcements at the Garth jump point was a very welcome sight to all Horathians in the star system. It meant that they hadn't been forgotten and that someone was paying attention.
Not enough attention to those who knew what they were really up against and were not caught up in the elation and relief of the moment though. Admiral De Gaulte did his best to smile politely as his staff seemed to come out from under the cloud they had labored under. For him he was gratified to see some reinforcements; any was better than none at all. However, he was not thrilled to see just a couple destroyers and cruisers.
Still, Haige was a welcome sight, even if she was small. Within hours of getting their IFF's, Admiral De Gaulte ordered her wing over to Nimitz to form a proper nucleus for the larger carrier and transferred the more questionable fighters to the CEV for the time being. He received protests from Haige's skipper and CAG, but he let Berney deal with the ruffled feathers. When he got a protest from Nimitz's acting CAG, he became exasperated enough to bark. “I don't like to have to explain my orders. I'm not in the habit of allowing them to be questioned,” he said coldly.
“Sorry, sir. It's just …”
“I gave an order, and I expect it to be obeyed. I want Nimitz to be straightened out fast. Haige has a cohesive force on board to use as a nucleus. If you have a problem with my plan, you can take Haige's CAG slot or resign. If you resign, I'll make damn sure you get shot for cowardice. Is that understood?” he demanded.
The CAG wasn't the only one to have wide eyes as his staff stared at him in shock. He leaned closer to the camera. “I asked a question, Lieutenant,” he growled.
The lieutenant realized he was dead serious. He paled and bobbed a nod, Adam's apple working. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Good,” the admiral said as his finger stabbed down to disconnect the channel. He sat back after a moment. Myron was the first to react; the tactical officer began to play with his stylus a bit.
“Sir …?” Berney asked.
“I want Nimitz and Haige sorted out. Once we've got them properly sorted out, I want our excess fighters and any bombers training on any platforms we can throw together. The ships for one, but I want fixed platforms too once we've got enough small craft. Get with Captain Abernly to look into building them now,” he ordered. “Build them or appropriate an orbital warehouse or two if there are any emptied out,” he said.
“I'd rather convert a freighter, sir. The freighter would be mobile,” Myron interceded before Berney or anyone else could say anything.
“Unfortunately, we need them to move cargo,” Commodore Rabideau stated. “It would also tie that ship up for a while to convert them. The repair yard doesn't have the facilities, and unfortunately we don't have enough to industrial capacity to fabricate them here.”
“Understood,” Myron stated. “But having the fighters in a flexible mothership allows us a lot more tactical flexibility. If the enemy jumps further out, the small craft from a fixed platform w
ill not have the range to get to them.”
“Unless we stage them through our larger carriers,” Berney suggested.
“True,” the commodore stated. He had noted that the tactical officer hadn't mentioned the ability to withdraw if necessary. Tactful of him, he thought. “A fixed platform is a sitting duck. Refueling is an issue though; many of the pilots we've got are having problems with basic training. They are … rusty.”
“That's why I want the wing on Nimitz rebuilt under proper leadership this time,” Admiral De Gaulte stated flatly. All eyes turned to him. “I understand there have been four minor and one major accident on the carrier. We can't have that. We definitely can't have that in the face of the enemy; it could be catastrophic,” he warned. More than one person winced as that thought sunk home.
“As for the ship idea, I'm for it. According to the dispatches we received, some reinforcements will be shipped in freighters from the Empire. Many of those ships will be stock without having undergone a refit. They are supposed to get one in Garth or here or at least partial refits,” he said.
More than one person snorted at that idea. Their yard was saturated.
“Write up your proposal and send it to Duchess Tucket. We'll see what her and her people can come up with.”
Myron hesitated and then nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“A problem, Commander?” the admiral asked mildly.
“I'm just … concerned about the duchess and how she'll use the platform, sir. I don't know if we'll see it.”
“We're all on the same side. Hopefully, she knows that. She should know that the further we can fight the enemy the better. We're practically on her doorstep now.”
“Understood, sir.”
:::{)(}:::
Captain Abernly gratified they were finally getting a handle on the repairs. So much so that Admiral De Gaulte had asked for him to begin planning logistics for fixed defenses around the jump point. He wasn't certain where they'd get the warheads or weapons, but he could do something about the basic hardware.
They already had stations in orbit of the planet. His groundside industrial plant kept them supplied with parts and hull plating. Throwing a modular station or two near the jump point was therefore not out of the question. But what for? He frowned at that and wrote an email to the admiral.
It didn't take long to get a response, this one from the admiral's chief of staff. The commander explained in a brief reply that such a station would be useful to stockpile supplies for the growing picket force while also acting as a command and control hub. Satellite platforms saturating the area would allow them better coverage in the case of a sneak invasion.
He needed to talk to the admiral about the defense of the planet. They needed to protect their industrial bread basket as well as the yard and various industrial and transfer stations in the star system. That meant they needed defensive platforms if the admiral wasn't willing to stage the smaller ships in the inner system to act as some sort of reserve.
He felt stupid for not bringing it up sooner, but he broke down the orders and then passed what he had on to Sri and his industrial managers to get started on the various projects. It would take time, but they'd get it done.
:::{)(}:::
Admiral De Gaulte nodded to the commodore and Myron as the two men entered the compartment. “You two have a question or problem?”
“Sir, how did you know?”
“It was written all over your face,” Admiral De Gaulte said dryly. He snorted at the commander's expression. “I suggest you cultivate a better poker face, Commander. What do you need?”
“Sir. We've been considering various scenarios, trying to plan out what the enemy's goals are and how they'll proceed when they attack,” the commodore said, glancing at the commander. “What I'm interested in is something we just thought of.”
“And that is?” the admiral asked before he realized that the commodore had said when they attack, not if. Apparently, the commodore was a realist, unlike some who hoped they'd go back on the offense soon.
“Will they take a page from our playbook and strike the planet? We know they'll wipe out the orbital infrastructure. They did so in Nuevo Madrid as an example. They also did bomb Nuevo Madrid's planet.”
“Now there is an ugly thought,” the admiral said as he sat back and drummed his fingers on the table top. After a moment, of gaming it out he shook his head. “They are bleeding hearts. As you said, they did bomb the planet but they did it from orbit.”
“Yes, sir, but …?” Myron protested. “They could strike from afar as we did in order to force us to divide our forces.”
“It won't work. I won't protect the planet. The yard maybe, but not the planet,” the admiral said coldly.
Myron nodded slowly. “I'm glad you approve,” the admiral said dryly. “Both of you,” he said, noting the commodore's reaction. “What else?”
“I don't believe we should tell Captain Abernly or his people that, sir,” the commodore stated. “I checked; they have no means to defend the planet. The captain is working on parts for simple emergency fighters as well as orbital platforms now, including orbital weapon platforms. I think if we told him he'd want to divert some of those resources for his own defense.”
“And we can't afford the division. Agreed.”
After the two men were dismissed, the admiral sat back and considered his options as he stared out into the cold black void. He didn't like it. He hated it, but it was just one more thing he was going to have to put up with. If push came to shove, he'd have to abandon the star system. His duty was to the empire, not to one planet and star system in it. If the enemy did bomb the planet, he'd live with it.
No, what bothered him was that if they did appear, they'd appear in overwhelming force knowing what he had before. They'd push him out since he wouldn't be able to engage. He'd have to fall back to preserve his force.
That bothered him more than losing the planet. He'd already fallen back several times. He hated it.
:::{)(}:::
B-97a
The Horathian light cruisers Mother-in-Law and Throat Slasher, arrived in the B-97a star system from an unlikely direction, one they hoped the enemy wouldn't expect. It took precious time for their sensors to scan the star system. When the returns were processed by the various CIC departments, the crews of the two ships were relieved to see no sign of the enemy lurking there.
They did, however, find recent ion trails to the next jump point. The two ship captains debated what to do. Their orders were to hit singletons, small ships, couriers, and freighters only. They were not to engage warships, period. That didn't sit well with Mother-in-law's crew. Their motto was a mouthful and written on the hull of the ship—KTAALTGOSSTO. Kill them all and let the gods of space sort them out.
When Captain Bathie had been assigned to Mother-in-law as her division mate, he'd had his own message painted on the stern of his ship. “If you are reading this, you are too close.” Sexual jokes had poured in weeks until he'd had the crew scrub it off.
Reluctantly, they decided to follow their orders for the time being. If they went back to B-97c, they might run into the enemy fleet while trying to flee the star system. Or they could go there to find the wake of the enemy fleet leading right to Dead Drop, cutting them off further.
Reluctantly, the two ships each set up on a jump point and went to silent running. While the crews settled in for the anxious long wait, the captains continued the debate on abandoning their post. That ended when an unexpected arrival came in at the B-95a3 jump point, practically on top of Mother-in-Law. The little ship did not enjoy the visit.
Mother-in-Law managed to get into range quickly and destroyed the little unarmed ship with a single salvo. That was when it really hit them, the importance of their mission.
Each of the captains realized the idea was to cut off the enemy fleet's communications and supply, thus snarling up their offensive and grinding it to a halt to buy the empire time. Captain White thought about it and t
hen put another call in to Throat Slasher. “Look, I'm no hero of the Empire. Neither are you. We'll do what we can. If we can bag a couple ships, all the better. When it gets too hot, we're out of here.”
It took thirty long minutes for the message to get across the solar system and then to get a response. When it came, it was a simple single word. “Agreed.”
“I say, when we do go, we don't even try to go back to Dead Drop. I say we try to sneak in through B-95a3 and then up to Pi sector and then Sigma. It'll allow us to avoid the offense all together,” Captain White said, suddenly excited by the idea. “Hell, we might even bag a couple more along the way while we're at it!” he said.
“We'll see,” Captain Bathie replied repressively.
“You are just a ray of sunshine, aren't you?” Captain White grumbled.
:::{)(}:::
Garth
Glennis was gratified to see a steady stream of ships coming from the empire. Some of the ships were coming in division strength. There was still nothing larger than a heavy cruiser though. They barely had enough parts to keep up with the very basic upgrades needed. Some of the older ships would have to wait until they got a shipment of parts in from Horath.
She stripped out a lot of the cargo from the smaller freighters and turned them around as quickly as she could. The theory was that she could stage them for Captain Lovejoy's larger ships, packing them in if the cargo was destined for Dead Drop.
She sent the freighters back with the material her people had stockpiled on the docks. One of the reasons her family had maneuvered to take Garth was its proximity to the empire proper. They considered Garth a potent core world and had acted accordingly. They had invested heavily in industry and education on the planet, having surplus equipment the Gather Fleet had auctioned to the planet and getting it set up with power plants to run it all had been a tremendous investment. It had finally started to pay off though.