by Chris Hechtl
The industrialists were the real treasure. They were supplying parts in ever increasing amounts. They weren't quite military spec, not yet at least, but they were getting there. Better still, the medics had installed implants in over ten thousand military officers and over thirty thousand enlisted. Admiral Irons had initialized as many keys of senior officers as he could, usually focusing on engineering or medical officers.
Also, President K'k'R'll and the Republic government had released the tax funds that had been banked. With that to help pay for it all, the economy had taken a turn for the better overnight. They expected the first heavy cruiser to be completed in six months and the first battle cruiser three months after that. Once the industrial plant got its feet under them and the bugs worked out, they could expect the tempo to pick up after that. It would still be at least two years before the first CLV or DN was completed, but they were on their way.
With luck and careful management of their keys and the common parts, the ships shared they would get the schedule turned around and the Republic settled down. The civilian government was solidly in their corner, as was the public, so things were starting to return to normal. They were well behind the schedule he'd set however. He might as well scrap it all and start over from day one he thought as he checked things over one last time.
At the dock, he shook hands with the senior staff and Horatio.
"You deserve a medal for what you went through. Unfortunately, they don't make them for that sort of experience.”
“Pity, maybe they should,” Horatio quipped. He was starting to feel a bit better. He was tired, far more tired than before the trial had ended, but he was more at peace too. It was a good sort of tired, one that came with accomplishments and knowing things were finally right and getting done as they should.
“By the way, I liked your Sargasso Station. Nice job there. You used what you had available," Admiral Irons said with a nod.
"Thank you, sir."
"It's an effective use of material on hand as I said. Very nice. The liner was an excellent choice. If I have time, I want to get a tour of it. I'd love for the media to get a tour with me. They'd get a kick out of it back home."
Horatio was amused. "Yes, sir,” he said as the admiral patted him on the shoulder.
The admiral turned to the assembly and nodded once.
“Sir, the cameras are rolling in five, four …,” Protector stated.
“Attention on deck!” a voice called out when the A.I. got to three. Admiral Irons and the staff straightened up and came to parade rest just as the lights under the camera lenses turned green.
“I know things are still rough with the economy. But, I believe things will turn a corner soon. Investments have begun in reconditioning and refitting the industrial complexes. There is more to be done, a great deal of healing to do. I'll leave you to that,” he said.
“I'm leaving the republic in good hands—both yours and President K'k'R'll and Vice President Nibs. You've all been through some rough trials recently. Hopefully, that is behind you, and it is clear sailing from here on out. Though, I doubt we'll be that lucky,” he said with a brief smile.
He started to turn away but then stopped and turned back. “I'll be back. Count on it.”
Admiral Sharp Reflexes led with his species version of a salute. The rest of the officers in the compartment saluted as well. Admiral Irons came to attention and returned the salute.
He struck it first and then turned back to the boarding ramp. “Good luck,” he said by way of a parting shot as he boarded the shuttle.
“Dismissed,” Admiral Sharp Reflexes said quietly. The assembly broke down as the cameras watched dispassionately.
Horatio turned as the lock cycled shut and then looked out the window to see the shuttle leave with his friend.
His friend, his president, his superior officer. But, most importantly of all, his friend. The three ships were going back stuffed to the deck heads with personnel. All of the JAG, NCIS, and other investigators had been left behind since the investigations weren't finished and the trials barely begun. But some famous names were going back with Admiral Irons in their place.
Admiral Champion was among them.
With her were a few returning officers who had been allowed out of retirement. Vice Admiral Creator of Things, Vice Admiral Soar and Strike, Vice Admiral Georgi Pashenkov, and others. John would have his hands full with some of them he knew. But if anyone could deal with them, it was John.
“Sir, you are requested by the design team; there is a problem with the cruiser logistics. There was a reported problem with quality control from one of the suppliers that just hit us …,” a yeoman said.
“On my way,” Horatio said as he turned. He caught Zek's look. The other officer winked at him. Horatio snorted and nodded once before he followed the yeoman.
:::{)(}:::
The Admiral Butley in transit
If he could have traded places with Horatio, he might have done it, Admiral Irons thought. Horatio had just started to get into the good stuff when he'd left. Zek had managed minor miracles with the two starships they had available, but Horatio had really pulled out all the stops to send him off with a smile. That despite everything the man had gone through in the recent past.
He shook his head as he replayed the memory of the first heavy cruiser hull. He hadn't been on hand for it, he'd seen the transmission of the keel laying ceremony on the journey out to the jump point, but it was one he'd treasure. A parting gift from a friend.
He had another reason for wanting to trade places with Horatio; the officers that were stuffed aboard the ship. The formal dinners were bad enough. He was no longer used to having so much brass on board with him. He was not sure if he liked seeing so many flag officers in one place, and he definitely didn't like some of their attitudes or their love of pomp. From the looks of it, it was going to be a long six-week journey back to the Sargasso star system.
He glanced over to the major. Tom just gave him a look. He shrugged and moved on his way after a moment, but then paused when he heard voices approaching at the intersection. He held up a hand; he wanted to hear the chatter.
Tom shrugged and shook his head.
“You lost your quarters too?”
“Every officer other than the XO, helm team, and skipper did. We're all bunking elsewhere. I think even the bosun lost his quarters,” a voice said.
“The thing that sucks is that we're leaving before the ansible arrives,” a lieutenant complained.
“We'd have a long wait Lieutenant, the ansible was supposed to go to Nuevo first and then wait in B-102c until we returned.”
“Oh,” the lieutenant replied sheepishly.
Admiral Irons overheard the exchange and smiled ever so slightly. They passed him without even noticing him. He snorted and went to continue on his way but then ran into a knot of other officers. “On walk about, Admiral?” Captain Toby, Admiral Champion's chief of staff asked.
“Just stretching my legs,” Admiral Irons replied with a shrug.
“Ah,” the captain replied with a nod. He made a hole so the admiral could pass.
The ship was packed. He had a state room of his own. Some sections of the ship were hot bunked. Some of the displaced crew were not happy about losing their quarters to the Bekian officers, especially after what had just happened. Some of the Bekian officers were not happy about being stuck in such small confining spaces. He'd already heard some of the complaints.
As they flew to B102c, he met with the various officers and interviewed them. He made certain each had basic implants, and once they did, he had those systematically upgraded. Each of the flag officers received full implants including a dumb A.I. that would act as their chief of staff. That took a lot of adjusting he knew.
Once the officers had adjusted, he took them through the flag bridge. They ran simulations, and he ran an improvised training regime to help them get up to speed with their implants and starship combat and operations. The head s
tart would go a long way to help them get their feet under them once they got to Pyrax.
He had to admit, Admiral Champion impressed him. The others were specialists. Georgi Pashenkov was a staff officer, and he couldn't handle the sims worth a damn. Creator of Things wasn't bad, but he kept interrupting the sims to ask about this technology or that. He was definitely a gear head like Admiral Irons. He could appreciate that.
Soar and Strike had spent the most time in sickbay. The elderly former JAG was getting anti-geriatric treatments, but her species was new to the doctor and medical staff so they were taking the process slow and carefully. He knew everyone involved fully appreciated that. It wasn't like they didn't have the time to use anyway.
The other six flag officers were a mixed bag. He had chosen them based on Zek and Ross's recommendations, not on their skill sets. Hopefully, that didn't come back and haunt him later.
As they continued on their journey, he also arranged time to meet with the senior officers and pick their brains as he got to know them. He made arrangements for them for postings they preferred if possible. He planned to have a position for them by the time they got back to B-102c.
Chapter 45
B-97a
Three and a half weeks after leaving the fleet behind, the Federation collier Clydesdale 3 arrived in the outskirts of the B-97a star system. Naga ship's Captain Chi'th'ss was heartily glad to be away from the milk runs between Agnosta and Triang and closer to the front.
He hated that he had been stuck in transport command for so long. It was agonizing. It was all due to his scores at the academy too; he knew that. The top-ranking graduates had gotten the choice cuts. He had been second from the bottom and had been apparently lucky to land the old Clydesdale class collier Tris … or so everyone above him kept telling him.
His time in durance vile was coming to an end though. He had one run to the front to make and then he was due for a new command when he got back to the capital. He hoped and prayed it was something nice and toothy, like a destroyer or cruiser.
It should be something nice. He knew the brass needed every experienced hand in command. He'd been an officer for six years and a captain for three of those years. He'd made fourteen runs back and forth in the convoys and then the run from Antigua to Second Fleet. That should count for something, right? After all, he'd seen in the Military Times that middies from the academy were getting command postings within a year out of the academy. Surely he deserved no less, right?
“We're picking up a pair of ships on our long-range sensors, Captain,” the human female tech reported.
“No doubt a picket. Send them our IFF,” the captain said disinterestedly as he picked at a piece of meat in his lower mandible. He really needed to talk to someone about his problem; it was beginning to fester.
“They've changed course. One is large, massing a hundred thousand tons, right around the lines of a light cruiser, sir.”
“So?” the captain's tail twitched back and forth like a metronome. He was bored with the procedure, but he knew better than to screw it up. He had to keep everything good so he could finally get out of the damn ship once and for all.
“They are on an intercept course,” the sensor tech reported patiently.
“Again, so? They are friendlies, right?”
“No response to IFF,” the communications tech reported.
“What?” the captain asked as that last statement finally penetrated his boredom. “It has to be a drill. Send it again!”
“Transmitting IFF again,” the tech replied dutifully.
When the ship failed to reply with an IFF, the disinterest grew into concern and then fear as they realized they were being approached by a raider.
Captain Chi'th'ss turned the ship to run and broadcast a mayday. Tris didn't get far, but she did draw out the chase for several hours as the ship tried in vain to run. She threw all power to the sublight engines and therefore couldn't spare any for the hyperdrive.
There was no call for surrender from the raiders. They kept relentlessly pursuing their prey.
The ship's engines were pounded hard as she tried to lumber out of range of the raider. The gunnery crews kept hitting the ship to shut it up. Eventually, it was torn apart.
Captain White wasn't happy at seeing the wreckage. “No survivors. That's probably a good thing. But yeah, that did it. The cat's out of the bag as the saying goes,” the captain grumbled. “We should get going,” he said to the other captain via a whisker laser.
“In what, three years? Sure, they'll get the warning then,” Captain Bates scoffed twenty minutes later.
“Oh, yeah,” Captain White said sheepishly.
“Yeah,” Captain Bates drawled. He noted the new ships joined the link and grunted.
Just when he'd thought they could safely say duty was done, two news cruisers, one of them the light cruiser Sleight of Hand and the other the medium class cruiser Chainsaw, had shown up with a medium freighter in tow.
“Can you get anything out of it?” Captain Demsi of Sleight of Hand asked, clearly interested in a positive answer. All four of their ships were running at half strength for fuel and provisions despite the provisions the medium class collier had brought them. The crews were back to eating ration packs as of yesterday morning and were not happy about doing so.
“Some bits and pieces maybe. You want me to send you anything?” Captain White asked, sounding disinterested.
Andrew wasn't completely fooled; he knew the other captain would make certain his people got the best cut of the ship and its cargo. That was only natural after all. “Let's see what you can find first. Don't get too carried away playing vulture. You don't want to be off post for long. This system has a lot more traffic than I expected,” Captain Bates said.
“Agreed. Should we switch?”
“I'm considering that myself. We need to tow that carcass away. Send it on a sun scuttle or something and clear the ion trail,” Captain Bates stated. They were seeing a ship every two to three weeks. There was no pattern other than that most of the ships had come from B-95a3.
“Okay. I'll send a team over in a moment. If I they report back some good plunder, I'll call you again, and we'll swap or something.”
“Agreed.”
“I think we need to call it a day though,” Captain Bates stated as Captain Set on Chainsaw came online.
“You think I'm right?” Captain White asked.
“Yeah. So, let's strip this bitch down to the bulkheads, stuff her carcass somewhere no one else will see her, and then get the hell out of dodge.”
“Now you're talking. What brought about the change in heart?”
“The timing of that ship that got away. I don't want to be around when whatever help it whistles up comes for us. Even if there are four of us, it isn't enough. We're caught in a crack.” They had stripped the collier and had sent it packing back to B-97b on her own. She should be arriving in DD01ns sometime in the near future.
He had realized their own traffic through that star system would be a giveaway to Second Fleet once they entered the star system. He didn't want to be around when they figured it out.
“Agreed. I was going to suggest running on stealth but they've got better sensors than we do,” Captain Set said sourly.
“Also, true. Which is one reason I think we need to get out of here while the getting is good,” Captain White stated.
“Good.”
“Don't go all giddy on me just yet. We need to get what we can from that bird. And we need to know what we're up against in B-95a3. If your people can't find the information out from her computers or any survivors, it means we're going to have to figure out how to get the information on our own.”
“You mean scout?”
“Exactly. I'm thinking one of us scouts the system, pop back into hyper, let the others know what they saw, then we all drop in somewhere convenient for us and give the Feds a headache.”
“Raid?'
“Raid if we can, or if there is
too much there to tangle with, we make a run for the B-94e1 jump point as we discussed. Once we're in hyper, then we can decide where to go from there.”
“I'm in,” Captain Demsi growled. “It beats sitting here waiting to die.”
“I … you are the senior officer. I'll follow your lead,” Captain Set finally said.
“Good. Let's get started then,” Captain Bates growled.
:::{)(}:::
DD01ns
The Arboth class destroyer Osborne arrived at the B-97c jump point. After transmitting her IFF to the two light cruisers on picket duty, Captain Raphael Illiu warned them of her mission and of the enemy courier coming in. “We hauled ass to get here in time. Did it show up?”
“No. Not yet,” Captain Norman Litchi of the Shrilanka replied.
“It has been quiet since the prowler jumped for Dead Drop some time ago,” Captain Falling Drop of Unseen Strike stated.
“We will lay a trap for this courier. It's the only way to catch it,” Captain Litchi said, taking charge as senior officer. “We'll stay in front of her on the courses she's most likely to use to get to the Dead Drop jump point. Ralph, you take Osborne and lay in wait near the B-97c jump point. If you can cut her off, good. If she gets past you, come up behind her. We'll play beater and drive her into your arms.”
“Roger that,” Captain Illiu said with a nod.
“Understood. Should one of us sit on the jump point itself?” Captain Falling Drop asked.
“If they get past all three of us and our fighters, then they deserve to get to where they are going. Not that I expect them to,” Captain Litchi growled.
:::{)(}:::
Captain Lucius Opal considered himself a lucky man. He'd been with Nevada, he'd managed to run mail from Nuevo Madrid before it fell, and in and out of Dead Drop when the Retribution Fleet was on the move. The last jump though had confirmed to him that his luck might be running out however.
That bothered the heck out of him. There was only so long one could go through life without Lady Luck's blessings. If she got pissed at you, her twin would make your life miserable, or worse, hand you over to the Reapers.