by Chris Hechtl
“So, no more problems?”
“Hopefully not,” the commander replied with a brief crocked smile. “In fact, Ilmarinen is due to depart tonight. They are taking on stores now.”
“Good to know. She's really of more use here or in Nuevo than in Bek. Bek has enough industrial capacity,” the admiral rumbled.
“Yes, sir.”
“And the ship, you've got enough of a crew?” he asked, indicating the salvaged freighter.
The commander turned to the ship's image and then nodded. “She's not ready for the rapids yet sir, but we can run cargo back and forth between here and Nuevo. And if Bek behaves itself, with them too I suppose.”
“Good.”
“What we really need is fuel—fuel and water,” the commander said, eyeing him with interest.
“Convert the next freighter into a tanker,” the admiral said, spreading his hands apart. “Sorry, oiler.”
She nodded and made a note of that idea.
“Sir, what do we do with these ships. I know they are needed in the outer federation, but …,” she frowned.
“They are needed here too. We need to get the economy moving here and get the star systems that are here tied together better. We also need to get both sides over the trade antics of the past. This is a new day, so I guess we'll be playing neutral arbitrator until we can find people safe to sell the ships to that won't abuse trade.” She nodded. “Granted they'll run between here, Bek A and Bek B, and Nuevo One and Two, but don't knock it. It's better than what they had before.”
“I'm not, sir. And like you said, trade stimulation. Plus, we'll get regular support which is better than what we've had before.”
“Good. I don't see any of these ships making it through the rapids. I personally don't trust them that far—not without an even more thorough overhaul than what you folks can provide. For that cost, we could build a ship, which I understand Bek is finally doing,” he said, ending the statement on a slightly unconsciously sour note.
“Yes, sir. We noticed the news. The first cruiser is going through her running-up exercises.”
“Damn that's fast!” Admiral Irons said in admiration. “Damn fine work.” He nodded and made a note to check it out.
The commander shrugged. “Not us, sir.”
“I know. I'll let Horatio and the Bekians know I appreciate their efforts. I'll appreciate them more when I see those ships out where they can do some good though.”
The commander nodded. “Yes, sir. Definitely.” She paused and then cocked her head before she decided to plunge in with a question and offer.
“Do you have time for a tour, sir?”
“I've got a couple of minutes and then I'm going to an appointment,” Admiral Irons said as he hefted a case under one arm. The commander looked at it. He merely smiled to her.
“Well, perhaps later then,” she murmured politely. He nodded.
“I'm headed to see your chief engineer; he's an old friend. You could walk with me and point out some of the features as we go,” he offered, “unless you are busy.”
She smiled. “I'd like that, sir,” she replied. “This way to the main concourse,” she said, indicating the path ahead.
:::{)(}:::
Once they parted ways, Commander Lafleur shook her head as she got a report through her implants that there was already trouble at the dock. Apparently, some of the flag officers were trying to rush the ship and had caused something of a ruckus as they tried to board. It seemed everyone wanted to be with Admiral Irons, and the Marine sentries were struggling with the weight of metal bearing down on them.
She couldn't wait until they were all out of her hair and off her station. Oh, she didn't as so much mind Admiral Creator of Things. He was a good bug and meant well, even if he did ask a lot of stupid questions and get underfoot with the engineers. But the rest, with the need to run tactical sims that took up her computer processors or putting on airs and wanting balls and fancy dinners … she shuddered.
No, the sooner they were gone the better.
:::{)(}:::
Despite the time crunch, Admiral Irons took the time to visit the Bailey family briefly before he headed out. Major Burrows and a Marine took sentry duty outside of the living compartment after checking to make sure it was secure.
Admiral Irons knocked on the door with his free hand. His other was occupied propping up the case of beer he had under the arm.
“Hi,” he said when the door opened and a familiar face greeted him.
“Hi, yourself,” Galiet replied with a brief smile. “Long time no see. He's getting cleaned up,” she said, indicating the head. She waved for him to enter. He stepped around her and then stopped as the door shut behind them.
He turned his attention to the door to the head and caught a familiar whiff despite the fan running. “Yeah,” he coughed, turning back to her.
Galiet rolled her eyes. “What can I say, he's potent. Unfortunately, he passed on that … trait to his offspring,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
Admiral Irons chuckled.
“Can I get you something, Admiral? Food or drink?”
“Well, I brought this,” he said, hefting up the case of beer.
“You should have made it a keg, John!” a voice said as the door opened. Admiral Irons turned and smiled as the Neochimp engineer hitched up his trousers and came out of the room. He looked a little put out as Galiet checked him over, even smoothing some of the fur for him. He rolled his expressive eyes to Admiral Irons but put up with the grooming.
His scarred fingers tugged at his collar, hooking it and tugging on it as if to loosen it. She slapped at them. “Stop that,” she scolded mildly.
“Tight. It itches,” he muttered.
“You are going to dress right. And be the right sort of example to the kids,” she said.
“We're drinking beer and shooting the shit. Okay, his shit, I just had mine,” Bailey complained. There was another chuckle, almost a chortle from Admiral Irons in the background. It became a cough after a moment.
“Behave,” she said in a more astringent tone of voice.
“Yeah fine, whatever,” he muttered.
She shook her head in exasperation and turned away.
Admiral Irons snorted at the domestic byplay. He saw Clennie coming in with a kid on one hip. “You've been busy,” he said in admiration.
“Yeah,” Bailey replied with a fond smile to his second wife.
Admiral Irons noted a few biosignatures around the room. Brown eyes peaked out at him from around corners and behind parents and furniture. There were a couple kids under the dining room table. He snorted and turned back to the adults. Obviously, the younger kids were shy. They knew something was going on, something unusual.
“I'm surprise you had the time, Admiral,” Clennie said.
“I had to see my friends. And, I heard you have an imp named after me?” he asked, looking around the room at the kids. He made a show of counting noses. A few of the ape children giggled as he turned a surprised look on the amused adults. “That's a lot more brats than I expected. You've either been busy or …?”
“Don't say it,” Clennie said, smothering her own snicker with a smile as she looked at her sister wives. The girls turned looks on Bailey.
He pretended to hitch his trousers up a bit more. Galiet smacked him on the arm with the back of her hand. “Yeah, here's the cad who likes to knock us up and keep one or more of us knocked up all the time.”
“It's the only way … wait, it's not just my fault!” he said, hands up. “I seem to recall more than myself involved. Some of those brats were conceived with me flat on my back and exhausted from a double shift! It takes two to tango, lady!”
She snorted. “A likely story,” she drawled, but there was a leer in her saucy smile.
“I seem to recall a few times it was more than two,” Clennie said dreamily. She chuffed in embarrassment at the admiral's chuckle. “Did I say that out loud?” she asked, clearly embarrassed.
Bailey rubbed the back of his balding head. Admiral Irons chuckled louder.
“Oh, shut up. Someone hand the man a beer or something,” Bailey said as he hooked a brat and pulled her out from behind her mother. She tried to cling to his arm but he held it up and out. That turned into a game as she flipped over and then tried to grab her mother.
“And while you are at it, find me one too,” he said as he began to horseplay with the kid.
Chapter 57
Horath
Elvira didn't want to have to deal with the rather prickly Gather Fleet captain but she had no choice. She'd much rather be working with the R&D Department. She'd taken a tour of the Replicator Research Department the other day, and it had been an absolutely fascinating experience. They had been taking a boots-up approach to recreating the technology, a fresh view from the previous centuries of trying to crack the devices.
Trying and ultimately failing, she reminded herself.
But that was all changing, she reminded herself. Not only had they invested in CNC, 3D printing, and other technologies, but by learning from the late Doctor Vinatelli as well as delving into the historical record had pointed them into how to break the technology down into its components and then replicate them one at a time.
Oh, they were still at the make-the-tools stages, but it was promising, very promising. She particularly liked some of the offshoot technologies the graduate students and lower-level scientists had come up with. The robots would be useful in her field for instance. She'd put in to test them in her section. If they had teething issues, which invariably they would as that they were largely untested, she'd take a minor performance hit. That was fine.
But, instead of reading about their latest paper on attempting to recreate blocks to create microlevel electronics, she was dealing with this … prick.
And she had to be on her best behavior too. The man was a legend, at least in his own mind. Besides, he had friends, lady, mind your P's and Q’s, she thought as she kept up her mask of attentiveness as the man continued on his rant.
“I've had that on my ship for three centuries. It's not going anywhere,” he finally wound down.
She cocked her head as she considered her options. It was best to play it straight and damn the consequences. Besides, I don't have time for this, she thought.
The captain's ship had a metal ram's head attached to the prow of the ship. “Look, sir, as beautiful as it is, and I do agree, it is a thing of beauty, it is obstructing the forward sensors. We need to replace them. It has to go.”
“Put them somewhere else,” he insisted.
She pulled up the blueprint she'd had ready and put it up in a window for him to see. She pointed to the image. “I can't do that. As you can see, you have a point defense cluster below it and communication antenna there, then more sensors. That won't work. If I try to fabricate something to go around it, we'll have to custom cut a new nose fairing that works around the ram head. Doing that plus running new lines will take time. I don't have that in my schedule.” She shook her head.
His eyes narrowed, and he went rigid for a moment and then began to shake. She thought that he was about to explode. Finally, he started in with an almost deceptively soft tone of voice. “You are not ripping out a feature of my ship and turning it into a faceless clone!” the captain snarled. “I'll have your guts for garters, girl, if you even try it!” he said, voice rising to a roar near the end.
“Sir …”
“I mean it!”
She nodded once. She double-checked to make sure the recording light was on, then settled herself. “Very well. I'll pass what you said on to my chain of command and let them make the decision from here.”
“That's more like it!” the captain snarled and then suspicions began to play in his mind. “What …?”
“Good day, Captain,” she said, cutting the channel. She tapped a key on her desk. “Kathy?” she called to her Yeoman.
“Yes, ma'am?”
“Captain Tion of Gokstad is being obstructive. He also threatened me. Take a message from him from now on. If he wants a face-to-face, I'm out and about.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Good woman,” the captain said as she cut the channel and sat back in her chair to rock gently for a moment. By threatening her and refusing to have his ship properly refitted, the captain had just made his ship drop in priority. The policy on that was unwritten but clear with all of the yard dog personnel. It was something the captain should have known, but apparently, he hadn't spent a lot of time getting his ship repaired. She made certain to copy the conversation as well as his express orders to the official record and then send it off to higher. She then opened her schedule and began to shift priorities to other ships.
:::{)(}:::
Countess Newberry looked at the latest report on the crown princess's activities. She shook her head. Catherine was currently on planet and doing a lot of lobbying. She had to admire the woman's tenacity; the princess was doing what she could and gathering allies along the way.
She was also doing her best to tamp down rumors of deposing her father—not that the emperor saw it in that light.
Imperial Intelligence was still watching her warily. She knew the princess knew that. She also knew that no one could watch her around the clock. She was wrong about that; the emperor had recently ordered the watch to be doubled and for a second independent group to watch her as well as other people.
Countess Newberry shook her head as she considered what she knew. She honestly thought that Catherine would make a better leader than her father. Catherine was putting a lot of effort into politicking for the war effort. Her father wasn't. In fact, he continued to drag his feet and cause issues to slow down efforts to resupply the front. That wasn't the leadership they needed.
And Pyotr was his own worst enemy. By continuing to say nice things in public but obstructing things privately, he was showing those in the know that he was not worthy of the crown. It was undermining his position. She was aware that he was looking to shift to a rule of fear and terror over the respect and admiration he had been shooting for.
As far as Catherine's activities, she was only making mixed headway with some people since they feared her father's wrath. Her rank and status in the court were a mixed blessing to some. Also, being sent back from the front didn't win her some favors in some circles. Some considered her return as a way for Admiral De Gaulte to rid himself of someone who couldn't do the job.
She had to admit, the woman had some successes though. Like the new emergency military funding bill making its way through the House of Lords. Plus, lobbying some of the admirals and upper families. Her success with “Wrong Way Wong” and inserting a sense of competition to show the enemy up again might work. She wasn't certain how well.
She had noted something the emperor and the rest of the administration hadn't. Once word of the Federation force in their midst had gone out, Gather ships reporting in had slowed. Not a lot, but the steady ingress had slowed by at least 10 percent in the last year. That was 23 percent below the projection from two years ago. Word should have spread, and the ships should have been coming in at an increasing pace, not tapering off.
So, were they tapering off because the enemy was out there hunting them, or because they didn't want to get involved with the war? Especially on the losing side of the war? Or was there another cause? After all, they were Ahab's ships. Ahab might make noises about joining Battle Fleet properly, but she knew it was something of a facade. Some of his people clung to their pirate roots. Throw in the fact that someone is willing to shoot back at them over their usual helpless prey and people were suddenly reluctant to stick their heads out.
Not that it would do them any good or at least those in Horath itself if they just ducked and covered and didn't help.
Could it be their orders to try to get around the flank of the Federation and hit them was causing the sudden drop? She frowned at the sudden thought and then logged it.
She made a puttering sound and then made a note to ask Ahab about it at the next opportunity.
:::{)(}:::
Emperor Ramichov frowned as he read the report. Sabina may or may not know that he watched her. He monitored what information she got to see, what she chose to tell him, and what she held back. He had a tap on her computer systems as well as video surveillance in her home, office, and favorite places to eat or visit.
It seemed like she didn't know, but he couldn't discount her playing him. Which was why he wondered about her looking up facts about the Gather Fleet. Why she was interested in that instead of the politics in the court; it bothered him. Why? What did the numbers mean? He frowned, skimming over them but nothing leapt out at him.
He set that aside and pulled up her notes on Catherine's activities.
He was not happy that his daughter had managed to get “Wrong Way Wong” to commit to the front. He did grudgingly admire her efforts to get more ships off to Cyrano. He was still suspicious of that. Surely something else had to be going on. It didn't make sense to him that Cyrano could have lost that badly to a force barely in its infancy!
He sat back for a moment and considered the past. He'd meticulously planned everything up to his ascendancy to the throne. It had been planned by generations of Ramichovs before him as well, but he was the one who made it happen. Sure, he'd taken his father and grandfather's plans and stepped over them to achieve the goal, but he'd done it.
He'd even planned on eventually meeting resistance of some sort, but he hadn't planned for it so soon, nor in his own back yard. His focus was still on holding the throne and welding the ruling families together under his rule. He would have eliminated his heirs as competition if he'd been allowed. But his mother had overruled him; it wouldn't have looked good. Besides, the Federation had already done it for him twice.
But that brought him back to Catherine. Dear sweet Catherine who had refused to be betrothed as he'd wished and had stayed out of politics until now. She'd stuck to her military career, and he'd left her there until now. She hadn't just sunk her toe into the political waters; she had dived into the chum and teeth-filled mess. She was even surviving the experience, at least, for the moment.