by Chris Hechtl
Weaver made some of his headaches go away but not all of them. He continued to request Alice Walengrad and anyone else he could get his hands on that he could trust. She too had received a double promotion to captain JG but had requested some time off.
Zek continued to focus on the personnel side of BUSHIPS and tried to rehabilitate Jean Callisto with JAG. She had moved her gear out of his office and hadn't said anything to him at all, which had made his stepping into her shoes harder. It had taken him two days to cut through the red tape to get a message to her.
Finally, she talked with him over a vidchat. “Melvin, stop,” she told him quietly.
“But …” His eyes searched hers. She wasn't in an orange jump suit, but he was aware that she was confined to quarters.
“I know what you are trying to do. It isn't going to work.”
“You are a damn good officer, Jean. You just made a mistake in backing the wrong horse,” he said, feeling something akin to desperation leach into his voice.
She shook her head and gave him a wan smile. It made his heart lurch when he saw it. “I went in eyes open. I knew what I was getting into. I keep telling myself it was for the good of the service, that someone had to keep things together. But you and I both know I'm lying to myself.”
“Jean …”
“I'm going to take whatever plea deal they offer. Hopefully, I can stay in the service.” She sniffed and gave a wan smile. “I'd like to still be of some use. If I get demoted, so be it.”
“I'll recommend it. You did good work with what you were given.”
“Hell, I had all I could do to hold what I could together,” she said with a shake of her head. “And I screwed you over.”
“I knew it going in, Jean.”
“Yeah, well, that still doesn't make it right.”
@
There was a lot to do, but Admiral Irons took the time to visit with the sleepers to confront them about the changes they had done to the Republic's history and society. The meeting was private, though he knew the media was aware of it and were begging for a photo op.
“You lot really screwed things up. Look, I get some of what you were trying to do, but don't you have a clue about how the best intentions pave a certain path to a very hot place?” he demanded once they were alone.
Doctor Windswept wasn't the only one to wince at his biting tone.
“What did you expect us to do? You left us in a hell of a pickle,” Doctor Tron Fuyata muttered, but he wouldn't meet the admiral's leveled gaze.
“All right, we screwed up. We thought you weren't coming back. We wanted to prevent them from making the same mistakes here,” Morgan Tanaka stated.
“When Caroline returned, Fara here wanted us to come forward,” Doctor Abe Noris said, patting the elderly high elf on the shoulder gently. “But we didn't want to. We were cowards I admit that,” he said. “And I realize we screwed up and in part helped Childress rise to power. The fear we generated helped to cause this mess.”
“Or at least gave him the excuse he needed to grab power,” Doctor Willard Habinger growled.
“We will set it right,” Fara murmured. She looked up to her nurse and then over to Admiral Irons. He didn't like her vital signs but cocked his head to listen to her. “I have already authorized the release of the data. I'm planning to make a presentation tonight. I was planning on doing it during the trial.”
“That is why you wanted to testify for the defense. You were going to come clean,” Admiral Irons said with a nod.
“Yes. I knew it would throw everything into chaos. My hope was that it would break Childress's grip on power,” Fara said in a soft whisper.
“Most likely it would have been seen as a desperate ploy to do that, not the truth,” Morgan said as she turned from her friend to Admiral Irons.
He again nodded, but this time grudgingly.
“I'll stand with her,” Doctor Fuyata said.
“As will I,” Abe replied. “It is past time we make this right.”
“I'll go,” Doctor Bright Petal said.
“Ah hell, we all will,” Morgan muttered. “I don't like the idea of creating a stink. I know it will put a pall on your visit here, Admiral.”
“Sometimes we have to take our medicine, the good and the bad. We don't get much choice on when we have to take it, but that is life,” Admiral Irons said.
“Try telling her that,” the nurse muttered as she checked Fara's vital signs carefully.
@
Admiral Irons allowed a brief photo op and then stepped aside as the sleepers took center stage. Doctor Windswept made her presentation to the media quietly and gently. She gave proof that she and the others had altered Bek's history to prevent chaos and to avoid certain technologies.
“I'd like to say we did it in your best interests,” Morgan said when Fara faltered. There was a hush in the room only interrupted by the occasional soft click of a camera. “Like any parent, we thought we knew what was best. We thought if we created this, we would burn people away from ever experimenting with such technology again.”
“And we were wrong,” Doctor Fuyata stated. “I know that. We all share the blame for this and for letting it go as long as it did. That ends today. We will accept responsibility for perpetuating the hoax on our fellow citizens.”
@
Admiral Irons’ visit was overshadowed by the event as they had predicted. The talking heads in the media were flabbergasted at the news and the timing.
In the morning, Nurse Jenkins reported that Doctor Windswept had died in her sleep, creating a pall on the events.
A state of public mourning was declared when word of her death got out. “She may have perpetuated a series of lies, but her heart was in the right place. Let's not forget all the good she did for us. She and the other sleepers did their best to keep us safe and to help build and forge the society we all take for granted,” the Veraxin president stated.
Based on the media response, some of the people sampled were bewildered. They were not sure what to think about the news story on top of everything else that had happened. Some thought that there was a conspiracy afoot. Others thought that the stress and dementia had gotten to the woman, but the other surviving sleepers each backed her revelations and story.
After a day to let it permeate locally, Admiral Irons stepped up. “In the end, she wanted to protect the people here. We can't fault her for that, just her methods. She is, was, mortal. Let us remember her for her achievements.”
In the evening, there was a synchronized release of paper balloons. Each of the balloons glowed with a candle inside. The hot air within lifted them into the air. The event didn't just happen in some communities but across the planets and in the habitats and other colonies. Irons, Horatio, and others participated.
“I hate that. She was a good woman. I know hell can be paved with good intentions, but damn. But maybe they can get on with a clean slate,” Horatio murmured.
“Maybe,” Zek murmured. He didn't sound so sure. He too was grappling with the news that Tesla and Marconi had been a lie. Everything he'd taken for granted, the fears he'd built up over a lifetime, only to be swatted down by his implants, were there in front of him once more.
“Her timing could have been better,” Horatio said with a shake of his head.
Admiral Irons shot him a sour look. “Are you serious? After what you just went through?”
“Yeah, too soon?” Horatio asked with a crockered smile.
Admiral Irons snorted in response.
Chapter 55
In order to clear the air and to prevent a repeat, Admiral Irons met with Childress's civilian supporters. They each came with a lawyer, much to his amusement. Reba Childress was there, as well as other industrialists. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Admiral Irons stated. “But I'm not going to go through this again. I've got enough to fry a lot of you. There could be charges of treason too. But I'm willing to play let's make a deal in order t
o get through this as quickly as we can so the republic can get to healing and rebuilding.”
“I suppose the easy way is we sign over our companies,” Admiral Amir said bitterly.
“When did that ever get put on the table?” Admiral Irons asked, brows knit in concern as he looked at the retired admiral. He was not happy that a lot of the people in the room were former flag officers. They should have known better. But apparently cutthroat corporate politics and patronage was how things had been done in Bek for centuries.
Well, it might still be after he left, but they were going to be doing it very quietly, he mused.
“It just stands to reason, the victor gets the spoils. That was your intent all along, wasn't it? To nationalize us? Or to run us out of business with replicators?” Admiral Amir asked.
The admiral sat back, staring at him thoughtfully as he drummed his fingertips on the edge of the table.
“Is that what this was all about?” he finally asked quietly.
There was no answer. He suddenly leaned forward, hands flat on the table. “Answer me. You did this all, you threw Omar Childress and his cronies your support over this??”
“We had to do something! We had to defend our businesses!” Jules said in a petulant tone of voice. He lifted his chin to the admiral.
“Right. So you commit treason and I don't know how many other felonies in order to protect your business? Your bottom line?” Admiral Irons asked scathingly.
“What else can we do? The usual game is, you come in, you nationalize what you want, and we get screwed!” Vice Admiral Latiff Revere said, throwing his hands up in the air in disgust.
“That is not an admission of guilt. My client …,” a lawyer interjected smoothly, but Irons cut him off with a hand wave.
“Did it ever occur to any of you that it doesn't work that way? First, if we do have to buy you out, it's just that, a buyout. Eventually, you'll get paid. Paid well, and you can use that money to do whatever you want like invest in subcontractors or build civilian businesses that mirror the military ones. But I'd rather work with you than get into a fight. I don't like feeding sharks any more than I need to,” he said, indicating the lawyers in the room.
That earned a snort from Reba and Admiral Amir.
“Here is how it goes. One, you are established industrial concerns. I respect that. So, you were supposed to get retraining to support the new hardware. Not to get nationalized.” He shook his head. “I don't even know where you got that one.”
“It's happened many times before. During the Confederation time period, it happened to Lagroose Industries. They lost their antimatter production lines during the First Interstellar War. And then later …,” Admiral Revere said.
Admiral Irons waved another hand interrupting him. “First off, there was a lot more going on to call it a simple nationalization. I'm not going to argue history now, I don't have the time. So, what else is the problem?” He looked around the room expectantly.
No one answered for a long moment. Finally, his eyes fell on Admiral Amir once more.
The retired vice admiral squirmed for a moment under that intense gaze and then grimaced. “Fine. I guess no one else has the balls to answer so I might as well,” he said sourly. That earned a mild snort from Admiral Irons and a mild glare from Reba. “It's the replicators,” he said succulently.
“The replicators,” Admiral Irons echoed.
“Yes. They'll take over everything and put us out of business. My company makes CNC and other machinery, plus we use them to make parts …,” Jules said.
Again, Admiral Irons' brows knit. “So?”
“So don't you see? We'll be out of business! Buggy whip makers when everyone's moved on!” Jules said in disgust.
“No, replicators are not an end-all to everything,” Admiral Irons stated with a shake of his head. “Far from it. Nor should they be.”
He waited a beat as the room grew silent.
“Okay, lecture mode. I honestly thought you had a fear of nanotech. I'm seeing that isn't the case here. Again, it is the bottom line.”
He surveyed the room. No one denied it.
“Ah. So, a dangerous tool is just that, a tool. Robots are robots. Okay, glad we've finally got some common ground. But, for the record,” he turned to Jules, “we have limits on replicator technology and for good reason in most cases. It also just so happens that some things are easier to build, cheaper, more efficient, and so on if they are built the old-fashioned way.”
Jules stared at him in disbelief.
“A case for a piece of equipment can be built by a cutting machine and a press break or you run parts through a stamping mill. You can produce hundreds, potentially thousands of parts in an hour. Or, you can spend hours having a replicator build one or two of them. Which is quicker and more efficient?” he looked at them and then snorted. “I'm also about the bottom line. Replicators are best for intricate things at a molecular level or if someone is in the field and has no other means to manufacture something—a start-up. They are one tool in our tool chest.” He shook his head. “I'm an engineer. I'm well aware of the old saying that when you've got a hammer everything looks like a nail. But, as an engineer, I know it takes the right tool to do the right job, if you've got it. Which, we do in this case.”
“Um …,” Jules blinked.
“So, we'll need CNC machines. We'll need press breaks, robot welders, drill presses, stamping mills, the works. And by the way, you could always get a contract to build parts for replicators you know. It might take a bit of reprogramming and retooling but not a lot. Like I said, cases and such can be built the old-fashioned way. And that's just one part. Consoles, sinks, toilets, plumbing, electrical wiring, ODN cable …,” he waved a dismissive hand. “The list goes on and on.”
“Oh,” Jules said sheepishly.
“What about supplies?” Ch'k'n'll demanded.
“What about them?”
“Food replicators?” the bug pointed out.
The admiral nodded. “Are good for times when you don't have the fresh food available. You know your people; do they want something fresh or something made out of recycled paste?” He looked around the room. More than one person grimaced at the idea. He wasn't certain if it was their pallet or the idea of eating something made by nanites. “And it will take them time to get over the use of nanotech involved, correct? I know as a sailor I prefer a fresh steak or fresh apple over sludge that's made to taste like them. So,” he turned to the Veraxin. “your job is perfectly safe. You might need to adapt a bit, grow and get competitive, but it's still there.”
“You are oversimplifying some things …,” an exec protested.
Admiral Irons turned to the exec. “I'm trying to explain to you that you went off half-cocked without seeing the real picture. Garbage in, garbage out. You had a knee-jerk reaction to the tech. The reaction was based on a lie to make you fear the tech. Okay. Now where we go from here is a problem we need to solve.”
Heads nodded warily.
“Obviously, I'll leave the legal rankling to the experts. So,” he turned to a couple of the lawyers. “I'm not offering immunity or anything. Not at this time. But, I strongly suggest you folks get on board and get your people to adapt. You have managers; use them to identify what needs to be fixed and what can go away. You'll need investors and loans to update your systems. Find a way to make it happen.”
“What about the shipyards?” a gravel female voice asked.
The admiral turned to Reba, sitting on the other end of the table. “I'm sorry; you think you won't have business if the military builds its own?”
“I'm not certain of anything,” the woman replied. “Not now.”
“I'd thought you'd be concerned for your son,” Admiral Irons said. He noted her contempt. “Or not, apparently,” he added dryly.
“Omar was a fool and took things too far. He made his bed. As far as I am concerned, he can rot in it,” she growled.
The admiral studied her for a long
moment. A few in the room squirmed, but she seemed completely unmoved by his intense gaze. Finally, he nodded once. “Okay, I'm glad we're on the same page. As far as the shipyards, you'd have to retool to be competitive obviously, but you can work naval contracts … after the reviews and legal issues are resolved,” he warned.
She grimaced but remained mute.
“That doesn't stop you from making civilian ships or ship components however,” he said, throwing her a bone. She blinked. Her lips thinned and her face schooled into an attentive mask. “Ships for moving sublight or, eventually, starships. We'll need them for trade within the Republic as well as this nexus, as well as in the outer Federation.”
“Don't your own yards make them already?” Vice Admiral Open Eyes asked.
The admiral snorted as he turned to the T'clock. “I wish. Currently, we've got three civilian yards in Rho, two in Antigua, and one in Epsilon Triangula. A fourth civilian yard in Pyrax is finally in the works, and a fifth is planned but still trying to get funding. Each of the two in Antigua produce a ship every three months on average. That's on top of the single ship every three months they produce for the navy.”
“A ship?” the bug asked in disbelief. “As in one?” He turned to the others.
Admiral Irons nodded. “You heard correctly. They are more like repair yards. They have only a few slips and are still growing. As is the Epsilon Triangula yard, though they are upgrading and expanding like the Yard Dogs in Antigua. Each also has government contracts to produce colliers and supply ships, but they can't keep up with the demand. Believe me, I know. So, we don't have enough ships, not nearly enough.”
“That is … certainly something to consider,” Reba said slowly.
“And as I said, there is nothing other than your legal issues barring you from working naval contracts. Many of the ships here will need to be dealt with. I've taken a look at their designs; unfortunately, not many can be retrofitted into starships as I'd hoped. You folks apparently abandoned that modular design some time ago. Pity.”
No one looked at him for a moment.