Enemy of my Enemy (Horatio Logan Chronicles Book 1)

by Chris Hechtl

  He'd parked himself in a corner but had drifted away from conversations. He'd realized he'd drifted over near the entrance to the restrooms but had no way of getting away from them with all the people around him. The only places clear of people were the balcony and the center of the room it seemed.

  “I must say, it is so exciting, seeing such things going on more and more,” the woman said, eager. She grinned at him with pearl white teeth. “And to meet someone like you …” she purred. She puzzled at his rank.

  “Commodore. We haven't been introduced,” Horatio said politely, setting his drink down on a passing waiter bot's tray. “Commodore Horatio Logan,” he said with a slight nod to her.

  “Oh!” her eyes widened. It took him a moment to realize it was in dismay. “But I thought …,” she looked around the room.

  “Thought, ma'am?”

  “I thought all the flag officers were from Bek?” she asked.

  Horatio smiled. “No, ma'am. I was recently promoted,” he said.

  “So, you aren't from Bek?” she asked, eyeing him as if she was sizing him up before her eyes started to roam the crowd for her intended prey.

  “No, ma'am, I've never been there. I've spent the past century here in Pyrax,” he said.

  “I see,” she said in a different tone of voice. He realized she'd singled him out in order to make a connection. Once she knew who he was she left with a sniff and murmur that she had to be elsewhere. He snorted and shook his head at her departure.

  “Sour grapes?” a voice asked behind him.

  “Apparently,” Horatio said, turning as his implants oriented on the female voice. He raised an eyebrow when he noted it belonged to Miss Sema, the former lieutenant governor of Bek A. He bowed briefly to her. “Having a good evening here, ma'am?” he asked smoothly.

  “Some more than others I suppose,” she said with a quizzical smile. “Something tells me you'd rather be anywhere but here, Commodore,” she said with a slight trace of a smile and twinkle in her eye.

  He snorted. “Am I that transparent, ma'am?”

  “You don't wear your heart on your sleeve, but your occasional long looks to the door and the clock tend to give you away,” the woman teased with a slightly broader smile.

  “You know, I could call her back here. She was more interested in rubbing elbows with the likes of you, ma'am, than me …”

  Moira's lips puckered in a mock sour expression. “Now, now, no need to be nasty about it,” she said, tucking her arm in his to his surprise. She smiled at his expression. “Shocked?”

  “Just … flattered, ma'am. You are a gorgeous woman. You've got the pick of just about any single person here and you chose me.”

  She shook her head slightly, letting her hair bob. She clearly liked the compliment. “I like to choose the best,” she said, holding onto his arm possessively.

  “Flatterer,” he growled. She snorted.

  “I've heard your history. Let's say I'm suitably impressed. I know the history buffs will get it wrong, and I definitely know the media never gets the whole story. They never do!” she shook her head. “So, while we're waiting for dinner, why don't you trot out a couple stories and fill me in. Purely to entertain a lady in distress,” she said with a moue.

  “Distress, ma'am?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow skyward.

  “Of dying of terminal boredom,” she said with a suffering sigh. He chuckled as she pretended to wring out her free hand. “And of getting the delicate bones in my hand crushed by another person eager to introduce themselves …”

  Horatio's polite chuckle turned into a more natural sympathetic one. “Well, what would you like to hear, ma'am?”

  “Hmm …,” she frowned thoughtfully. He had to admit, she struck a nice figure in the glittering red gown. It was off one shoulder and open on her right flank. It was also split up the side and showed just the right hint of leg to make a heterosexual male like him interested.

  “Well,” she said coyly, one finger playing with her bottom lip as she pretended to think it over. “I heard a few things about how you met Admiral Irons and knew him. And well, there is the whole story about how you two somehow found each other again despite this being such a big galaxy,” she drawled, eyeing him.

  Horatio smiled indulgently. He could tell people around them had quieted to hear some of the story too. “There isn't much to tell about the first, ma'am; we saw each other only briefly before the war. I was surprised he remembered me. We only served together a week. He was filling in while some of the flag officers were on leave.”

  “And the other incident?” Moira asked, looking up at him. He could tell she was genuinely curious. He just wasn't sure why.

  “Well,” Horatio drawled. “As it happens, Admiral Irons was assigned to this quadrant of the galaxy like I was. That is how we met before the war. And he did a lot of work in Sigma and Rho sector since he was tapped to work on the Stargate project. So, I suppose it's not much of a surprise that his ship was lost in Senka. As to my being here, well, Washington was torn up and the skipper wanted an out-of-the-way place to dock to make repairs. To lick our wounds and then get back into the fight I guess you could say,” he said thoughtfully. “It's been awhile since I've thought about that time actually,” he admitted.

  “If it troubles you …,” Moira said with a hint of concern in her voice. She guided him away from knots of curious on lookers and out into a balcony area. He looked out at the black stars and ships beyond the dome for a moment before he answered.

  “No, no, no trouble. I know Admiral Irons dispatched a cruiser to Washington's exit point in order to see if they could find any surviving pods. It's like looking for a lot of tiny needles in a vast black space, but I appreciate the effort,” Horatio admitted.

  Moira mentally filed that little tidbit away for future reference. It was a good sign that the commodore had opened up and given her that little tidbit of information. Doing so in seeming confidence helped build trust too she knew. “But they haven't found anything yet?” Moira asked, clearly curious and eager.

  Horatio frowned thoughtfully. “They left a few days ago. They are tasked to look for two months since the pods could have spread out anywhere over the seven light years since I'd been found. I don't honestly know if they will find a pod. The odds …,” he shrugged, voice rough. “And the odds of finding a pod with power …,” he shook his head.

  “Don't be too surprised, Commodore. My grandmother was found in a pod, oh, years and years ago,” Moira admitted. He blinked at her. She smiled. “It's something we have in common I suppose you could say. Well,” she cocked her head. “I suppose once removed on my part.”

  “I appreciate the effort, ma'am,” Horatio replied.

  “Thank you, Commodore. Chalk it up to a politician’s urge to bond with a potential voter,” she teased.

  “Please, call me Horatio, ma'am,” he said.

  Her eyes lit slightly. “I'd be delighted,” she purred. “But only if you call me Moira,” she said with a nod.

  “Thank you, ma'am, I'd be honored,” Horatio replied softly, feeling a stirring of something long since thought forgotten within him waken. Down boy, he thought as they slowly walked to the double doors leading to the dining room.

  ~<><{<^>}><>~

  Moira parted with him when they entered the dining room. The table was long, and each had placards where the stewards and butlers wanted them to be. Each was politely but firmly escorted to their seat at the table. Horatio was amused but torn. He had genuinely enjoyed Moira's company.

  To his surprise she was seated not that far from him. She smiled impishly to him as she took her seat with a flourish. She smiled her thanks briefly to the steward who'd seated her, then turned her attention to her dinner companions nearest her.

  Horatio nodded and tuned into the conversations around him as well.

  ~<><{<^>}><>~

  Dinner had indeed been rubber chicken … or fish, he really hadn't been sure. He also hadn't really cared. Like Admira
l Irons, he tended to think of food as fuel mass to shovel in, not really to be enjoyed unless he was in the mood for it.

  Besides, the party was work. It was socializing with the civilians, powerful people in politics and business who were shaping up to be the movers and shakers of the star system, and eventually, possibly, the Federation. At the very least, the sector.

  Once dinner and dessert of key-lime pie was concluded he tried to make his retreat. However, before he could get to the door a familiar scent and hand made him pause.

  “Going so soon, Commodore?” Moira teased, wrapping her arm around his. She drew him off course for the door and towards the ballroom to his dismay. “I heard they have some nice dances planned,” she said.

  “Yes, ma'am, I know. I also have intelligence that they are planning some sort of karaoke contest when things get going. If it's all the same to you, I'd like to preserve my hearing. I've heard a few of these people try to sing,” he said with a theatrical shudder.

  To his surprise she threw her head back and laughed. It was a nice laugh, one that made him feel oddly better about the situation.

  “Well, I won't keep you long then. Just a few dances so I won't get my feet trod on by a few of the lefties in the crowd,” she teased. “I happen to know Yorgi is quite the dancer, but he loses his coordination when he ties one on,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “Just be careful, ma'am. It's been ages for me. Dancing I mean,” Horatio said, wanting to tug on his collar.

  “We'll pick something slow then,” Moira said soothingly.

  Chapter 2

  Horatio smiled as he spun the image of Bismark around on the holo table. He loved the ability to just … he reached out and touched a section of the ship and pretended to pinch and pull at it. The A.I. interpreted his intent and pulled the section apart in an exploded diagram he could turn and see from different angles.

  “Nice,” he murmured softly.

  The small silver blob at the bottom of the table and off to one side seemed to ripple at the compliment. He glanced at it and then to the image of the ship.

  Admiral Irons had sent him both the software package and the latest blueprints of Bismark to … well, he wasn't quite sure why. To play with? He wasn't a ship designer. He'd been half tempted to turn the dumb A.I. over to one of them, but he'd hung onto it.

  The A.I. was named Mercury. It barely rated a name though. It was an early version of Proteus, so it was buggy as hell. He'd enlisted the services of Lieutenant Kamia to help debug the A.I. She had managed to get a few of the big bugs out and had gotten a handle on the crashing problem. Now Mercury just froze instead of crashing.

  But he had a bug report. He wasn't smart enough to fix himself … Horatio snorted. Technically the A.I. wasn't even an A.I. or a he. He just thought of it as a male due to the name.

  Each time he tried Mercury out, he found something new … and his limits. For instance, the assistant couldn't multitask. And it had a finite memory. It also had memory leaks, which was what caused the crashes and freezes.

  So, there was no way he was going to load the thing into his implants. Not anytime soon at any rate.

  He could see the intent though. The A.I. once it was debugged might serve as a good design aide or a good diagnostic tool. But again, only when they got the bugs out. To be honest he thought the A.I. was too much. It was taking on too much and might be suffering from code bloat. He made a mental note to run that question past the so-called experts sometime.

  He frowned thoughtfully as he examined the ship section he'd pulled out without really processing it. He let go, then used the flat of his hand to gently push it back as if he was closing a desk drawer or filing cabinet drawer.

  “Nice. Any problems, Mercury?”

  “No, sir. The latest patch seems to be holding,” the A.I. replied.

  Horatio nodded. “Good to know. So you are using billboards?” he asked, curious about the process.

  “I'm no longer attempting to load the entire design into my RAM. I have the overall specs up and just call up the sections you want when you indicate, sir. Just those sections,” the A.I. stated.

  “In basic detail I see. You didn't color code the various subsystems,” Horatio stated.

  “No, sir. Did you wish for me to do so?”

  “No. I was just curious. I'm glad you didn't push your limits,” he stated.

  “My limits aren't just software. It is hardware as well—specifically ram and processors,” the avatar stated.

  Horatio frowned thoughtfully and then nodded slowly. “Okay. Pass your log on to Kalmia and the coders. Flag any problems of course.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  And that was just about it, Horatio thought as he flicked his hand to wipe away the image of the dreadnaught. Mercury had a very basic ability to process vocal commands but no personality. He didn't have much of an ability to learn, a rudimentary one at best since his code and hardware were so limited. He was a tool, little more.

  He checked the clock and then nodded. He had about a half hour before the meeting. “Can you pull up my inbox?” he asked carefully.

  “I was not designed to interact outside my designed parameters,” Mercury stated. “Nor do I have the proper access codes,” the A.I. stated.

  “Of course not. I'm going to need to either look into getting you an upgrade or finding out if Admiral Irons is going to actually call me to Antigua to get my own version of Sprite,” he said as he jacked in. He found his inbox and started picking through his e-mail. Fortunately, there wasn't a lot in it.

  When he was finished he turned his attention to his to do list. He opened a vidchat window to the command link and left it open. Eventually the staff would start to log in. While he waited he thought he might as well get some paperwork done.

  “Paperwork, the bane of the navy,” he muttered, digging into the reports. Mercury bobbed but didn't respond since the comment was rhetorical and not addressed directly to him Horatio noted. Horatio remembered he wasn't set up for conversation so he focused on the report while he waited.

  ~<><{<^>}><>~

  Despite his duties in the yard, Horatio still acted as a go-between to smooth out Admiral Subert's acerbic personality and orders to the navy as well as to the civilians who interacted with them on a regular basis. From time to time, he was approached by civilian politicians, industrialists, and business people to act as a sounding board or their intermediary with the admiral or his staff.

  He has to be careful since such “interference” has been known to come back to haunt him when he misinterprets something or appears more flexible or is asked to intervene on someone's behalf.

  He listened with half an ear as a couple of the department heads grumbled about some miscommunications and changed priorities.

  “One of these days he's going to have his command style blow up in his face. And you aren't going to be around to smooth things over,” the G-6 A.I. Lieutenant Commander Kamia said as the staff assembled. As usual Saul and the admiral were running late.

  “Possibly,” Horatio mused, eyeing her avatar thoughtfully. He knew she would be aware if anyone was eavesdropping or recording their discussion.

  “No possible about it. It isn't a question of if; it is a question of when,” Kamia pointed out. “I want to be there to see it, but I don't want to be caught up in the works myself,” the A.I. said wryly.

  “The proverbial fly on the wall,” Horatio murmured. That was pretty much stock for all A.I. he knew. “Voyeurism. Just don't get swatted.”

  “Yeah, as long as there isn't a fly swatter in sight,” Kamia said with a holographic grin. Her daily interaction with people had done wonders for her development. So much so that she had put in for an upgrade and a transfer herself. Horatio wasn't sure what to make of that. He wouldn't be around to see if she got her wish. Wishes, plural, he reminded himself.

  “True. I'm not doing it for his sake,” Horatio said in a sudden act of bravado. He questioned it, but rolled on Barry and
the other officers leveled a look at him. “I mean, if that's what you are thinking.”

  “I knew you had his back. I wasn't sure why,” Lieutenant Strongbirth admitted, turning her goat eyes on him. Horatio didn't let the Elf's diminutive size fool him. He knew behind those big eyes was a first-class mind.

  Even if it could fit in the palm of his hand with plenty of room to spare. Elves had incredibly dense neural networks.

  “I …,” Horatio stopped himself then shrugged uncomfortably. “I'm not doing it for him as I said—for the sake of the navy and Federation, yes. We have to remember we're all on the same side. We just have different command styles as you said, and different ways of doing things. Some work better than others but not necessarily. We all have to adjust and adapt.”

  “Try telling someone else that,” Lieutenant Lavot, the JAG growled. He saw the closed pained look from Horatio and realized he'd overstepped himself finally. “Sorry, sir,” he said, hunching his shoulders slightly.

  “You should be,” Horatio said severely, trying to temper his ire. “Jeremy, all of you for that matter,” he eyed the group. “You want to be careful who you unload to and how you go about doing it—especially when I'm gone. Don't insert your foot to the point you get yourself up on an insubordination charge,” he warned.

  Jeremy nodded, but he immediately latched onto one word in that warning that the others hadn't. “Gone? Sir? Are you going somewhere?”

  “I'm a flag officer now. That means I'm destined for elsewhere, other postings.” He didn't want to admit that they had plenty of room for flag officers in Pyrax. Technically, they could use a flag officer running each department as well as fortress command and the fleet. But it wasn't up to him. “There are only so many of us going around. Admiral Irons no doubt has a place in mind for me.”

  “Can I come too?” Kamia asked hopefully.

  Horatio snorted. “I don't even know where I'm going yet. Just that I'm going to be going somewhere eventually. It's all part of being in the navy.” He shrugged, trying to keep the fatalistic tone of voice under control. He hoped and prayed he didn't have an aura of resentment in it.