by Chris Hechtl
"No, it doesn't. I'm just … well, stunned. I knew they were hard up but …"
"Apparently, very much so. Until a few months ago, this commodore was a senior grade captain. He's come up through the ranks since Admiral Irons made him a commander. Before that he was a power room tech and before that, a yeoman."
"Are you serious?" the Neowolf demanded ears flat as he stared at the Neogorilla. Clearly he was aghast at the concept. It wasn't impossible in Bek for an enlisted to mustang, but it was extraordinarily rare.
Admiral Toronto nodded. "Very."
"And Admiral Irons sent him here? What was he thinking?" the Neowolf demanded, reading the man's history again. His eyes flicked over the details in the man's bio.
"You really didn't pay attention to the history, did you? Horatio Logan is the guy the admiral left in charge of Pyrax when he was exiled. The man built up the shipyard while also building ship hulls by the hundreds. He packed warehouses full of parts that he had the keys to produce—dozens of warehouses, factories, the works. The man found ways around his key limits."
"Seems like he'll fit in here then," the vice admiral stated with a nod.
"Heh, I hadn't actually thought of that, except he's a mustang."
"Yeah, that is a strike against him," Georgi said, then he yipped as his eyes caught something odd. He scrolled back and then looked hard at the dates. "I see what you mean. But he's not an ordinary mustang. He's a sleeper too!"
"Okay, now it's my turn to be shown up it seems," Admiral Toronto said with a frown as he pulled up the commodore's biography. The vice admiral pointed to the entry as well as to the man's birthday. "I admit; I missed that."
"Touché. I guess we're even," the Neowolf replied dryly. "We've got too much data dumped on us. Too many things to process."
"Stop making excuses for yourself. Next you'll be blaming your age or staff. Yes, we miss things; we're only mortal. But we can do better, I'm pretty sure that's what his message is going to be."
"Right," the Neowolf drawled. "This ought to be good."
Admiral Toronto picked up and swirled his glass thoughtfully.
"What?"
"I'm just wondering if Irons is having the same problems we are," Admiral Toronto said. The vice admiral looked at him curiously. "Think about it. We're resenting Logan as an outsider. What about from their side? You have to admit, sending our people to Pyrax and beyond must make a few careerists suddenly put out. People they don't know, never trained with are suddenly there, being promoted ahead of them for slots they wanted."
Georgi grunted. After a moment, he sat back. "Honestly, I hadn't thought about it that way."
"Yup, this is going to be fun, integrating," the Neogorilla drawled. He downed his drink and then set it down on the tray as he rose. "I don't honestly know if it is going to work. We've got our work cut out for us. Maybe when the ansible gets here we'll be … I don't know, tied closer somehow."
Admiral Pashenkov sniffed. "The only way that will happen is with regular trade. I don't see it—not with just the one ship moving back and forth."
"Yeah, that is a problem," Admiral Toronto admitted. He frowned, then shrugged. "One thing at a time I guess—baby steps. But, knowing Irons, he's got something up his sleeve to fix it."
The Neowolf cocked his head thoughtfully. Slowly he nodded.
~<><{<^>}><>~
Vice Admiral Pashenkov and Admiral Childress had their showdown a little faster than the Neowolf admiral had wanted. He'd been ducking the admiral's calls for some time and had managed to make certain he wasn't in his office when the human came around. He'd hoped that the admiral would get the message but it wasn't to be.
He didn't set up any sort of observable pattern but the admiral managed to win their little strategic game by laying a trap. He showed up in uniform, most likely alerted by his cronies that the Neowolf had been in the building. He'd also stacked his own people in positions to prevent an alert being sounded to Admiral Pashenkov so he could clear out. By the time he'd known the admiral was on deck, Admiral Childress was marching past his startled yeoman and into his office.
“Here,” he said, slapping a stack of papers on the Neowolf's desk as he began to rise. “My reactivation paperwork, all signed, sealed and delivered. Mind you, this is a copy. The originals are filed with BuPers, and I of course have a copy. The media knows I'm back in charge; I released the news a moment ago. So we can stop playing stupid games,” he said firmly.
“I wasn't aware I was playing a game,” Admiral Pashenkov said, ears flat. He didn't bother to look at the paperwork; he already knew it was in order. His people in BuPers had been stalling it as long as they could.
“You screwed up when Caroline returned. You dropped the ball, which just goes to show that you can't multitask worth a damn. Enough people wanted you out; that was inevitable. So, I'm taking over—again.”
“It's not as simple as you say. We're not running a democracy here, and technically, your recall was never authorized by me. Nor was your misappropriation of the antigeriatric drugs. I …”
“It's over Georgi Porgi.” The Neowolf winced. He hated that nickname. “I rank you. I'm an O-12, a full admiral. That was the rank I retired at. You are an O-11, so I'm in charge. Now get your butt out of my chair and get out of my office. I'll have someone clear your things out before the end of the watch. Go find a spot in fortress command or go cover in a cave somewhere, take your pick,” The admiral said. “The sheriff's back in town,” he said, moving around the desk.
“Yes … sir,” the Neowolf said, acknowledging that he was being forced to back down. Admiral Childress had him by rank, and they both knew it. The Neowolf did everything but actually roll over and expose his throat for the senior admiral as he rose and left the room.
Georgi passed the yeoman stationed in the outer office. She looked up in confusion. “Sir?”
“Good luck,” was all he said as he retreated, head and tail drooping.
Omar wasn't certain what he would have done if he had. He might have been tempted to tear the damn throat out for real. He took a sniff then gagged. “Gah, first chance I get the janitors are going to get fired, and we're going to get someone in here to get the smell of dog out of this place. Did he mark it?” he looked around the room, wrinkling his nose.
“Yeoman! Get in here! We've got work to do!” he bellowed, sitting in the chair. He adjusted it as the yeoman scampered into the room holding a tablet. “Call a staff meeting in a moment. But I've got a list of people to transfer, retire, or fire. It's a long list. BuPers has it; they'll be acting on it once you let them know I'm in charge once more,” he said.
“Yes, sir. Um, my name is …”
“I don't give a flying frack what your name is. You do a good job like the little peon you are and maybe I'll try to learn it. Piss me off in any way and I'll guarantee I'll learn it and you won't like it,” he hissed.
“Yes, sir,” the young woman said with a gulp.
“Now, we've got a lot more work to do and not a whole hell of a lot of time to do it in,” the admiral said, pulling a cigar out of his breast pocket. He pulled out a pair of cutters out of his pants pocket, nipped the end off, then took a match out, lit it, and then used it to light the cigar. He took a couple of puffs, then blew out the smoke. The young woman coughed and tried not to gag.
“I've got to get the damn smell of dog out of this place. Get someone to fumigate it when I'm out,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the yeoman said.
“I want that written down,” he growled.
“Yes, sir,” she said hastily, following words with action.
~<><{<^>}><>~
Horatio surveyed the plot of the star system again. He'd done it often enough as he'd studied it, but the live feed had his renewed interest. Even more so the closer they got to the docks. The sight of the nearest industrial complex and nearby ships was impressive. But when he did a comparison with the sensor readings from Caroline's previous visit, there wasn't much gr
owth—almost none at all.
It could be internal he thought, but something told him that wasn't the whole story.
When he checked the sensor feed of the nearest yard, he was stunned to see ships in the slips that were the same models as the sublight ships that were floating around the star system. He was not happy by the lack of progress. They'd done some but not enough. Clearly there was a bit of foot dragging going on. Politics might be involved; he frowned and sought out a source who might know more and might be willing to explain it to him.
Rear Admiral Melvin “Zek” Zekowitz was also a bit put out but defensive of his countrymen when Horatio laid out what he'd observed. "It's a lot to take in. A lot to process. I bet they are doing some internal work. It's incremental though, absorbing and adapting a little at a time."
"I know. We still need to get this sorted out. We need to hit the ground running."
The Bekian flag officer eyed him and then exhaled, making the older man cock his head and narrow his eyes at him. "Horatio, I like you and all, but remember, you are a commodore—a new commodore at that. You also came up from the enlisted ranks, and you never attended the academy. You are also an outsider. You don't know how things work here, where the bodies are buried, all that. Among the flag ranks here, it's a case of being a small fish in a very big pond," the senior officer warned. "And small fish get eaten by bigger ones if they aren't careful. Understood?"
Horatio grimaced but then nodded.
"It could also have been something as simple as people wanting to make sure the stuff Caroline brought would last long term. You know, just in case she or another ship never showed up. I know the people in Nuevo were having trouble believing we'd show again."
"Then why come with us?"
The rear admiral shrugged. "Adventure? The rapids are a huge risk, Horatio," he pointed out. "I honestly gave our chances at surviving it less than even odds. There were a few scrapes that had me scared pissless," he admitted.
Horatio snorted. "Me too. I've been in a few bumpy rides." He had a faraway look on his face. "You know, I just realized something. I hadn't left Pyrax in over a century."
"Wow," Zek replied. "That long?"
"For the first what, eighty odd years, I didn't have a choice," Horatio stated flatly. Zek blinked at him. "I was kept as a slave," he said with a bite in his tone. Admiral Zekowitz stiffened. "Didn't read that part of the history?" he asked, raising an eyebrow upwards.
Zek shook his head. He pursed his lips thoughtfully.
"It's bad out there, in the outer galaxy," Horatio admitted, waving a hand to the image of stars beyond the slowly-approaching space station. "People like us, doers, people with implants and training, we're rare. Sleepers … they sell us to the highest bidder. Engineers, well, we go for a premium. The same for medics obviously."
Zek scowled. "I don't like it. I'm sorry you went through that. I'm surprised your implants didn't kill you."
"They are set to go off if captivity is in the hands of oppressive people. My implants had been rekeyed to watch out for pirates or Xenos. I admit; I did have a few moments where my implants prompted me to agree to suicide. But I got past it. And," he smiled slightly, "I'm glad I did. I was shocked to find love, have Shelby, and eventually be there when Admiral Irons showed up and saved my wrinkled ass," he said.
"I'll take your word on that last bit," Zek snorted. "We've got a few minutes; you mind telling me the high or should I say low points?" he asked. "I just wished you'd brought that up earlier man! We had an entire flight …," he shook his head in disgust.
Horatio shrugged. They'd spent the better part of the voyage learning about modern engineering and how to use his implants for the admiral while Horatio had done his best to learn Bek inside and out. "No reason to bring it up really. It's in the past."
"Well, does it tie into that nasty business I heard about Irons?" Zek asked, clearly curious.
"That came later actually. But it does tie into it sort of. See, the guy running Anvil, he set himself up as a port admiral," he said with a grimace. "He restricted tech to himself and his cronies and even used cloning to keep himself going."
Zek blinked at him then got a wary look on his face. "Cloning?"
"Yes. The port admiral was a piece of shit. He … let's just … I'm not going to go into details of his crimes. But the people who set John up on Vesta used the port admiral's sordid reputation against the real deal. And no amount of showing his own implant video feeds and having witnesses step up to support him helped. And even when the bastards tried to rescind everything, it still lingered like a bad taste in everyone's mouth."
"I see," the admiral murmured.
"I'll show you the files so you can download and read them yourself. For the moment," Horatio nodded his chin to the clock and then to the image of the ship slowly approaching the dock, "I think we had better get ready for any sort of reception committee, don't you?"
The admiral glanced at the image, then grimaced and nodded. "Gotcha." He grinned like an errant boy. "And I believe that's Lieutenant Si rather impatiently trying to track me down. I bet she's looking for you too," he said.
Horatio snorted, but then stiffened when his own implants pinged. "Bet's off. She just hit me up too."
"Should we play hooky some more?"
"No, she'll just track our asses down and then give us one of those disgusted looks," Horatio said with a small smile of his own.
"You'd think with all the rank we've got the two of us could handle one woman," Zek mocked.
Horatio snorted. "Keep dreaming. It only takes one of the blasted females to have us outnumbered, surrounded, and chasing our tails. No matter the rank."
"True," Zek said with a chuckle as they headed to the door.
Chapter 18
Caroline arrived under escort to her parking orbit near the massive artificial platform designated Command 1. It was an uneventful trip; one the crew had spent in ever-growing anticipation of what was to come.
“Sir, we're getting another IFF challenge,” a rating said, looking up from her post.
“Answer it,” the captain said. “Then open a hail to Command One.”
“The IFF challenge is from the nearest command fortress, sir. Putting you through now, sir.”
“Challenge and countersign accepted Caroline,” a familiar male voice rumbled.
“Admiral Toronto?” Captain Perth asked, eyes wide in surprise.
“The one and only now that my brother retired,” the admiral quipped. After a moment his image appeared on the main screen.
“It is good to hear from you. Is this a social call, sir? Or do you wish to speak with Admiral Zekowitz or Commodore Logan? We've been trying to get someone to answer their hails …”
“Yes, about that. Things are a bit confusing in Command One at the moment … he was cut off from saying more when a spontaneous cheer came up from the watch around him. The admiral turned in surprise and then stabbed a button to mute and put his wallpaper up before he rounded on the crew.
“Settle down!” a CPO said, voice cutting through the cheering but too little effect. However, the admiral's simian bellow instantly quieted the group.
“Act like the professionals you are supposed to be,” Admiral Toronto said in a deep bellow, teeth bared, fur raised. He thumped his chest in his agitation a few times. The sight of the massive angry primate made more than one person flinch away in fear.
Chagrined the enlisted and officers obeyed, head down, focusing on their work.
The admiral snuffled, wiped at his mouth, and then hit the key to drop his wallpaper. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem, sir. I know we're a bit unexpected and emotions are high.”
“Hardly,” the Neogorilla admitted. The officers knew Caroline was coming in for the past three days after all. It was just that the rank and file hadn't known. “As I was saying, Captain Perth, welcome back,” Admiral Toronto said with a nod as he got control of his temper.
“Thank you, sir. We
've missed being here,” the Neochimp captain replied with a return nod. “We're in our parking orbit. We have a lot of cargo and some passengers to send your way, as well as fresh communications, news briefs, and orders. When can we get started on that, sir?”
“I'll have to get back to you on that, Captain. For the moment sit tight,” the admiral ordered. “As in, don't communicate with anyone without clearing it with higher first,” he said.
The Neochimp's eyes narrowed slightly then he nodded once. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Toronto out,” the admiral said, using his cyborg arm to cut the circuit. He scrubbed his face with his artificial hand, and then ran it over his melon a few times as he tried to think. The Admiralty was in chaos at the moment. Word was Admiral Pashenkov was out and Admiral Childress was in. He wasn't certain who to report to and what they'd want.
He damn well didn't want to be caught in the middle. The victor would be a problem, and the loser, if he ever got back on top again, would be vindictive. How to play it, he thought, playing with his lower lip as he looked at the plot.
Before Admiral Toronto could do anything about it, news of the ship's return had already made its way to the media. He grimaced as he saw the news report. They were unconfirmed of course. They wouldn't be confirmed until a spokesman came out to say something, but they had video of the ship so there was little anyone could do about it.
Not that he'd expected Admiral Childress to do so, but he hadn't been certain. He knew there was going to be hell to pay over it; hopefully, it wouldn't come out of his hide. His neck was on the chopping block already he knew. He had stepped in to try to wrangle Caroline and keep her quiet as a favor to Admiral Childress. Now he wasn't certain if that had been worth it or not.
When the media started to clamor for confirmation of Caroline's return, he just groaned and sat back to rub the bridge of his nose. “Today is just not my day it seems,” he muttered.