Enemy of my Enemy (Horatio Logan Chronicles Book 1)

by Chris Hechtl

  He turned his attention to understand the history of Bek, but he realized right off that they hadn't gotten the full version from Admiral Sienkov and Zek. The areal shows just gave him more questions to ask. They were out of order as well, and the incidents were oriented on civilian events, not naval ones which was his keen interest. He tried to rearrange the clips into some semblance of a timeline and then place them into the timeline he had downloaded from Pyrax. It helped a little but not enough—not nearly enough.

  What was the big deal? Why weren't they interested in sharing their history? Why were there gaping holes in it?

  He shook his head. He'd already deduced from their primitive coding that they didn't have A.I. According to a few things he'd picked up, they had no nanites either. Robots were limited to telepresence or overseen devices. They were strictly limited. Something had happened; something that had burned the Bekian people so badly that they persevered any artificial intelligence as a threat and not just them but also virtual reality and nanites.

  He could understand the nanite thing. The fear of nanites was rooted in the basest of emotions, the threat of being eaten. Humans shivered in terror at such things. A predator could evoke such emotions to some degree and wildly evoke them if it was big enough to eat a person. He frowned thoughtfully. A shark for instance he thought and then shrugged such analogies off.

  Unfortunately, there was little to find about why they were so dead set against nanites and A.I.; it was just not talked about. The technology was a dead end; they had taken it as far as they were comfortable with and then stopped.

  They'd also capped their electronics tech, which put a stranglehold on their information and processing issues. No wonder they needed a staff like his to compare crap. He considered it make-work; something a simple A.I. could do. Hell, not even an A.I., a smart bot could handle it. But they didn't see it that way. They also didn't care that they were employing dozens of people to do the job, thus burning credits. Unnecessary, he thought with a mental note.

  The issue with A.I. was only one big question mark for him though.

  Despite having Flea Leggers and some of the other great genetic engineering races in the Federation in Bek, there was a minimum amount of genetic engineering going on and a minimum amount of cloning. They didn't even clone replacement limbs! Just organs … and they relied on prosthetics but primitive ones. Just enough to give the user back most of their mobility—no enhancements. It was very odd.

  He had found out a little about the Bekian Marines. They were highly limited and were limited on their training. He didn't have all the details, but from the recruiting commercial he'd seen, they marched pretty and stood guard but that was about it. He shook his head at that thought. “What a way to run a railroad,” he muttered to himself.

  He checked in with the other team members the best he could. After a moment, he almost wished he hadn't. They had become something of a modern celebrity in the star system. The civilians had been invited to casino resorts to rest and had readily accepted them since they hadn't been put to work as they'd expected. Some were scattered on the two planets.

  Other personnel had found temporary work in the navy but were mum about it. He shook his head. He didn't know what the problem was, why it was so secret. He sighed heavily.

  He set his internal alarms to wake him at 0400 for his morning workout, then flicked the vid screen off and went to bed.

  ~<><{<^>}><>~

  Bailey grinned at his wife as they laid on the massage table side by side. Expert hands worked them over. It was heaven, even if he had the urge to fart.

  He saw her look at him and then put her face back down into the padded support. After a moment, he did the same. Something told them after the dinner and a show they had planned, he was going to get lucky that night.

  There was nothing like being free of a ship to allow a couple to make up for lost time he thought before his thoughts began to drift.

  ~<><{<^>}><>~

  Horatio eyed the planetary map, then the satellite map he'd downloaded. It was nice, quite nice, and from the ground views he had seen, it like many of the other cosmopolitan habitats were almost old Federation core world. It felt … the same but not.

  He couldn't quite put his mental finger on it. Oh, he knew some differences were obvious. Ignoring the many Terran species there were seventeen non-Terran species. The most common were pretty well represented. Each species had their own borough or town if they preferred their own company. On the edges was where the races intermingled. The same for public buildings, work, and other places.

  He was aware that some species preferred their own most of the time. But there was always an exception to that rule he knew.

  Here and there in the crowd he could pick out a few of the rare species—Flea Leggers, Delquir, Leaf bugs, Stilties, Satyres and the like. A rare Vesuvian occasionally towered over the crowd, slowly moving along. The plants tended to act as islands with smaller, faster beings parting and moving around them. It seemed that there were a lot of bugs though. In a way it made sense, they bred like … well, bugs.

  There was the usual light pollution in the major metropolises, but that too was expected. At least they had the other forms of pollution under control.

  It finally came to him after staring out at the crowd what he was missing. It was something technical. Something … he nodded once as it came to him all at once—robots. There were a few, most were automated delivery drones or police surveillance drones. But there were no androids or other types of robots. He knew they had some, but they only used them for telepresence.

  “Odd,” he muttered. He stepped aside as a Centillian slithered by on its many legs. The bug turned to look at him with its multiple eyes and then it turned and continued on its way.

  “As you were,” he murmured, doing the same.

  ~<><{<^>}><>~

  It took nearly a frustrating week of working in the temporary work detail shuffling papers with the occasional ONI debrief interview before Horatio worked his way through the red tape to get a meeting with Vice Admiral N'r'm'll, the Veraxin head of BuPers.

  The military industrial complex that made up the navy had a level of arrogance he hadn't expected. There was an air of conceit coming from just about everyone he encountered. He initially chalked it up to pride and resentment over the newcomer. Perhaps they resented losing their independence? He wasn't certain, but it had been annoying to be shuffled from one office to the next like a badminton birdie.

  He'd found out along the way that like a lot of officers the vice admiral was a new appointee and had been selected by Admiral Childress. That the vice admiral had deigned to talk with Horatio could be seen as a two-edged sword.

  The Veraxin had set himself up in a dark office. The walls were brown, not wood, just painted a dark brown, almost like the inside of a hive. Horatio wasn't certain if the bug was moody or had inherited the post from a T'clock and had repainted the normally honey-colored walls a darker shade.

  Something in the deportment of the vice admiral told him that things weren't going to go well. The Veraxin's body language was a mix of second-degree grim amusement mixed with third-degree anticipation. That didn't bode well.

  He snapped to attention in front of the desk. The desk was also set-up for a T'clock, with curves and a bowl shape instead of a flat surface. That clinched it for him. “Sir, Commodore Horatio Logan reporting for duty.” He saluted. The Veraxin returned the salute. When he struck it Horatio dropped his hand and stood at attention.

  “You are already on duty, Commodore, which is the nature of this meeting. This short meeting since I have one scheduled every five minutes for the next several hours,” the Veraxin stated.

  Horatio nodded as he came to parade rest.

  “Ordinarily, I'd pass this order on electronically or through someone else. Since my department like all others is rather chaotic and since you need … special handling, I thought I'd dispense with the usual processes and get straight to the heart of
the matter,” the Veraxin said, keeping all four eye stalks locked on the commodore. His antenna twitched, but otherwise he was still on his saddle.

  Horatio was reminded of a praying mantis about to strike.

  “We're not giving you the post you wanted. We have plenty of people, more qualified people I should point out, who are holding those posts. So, we're going to find some other post for you to occupy—one commiserate with your skills and training.”

  Horatio scowled. “With all due respect sir, my orders …,” he started to say, but the senior officer cut him off. His mandibles flicked several times as did his antenna. He seemed to swell in indignation. Horatio wasn't certain if it was feigned or not.

  “I don't care where you got your orders from. He's there, I'm here. If you don't understand that, you aren't the officer you think you are,” Admiral N'r'm'll buzzed menacingly.

  Horatio stiffened and let his face take on an expressionless mask.

  “You'll serve where you are ordered to do so. Any problems with that can be taken up with Admiral Irons through the chain of command,” the Veraxin admiral stated. “And it passes through me. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.”

  The bug let him stew for a moment. Finally, it pushed a chip over to him with one of its truehands. “As it happens, we've had a lot of openings in the command structure—some from the personnel that left to go to Pyrax, others from people who recently retired. I found you a posting in BuShips. Do your job and we'll see about finding you a posting more in line with your … talents in the future.”

  Horatio slowly scooped up the chip. He used the implants in his hand to access it. He applied his key code and read it. “Sir?”

  “Yes, Commodore?”

  “This is for a staff position. Specifically managing a staff who handle logistics paperwork. I thought you said it was in BuShips?” he asked, clearly confused.

  “You'll find the departments intermix on a regular basis. Wait, you knew about the orders already?”

  “No, sir, I just read them,” Horatio said, holding the chip up.

  “How?”

  “I used my implants, sir,” Horatio explained.

  “Implants,” the bug said, signaling second-level confusion.

  “All Federation officers are to have implants, sir. I received mine prior to the Xeno war. They've been upgraded regularly. Most recently when I was promoted to commodore. I don't have a full-flag implant set however. One can only get them through Admiral Irons at this time.”

  “I see. Clearly I'll have to look into this more,” the Veraxin stated. “But by your own admission, you do not have full flag officer implants. So, you can't really take on a proper flag post. So, take what you can get, Commodore.”

  “Sir …”

  “I said, take what you can get,” the Veraxin buzzed, signaling first-level annoyance.

  “Yes, sir,” Horatio said, dropping his hand. He tucked it behind him to keep from showing him clenching and unclenching it. “Will that be all, sir?”

  “Dismissed, Commodore,” the Veraxin stated.

  Horatio about-faced smartly and moved to leave.

  “And Commodore,” the bug said before he could get through the hatch. Horatio paused. “Work on your comportment, especially with senior officers. You don't want to be charged with insubordination. It would be detrimental to your career,” the bug said.

  “Yes, sir. I apologize if I came off like that, sir,” Horatio said with iron control of his tone and inflection.

  “Good. I'm glad we understand each other. Dismissed,” the bug said, turning away.

  Horatio nodded once and got out while he could.

  ~<><{<^>}><>~

  “The more I see of Bek, the more questions I have … and the more I don't like. I mean, on the surface it's all great. But under it …,” Lieutenant Grant said, ears back.

  “I know what you mean,” Captain Perth murmured. “I've got so many questions …”

  “You? Sir, I've lost count! And when I try to ask, I get shut down or told to shut up!”

  “That bad?” the Neochimp captain asked, eyeing the Neomutt. He could tell the dog was frustrated by the whole situation. Everyone had expected Bek to be really trucking along with the upgrades they'd delivered before. Apparently, no one had consulted the people of Bek's opinion on that matter. He'd just discovered they were stubborn and ornery. Something, apparently, some of his officers had already seen.

  “I told you about Captain Bailey, right?” Percy asked. His skipper nodded. “Right, well, I thought he was just a one-off. But he's like the prevalent opinion here or at least the one that counts since his bosses seem to echo it.”

  “Lovely. So, stuck in what they want and ornery enough to not want to change?”

  “Pretty much, sir. I don't get how they think they can ignore orders with impunity, but it's not my problem I guess. That's up to JAG and Admiral Irons.”

  “Which will be fun for someone to get sorted out. Wanna start taking bets on who will have to play chauffeur to get them here?” the captain demanded.

  The Neomutt groaned. “I so don't want to go there,” he said, shaking his head. “They are putting on a brave face for it. I see it. I think if we don't say anything we won't have any problems,” he said.

  “You think there could be some?” the captain said in a cool tone of voice.

  The Neomutt spread his hand paws out. “Honestly, sir? If they can ignore Admiral Irons orders, then I don't know. They could countermand our own I suppose. And if an SD sits on us, it's not like we can say no.”

  “Now there is a pleasant thought to spoil my day,” the captain said mildly.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “No, no, it is something I'm going to need to be aware of. Hopefully, it never gets to that. Pass on an order. Do it quietly. We play monkey,” he said.

  “Monkey, sir?” the dog asked, clearly confused.

  “The three monkeys. I don't see anything, I don't hear anything, and no one definitely doesn’t say anything,” he said pointedly.

  Percy nodded slowly. “Gotcha. I think we can keep our eyes and ears open, sir. Just pretend we're deaf and blind. Someone really should know back home.”

  “I know. Just don't get caught at it. And don't be too obvious about passing that order. A major change in attitude will tell someone watching that something is up.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” the Neodog sighed.

  ~<><{<^>}><>~

  Horatio realized a part of his problem was that he was an outsider and a low-ranking flag officer at that. He had no contacts, no patrons. He was in limbo, something of a pariah to those around him. He also disdained playing the game, so that was a problem. He wasn't a social butterfly, but he knew how to play that game if possible.

  But it didn't help that he wasn't invited to social events, which in his opinion was odd. As someone from outside the star system, he'd thought people would want to talk and socialize with him to feel him out, see what Pyrax was like, and get some sort of social lift from it all. That hadn't been the case. He wondered briefly if there was some sort of stigma with associating with him. A stink that if they did they'd get tainted like him? He wasn't certain, and no one was talking.

  He'd sicked Lieutenant Olson, Pietro, on the problem, but so far the lieutenant was as much in the dark as his boss was. Apparently, having a large staff was something of a status symbol in the Bekian navy. He only had his flag lieutenant for a staff and no contacts to recruit more, nor permission from BuPers to do so. They'd have to be assigned he knew.

  The original plan from Admiral Irons and the Antiguan Admiralty said he was supposed to have drawn his junior officers and staff from the Bek navy so they would know the environment and players. But he was apparently being snubbed. He was not in the right club or something; he wasn't certain what was going on or why.

  He also found he was getting frozen out of keeping an eye on the team that had come in with him. He'd been pointed
ly told to butt out by a white Neomutt by the name of Rear Admiral Bolt when he'd tried to check on Commander Weaver Thistle. At least the commander had found a patron he mused as he toyed with a stylus. He flicked it in his finger, drumming it back and forth to make a tapping sound as he tried to consider his options.

  The few options he had available that was. Here he was, in Command 1, the theoretical center of naval power in the entire Bek Republic, and he was relegated to a closet shuffling paperwork and overseeing a bored staff of enlisted who were doing essentially make-work. Worse, he knew it and they knew it.

  He wasn't much of a coder. He admitted he was a copy and paste guy, but he'd invested some time recently to find a way to automate their job. It was the only thing he could think of to keep sane. Playing with Mercury just got him worked up about what he was supposed to be doing. Though it had been a bit of fun to try to puzzle out the design of some of the smaller sublight ship classes Bek had in space at the moment.

  “Something's gotta break soon, or I'm going to lose it,” he muttered with a shake of his head.

  Chapter 23

  Lieutenant Dvorsky smiled as she picked up her morning latte. She rather loved them, but for some reason she couldn't make them worth a damn herself. She'd found a nice coffee shop in Red-rum that had a cute staff and some old school charm. It had been something of a welcome change for the spacer gal, not that she minded battleship gray and industrial style, but seeing wood panels, brass fixtures, and actual servers was a treat for her.

  “Latte mocha sweet, hold the peppermint, double the espresso, with a shot of caramel?” a server said at the pickup side of the bar.