by Chris Hechtl
He was very upset about the files that the ship had brought along with the news that the ansible was in B-102c. Having the ansible there and in use scuttled his plans he'd made to have the platform have an accident when it was set-up. Now he had to put up with the damn thing.
The hoopla, however, didn't fully degrade, despite the passage of time and several natural crises' like a solar flare that had endangered several habitats and a moon colony, and a pair of hurricanes that had torn up the east coast and southern islands of Thebes and another series of tornados that had battered a continent on Memphis. When the public affairs department pointed out that the crew was what was keeping the story alive, he was forced to let them go but not without a few provisions first.
The crew of Harmony of Space spent two long anxious weeks sequestered or being interviewed by rather grim looking ONI officers before they were put through a rigorous order session to get them on message. What that message was became clear as they were trotted out before the cameras. Each had a simple humble statement saying the living and working conditions in B-102c were harsh but the navy persevered.
“Under the leadership of Admiral Childress, Ilmarinen has been sent on a successful mission. She should have been the first ship sent back,” newly promoted First Lieutenant V'r'n'll stated.
“And why hasn't she returned?” a reporter asked, just as if she'd been prompted to do so, which she had.
“Because Commodore Logan has exceeded his orders and has endangered the personnel there by drawing down the supply and fuel situation to critical levels and by risking personnel and resources on sending ships that the Admiralty planned to salvage at a later date,” the Veraxin intoned as if he was a robot.
“You are saying the commodore is violating his orders?” the reporter asked. That earned a startled gasp from a few people, then a rush of questions from other reporters to get in on the condemnation.
Admiral Childress grinned as he crossed his arms in his office and watched the performance. The lieutenant's delivery sucked, but the message was getting through anyway, he thought in approval. The best way to tear a hero down was to find a chink in their armor and exploit it. The media hated clean people; they strove to find that chink and run them through the mud.
“I can say that sending us on a salvaged ship without proper testing was risky. We were fortunate to survive. I don't know if Second Chance was so lucky. By all rights, they should have been here by now. Since they are overdue, they may be lost. That loss with all the irreplaceable people and equipment is on the commodore's head,” the Veraxin stated, strictly in accordance with the script.
“And Ilmarinen? What of her?”
“If they push the time too far, I fear they may not have enough fuel to get back home,” the Veraxin stated. That hushed the reporters. “I pray that they leave soon, but I doubt they will.”
“Will your ship be returning to the star system to find out?” a reporter demanded.
“Unfortunately, the ship needs lengthy repairs before we can risk the trip again. There are several problems with her systems, and well, we need to get a proper crew trained to man her. I don't know if I will remain on board her at this point; that is up to the navy. I personally do not want to risk the journey again,” the Veraxin stated.
“Thank you. That is all,” the public affairs officer said, stepping up to the podium. “No more questions,” the Neocat said as she shooed the Veraxin and other crew members off the stage.
Admiral Childress grinned. He sat at his desk and tapped out the order to initiate the next phase. The commodore and the crew of Harmony had thoughtfully taken before and after images of the derelict ships and their interiors. Images of the squalor of the derelict ships that Harmony's crew had brought were leaked to the media, along with reports of how dangerous and unsafe it was. That was followed up with a report of injuries and the fatality that had occurred.
Admiral Childress saw some of the condemnation start to take root and sat back with a cigar and brandy to consider the first phase well on its way.
~<><{<^>}><>~
"You are looking well," Reba Childress said with a nod to the elder as the elder joined her. The sleeper was one of the few people she couldn't intimidate or threaten. One of the few people she automatically respected.
"Okay, so you wanted this meeting …"
"The young are so impatient," Morgan Tanaka said mournfully as she took a seat.
"I have things to do, not sleep all day," Reba replied, though she did smile at being called young. It was one of the other reasons she respected the sleepers.
"I guess this is something of a confession," Morgan said as she looked up to the butler as he placed a cup of tea in front of her. She smiled at his thoughtfulness and waited until he was gone to pick up the cup and take a dainty sip.
Reba nodded but hid her troubled look as she noted how fragile Morgan appeared. They were all looking that way now that the sleepers had collectively rejected returning to stasis.
Morgan finished her polite sip and then set the exquisite Chinese cup back down onto the tray before her shaking hands betrayed her. Just another problem with getting old she knew.
"For the past several centuries, we've blocked technology and guided Bek. We've instilled a healthy fear of nanotechnology and A.I. into them, and for good reason. Both fields are highly dangerous. Both can and would have led to the destruction of everything and everyone we hold near and dear. With the help of you and other business and political leaders, we've sheltered and protected our people." Reba nodded silently. Morgan looked away for a long moment, her voice dropping as she continued. "We thought we were protecting the Republic. The last bastion of civilization left in the galaxy. And we were. We kept things safe."
What she really meant was the corruption and corporations as well as the block on nanotech effectively stifled technological change. But it made for a very inefficient industrial base.
"I never did understand why you proscribed hyperspace and all that went with it," Reba replied quietly. "I get why you didn't want nanotech," she said with an atavistic shiver.
Morgan studied her for a moment then nodded. "It boils down to the need to keep Bek bottled up. It is why we let the ships that were going between Nuevo and Bek die. We couldn't allow new hyperdrives to be built in fear of what would come down onto Bek eventually should a ship manage to get out of the nexus."
"Bringing the Xenos down on us. But that's changed. There is no threat or at least not one at our door. Is that why you are allowing the tech Irons is sending in? Why you have stopped sleeping?" Reba asked.
Morgan nodded. "We've come to the consensus that it is time. With Irons back in the picture, we need to bring Bek up to standard so she can guide the future of the Federation."
"So … I need to be clear here, you are against us?" Reba asked carefully. Wheels began to turn in her mind as she gamed that theoretical situation out. She didn't like what she saw.
Morgan let her stew for a moment before she flicked her hand and then clasped them together to get her attention. "No. We're remaining neutral in this. You should be warned that we will be coming out eventually."
"Coming out as in …?" Reba asked, eying the sleeper.
"A confession of sorts. It isn't easy to talk about even now. I know a lot of us are taking the cowards out and postponing it until most of us are safely dead," Morgan said with a shake of her head.
"Oh?"
"We are still simming out the confessions affects on society, which is why we haven't done it yet or one reason; I mentioned the other a second ago," Morgan said ruefully. "The current political situation is making things even more difficult."
"I see …," Reba said in a voice clear that she didn't but was following on patiently.
"I'll leave it at that at the moment. But I can tell you we will not give your son or this cabal of yours our blessings. Not anymore."
"You are putting us in a difficult position," Reba said carefully.
"More th
an you know. My suggestion is to rein your son in before he becomes a liability," Morgan said, eying the other woman. "More so than he already has become. He is drunk on power. His new body and the freedom he has found in Irons' orders and your support has gone to his head."
"I know. I am not sure what I can do to handle it. He is no longer listening to me," Reba said with a grimace.
"To be fair, you kept him under your thumb for his entire life. Now he's free and he's exercising that freedom without restraint—without any of the restraints you exerted on him. He is, like the old saying, a dog finally off his leash."
"I tried to teach him patience," Reba said with a sigh. "Obviously I failed."
"He exercised it for decades, but everyone has a limit," Morgan said with a shake of her silver haired head.
"So, you are saying I should step down? Shuffle off this mortal coil?" Reba asked acidly. She had no intention of doing that. She hadn't gained access to the antigeriatric meds and couldn't now that most were used up and the rest were under lock and key. But some of the medical tech that had recently become available she had snatched up. The doctors believed it would add another two or more decades to her life.
And who knew what else would come about to prolong her life even further in that time period she thought.
"I …" Morgan hesitated then shook her head. "At one point I would have suggested you take your place among us as a sleeper," she said. Reba's eyes widened at that idea. To be invited would be an honor, though she knew the invitation was something of a trap, an incentive to step aside. "But we are no longer skipping through time. I don't know what to tell you, Reba, other than that you will need to find a way to check him."
"Check him …"
"Rein him in without losing positive control over him. If you ever had that," Morgan explained.
Reba's mouth puckered sourly as she thought that over. "I may have been a little heavy handed. Used the threat of the stick to keep him in line while keeping the carrot too far out of reach."
"Now you see part of the problem," Morgan said with a nod.
"It's a little late now," Reba said with a fresh grimace.
"It is never too late to change your ways. Change can be painful. Offering him a way out …," she grimaced again. "But then again, he may see through it and reject it," Morgan mused thoughtfully, looking away. After a moment, she shrugged. "I don't envy you the problem you are in. That he is in. That we are all in, I suppose."
Reba frowned as she looked away. Finally, she inhaled and exhaled deeply before she looked at her advisor squarely in the face. "What do you recommend?"
"If he had followed Irons orders, it would have made him look better than Pashenkov and the previous naval administration. But that is over and done with now. He can try, and I recommend that to mitigate anything Irons does. He might salvage his career."
"He's at the highest post …"
"You are forgetting we are in contact with the Federation, Reba," Morgan scolded gently. "Irons can and will send someone with the right authority to relieve him. A higher ranking officer or a special inspector, a JAG team, take your pick." It was Reba's turn to grimace. "You, he, and others are reacting to protect the status quo here. To protect your established control instead of adapting. For instance, you fear the military closing you out of the construction business, correct?"
Reba hesitated and then nodded.
"That won't happen here for a decade or more, and not completely. And while it is going on, you'll be able to hit civilian markets that you hadn't been able to reach before. Did you consider that?"
Reba shook her head. "Getting hardware through the nexus is prohibitively risky according to my people. And it begs the question how customers will pay for it," Reba said succulently.
"True. I don't have the answer to either of those problems. But it is something you'll need to be aware of."
"I see."
"There is more too," Morgan said. Reba cocked her head and raised a carefully sculpted eyebrow in inquiry. "Politics of course, and upward advancement. If he had played nice, he would have set himself up for an eventual transfer to the outer Federation. From there he could have risen through the ranks to eventually become the chief of naval operations. He only had Yorgi as competition, and Yorgi is a spook at heart."
"I thought that was what Irons was holding?" Reba asked as she considered that scenario.
"For now. There is only so long he could hold onto several seats in the government before he is forced to delegate," Morgan reminded her.
"True. But that is over now," Reba said with a trace of regret in her voice. She had indeed been shortsighted. She scolded herself for not gaming out the long view and allowing the return of Caroline into her planning.
"Not necessarily. If he can play along and if Irons is in a forgiving mood, he might pull it off in time."
"Might. Not good odds," Reba retorted.
"Correct."
"So what do you suggest? Setting up affiliates in the outer Federation?" Reba asked outright.
"That is certainly one approach that might work. We all need to adapt. Evolve. We've kept Bek frozen for centuries. Now we see it as stagnant and are being coerced to evolve. Some like you resent it. Don't. Find a way to adapt or you will indeed get closed out. Sooner rather than later."
"I was afraid you would say that."
~<><{<^>}><>~
Admiral Childress's carefully laid plan hit a major snag when a new arrival was reported at the B-109 jump point two days later.
“You are late, Commander Koba,” Admiral Toronto stated flatly.
“We …,” the commander cut herself off and then blinked at the Neogorilla's image. “I take it I was expected, sir?” she asked.
“You were considered overdue. Harmony of Space arrived several weeks ago,” the Neogorilla replied with a snort.
The commander's face worked a bit. She seemed a little put out over being beaten. “I didn't know it was a race, sir.”
“It is good to see you. You've been expected. An escort will be with you shortly. You are not to communicate with anyone except through navy channels. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” the commander stated.
The rear admiral studied her for a long moment then nodded once. “Fine then. A shuttle has been dispatched or will be dispatched shortly. They will inspect your ship to make certain all is in order. Once they give the final clearance, you will be escorted to Command 1.”
“Thank you, sir. It's good to be home,” the commander replied dutifully. I think, she left unsaid.
~<><{<^>}><>~
The arrival of Second Chance hit the news outlets despite modest efforts to prevent it. That instantly kicked the story off again with consternation and celebration. It was a bit more muted however; the arrivals were starting to become routine.
There were, however, some dark comments on the web that the military and government had suppressed the news for so long. ONI kept tabs on them and their authors and pointed them out to their chain of command.
The arrival of the freighter kicked off renewed interest in some corners. Some people and businesses in the public and private sector wanted to go to B-102c to set-up shop in an open and virtually untapped market. Others wanted to start mail and package delivery businesses. Some companies lobbied for regular mail and to open up trade with Nuevo once more.
Admiral Childress shook his head as he read the last report and then looked around the wardroom. His senior staff seemed impassive. “This is spinning out of control.”
“How the hell could one man pull all that off?” Admiral N'r'm'll demanded.
“He's not alone. We sent him in a factory ship, remember?” Admiral Hill stated.
“He's like a …,” Admiral Draken's voice petered out. He shrugged.
“Don't say it please,” Admiral Hill growled, eyeing the admiral.
“I was going to say demon, but I just remembered someone worse.” Sherman shook his head.
“Oh? I'm not
going to like this?” Admiral Childress asked, eyeing the Ops officer.
“He's like Irons. Remember your history? What Irons did here?”
The Neochimp admiral grimaced. “Damn. I'd forgotten that. And Irons was here only a couple of months too.”
“Right. Makes you wonder what else he can do,” Admiral Draken stated.
“I'm more concerned about what he's telling Irons right now with that ansible. Nothing good I'm assuming. The good news though is he can't send a whole hell of a lot of data. Not at any speed,” Admiral Childress growled.
Admiral Hill nodded grimly. “Yes I know. But he's still doing it. And if we thought we had egg on our face before ….” She eyed the other officer.
“Yes,” Admiral Childress said as he closed his eyes in pain. “Yes, you don't have to remind me. We're going to have more problems.”
“What do we do?”
“We will have to silence him. Shut him down before he gets any fresh orders out to the general public. We need to slap him down and see that he stays down,” Admiral Childress said.
“And how do we do that, sir?” Admiral Draken asked politely.
“Well, fortunately, Admiral Soar and Strike was forced to retire due to medical reasons last month as you know, so Vice Admiral Shren has taken her place. I think the admiral will be more amiable to what I have in mind. At least, he damn well better be given he owes his position to me,” Admiral Childress growled.
The other admirals stared at him. Admiral Draken knew what was about to happen was going to bite them in the ass, but it was like watching a ground car wreck on ice in slow motion. He was watching it, but he had no intention of getting involved for fear of getting crushed in the process.
~<><{<^>}><>~
President K'k'R'll read the latest report and then turned two eye stalks to his chief of staff. “So, he's not moving? Not budging a centimeter? The ships are empty and just sitting there?”
“Notice they sold off the cargo of Harmony rather quick? Now they are saying the ship needs repairs? Odd isn't it? It's almost like they are stalling,” L'r'kk said nastily.