Federation Reborn 1: Battle Lines (39 page)

---<>---<>---

Bast noted the presence of something she had thought long dead in the net. She immediately reacted. "Virus!" she snarled, going on the attack.

"What?" Jethro asked, stopping and taking cover. "Bast? Are they launching a cyber-attack?"

"Xeno virus!" Bast said, chasing the Wraith down as it tried to pull out of the fragile civilian network and back into space. She sent out an alert to the other AI in the network and then dived in after it. Ensign Marshall immediately responded and reset his firewalls to high alert and then alerted the other ship AI to do the same.

Cornered in the civilian cybernetic systems, the wraith tried to clone itself and go on the offensive, but it didn't have enough memory or processing power. Bast snarled as she held it at bay. Marshall got her directions and had the crew shut the infected computers down so they could be disinfected. She watched with hating eyes as the virus terminated itself to keep its code out of the Federation's cybersmith's hands.

---<>---<>---

"So, we're
sure
it's dead?" Amadeus asked, looking at Marshall.

"As far as we can tell, sir, yes." The ship AI shrugged. He was glad he had the new firewalls, but it had been a close thing. If the Xeno AI had gotten inside his network, he most likely would have been terminated to protect the crew.

"And was there another copy?"

"No sir. Not that we are aware of. None active."

"None active."

"We don't have a lot to go off of, but apparently Bast sent me a brief, and I do mean brief, report. The AI stated that the Wraith virus can copy it's components into thousands, possibly millions of files. It can then send an activation code to self-assemble from another source."

"So this could be lingering in our network? In the hardware?"

"In everything. We're checking now. Commander Sprite, as well as Lieutenants Ball, Wong, and Veber have identified common files that have been infested. We're working to screen them now."

"And you didn't do that before?"

"They have been keeping the knowledge close, sir. The same for Bast apparently, they don't want to give up the slim advantages they have."

"Great. Do we know how it got here?"

"Definitely not through the ansible, sir, not with the limited bandwidth. One or more of the ships or possibly someone with malware in their implants. It could be totally blind, sir; we just don't know. The virus itself is secreted throughout our hardware, so it is assumed it got it's tendril of code into the replicators."

"Frack. That's all we need. Keep me posted. Tell Bast good work."

"Aye aye, sir."

"That damn Wraith. That's all we need. And a copy?" Amadeus asked, shaking his furry head in disgust.

---<>---<>---

The AI Marshall transmitted the admiral's compliments to Bast. The AI received them with a sniff. They should be more aware of such things. But if she told them, would the Xeno adapt? Obviously the war wasn't over no matter what the organics said or thought. She would have to be careful.

"So we good?" Jethro asked as he finished clearing a building. "You got it?"

Bast nodded.

"It's dead?" the AI flicked her ears and then nodded once more, this time slowly. "And? I'm to take that it may be dead but there might be others?" he asked slowly. She nodded again.

"Lovely."

"Gunny, we've got movement on the third floor near the back. Possible sniper nest or trap."

"Or civilians. Coming," Jethro said, checking his gear. He finished with a professional air, reloaded, and then moved out.

---<>---<>---

Captain Ssri’allth curled around his couch and flicked his tail as he read the various reports. Occasionally his upper eyes would wander around, checking out each of the crew's stations to make certain they were working and not fooling around. He'd caught a rating playing some stupid video game last shift. It was good for hand-eye coordination, but certainly not on shift!

One of his true-hands reached up to scratch at the velvet around his antler buds. They itched but not too badly. He was tempted to burn them out, to cauterize them. He didn't believe in taking a medicine to stop their growth; it was not the way of his people. But he couldn't have horns, not and be a spacer. Pruning and trimming them regularly helped, but they always grew back.

That was the problem with those who had claws, sharp teeth, spikes, antlers or horns; to be a spacer meant you had to suffer and trim them down. At least he wasn't a Gashg! He couldn't see cutting their long thick nails all the time! He envied the beings who had retractable claws and horns.

Horn development meant he was going into season as well, another issue. Breeding was tempting; one had to do it eventually to pass on your genes to the next generation. That was programmed into every organic. He picked at the velvet before stopping himself before he did himself injury. He didn't mind the scent of blood but the crew did. He liked the taste of his velvet; the strips were a good snack. But if he did go into season, he would be irritable to those around him. He scratched again. He would need to see the medic, to get an implant to shut his biological clock off. He made a note to do it next shift.

“Itch, sir?” Jamal asked, looking over his shoulder. It took a moment for the Naga to realize he was expressing sympathy. It was always difficult to read the human's expressions and tone.

“Yes.” The simple word should cut off further discussion. He knew technically the ensign should have the bridge. He needed the experience, needed to be in charge to get used to it. But unfortunately, with the admiral in his office he had nowhere to go expect the wardroom, his quarters, or walk about. And he needed to do paperwork, so he had to stay put in one place.

He used his true-hands to crack the knuckles, something that made Jamal wince. The Naga snorted slightly and flicked his mandibles as he checked the status board. “Has Ensign Lovejoy finished his project?” he finally asked.

“As far as we can go, sir. I think so. It can be expanded as needed,” Jamal replied.

“Ah, I see. So, what's next?”

“I'm not sure, sir. I don't know,” Jamal said. He shot a look at the rating manning the helm then the JTO. Both shrugged.

“Well, figure it out. It's been keeping everyone nicely busy, though I'm not thrilled about the clock time on the suits nor having the crew out and about …. In case we need to maneuver in a hurry, that could be an issue.”

“Yes, sir.” Ensign Jenkins bobbed a nod. “Do you have any ideas, Skipper?” he asked cautiously.

“Nothing illegal or illicit of course. And you have to find the resources to do it without tapping the ships or the hardware being shipped in.”

Jamal nodded. He tugged on an ear. He really didn't have much to do. He'd run another two simulations, but he was quite frankly bored with it. He loved hyperspace and navigation, but it wasn't as much fun when you just kept running sims.

“Something simple,” a rating said. “Something we can do to help the people on the planet maybe? Or the marines?”

“Send them a manual on how to do their job,” the communication's rating said.

“As you were,” the Naga said mildly. “I believe they've been having a tough time of it on the ground.”

“Yes, sir.”

---<>---<>---

“So, now what?” Jamal demanded, looking at Owen. Own frowned thoughtfully. “Hey,” he said, poking his roommate when the engineer didn't reply. “Hello,” he drawled.

“Huh, what?”

“What now genius?”

“Oh, um ….”

“What are you looking at?”

“The intel on the ships in our area. The
Derfflinger
. Scary ass shit.” Which was very true. The
Derfflinger
was a nasty piece of work, a narrow wedge-shaped, kilometer-long vessel that took after some sort of ship from science fiction. The point was notched with her bow weapons, sensors, and grav nodes. She was the predecessor of the
Newmann
class.

At some point during her refit cycle, someone had taken the ship to pocket battleship levels. She had heavy slopping armor that overhung her narrow broadsides. She had four massive and twelve small engines in her rear to propel her in space. A class 3 hyperdrive that got her up into the high gamma bands. Her hull was dotted at strategic intervals with turrets. Many of them were single barrel laser turrets. Along her spine and keel, she had battleship class grazer turrets.

She had two superstructures built up, one on the top, another underneath. The top held a massive flag bridge complex. She had four primary and twelve secondary fusion reactors and one antimatter reactor to power it all.

She was a beast, but all those plates of armor came with a mass penalty. Although she had received her share of upgrades over the decades of her long service, they hadn't been able to do much for her drive. She was as fast as she'd started out without the armor, but compared to a
Newmann
or a newer class warship, she was a slow witted, ill-tempered ogre. A very clumsy one you never ever wanted to get within arms' reach of.

“Ah,” the navigator replied, looking over the engineer's shoulder at the specs on the tablet's screen. He whistled in appreciation. “Damn. Big. You'd need a week to walk from end-to-end,” he said.

“No, but it'd be one hell of a workout,” Lovejoy replied with a shake of his head. Two hundred and fifty meters wide at her widest … he could appreciate that. It'd be hell to keep on top of her maintenance though. He frowned at the shield specs. She had good shields for a cruiser but nothing in comparison to a
Newmann
. Even
Yris'ka'th
had better shields! At least more efficient ones for her size, ones that would reset faster and could dump heat quicker.

He frowned as he studied the image, spinning it with the scroll buttons. He'd
hate
to have to take one on. You'd have to get in past all that armor to hit her vitals. And you'd have to really do a number on them since she had so many redundant systems.

“So, what's the next project?” Jamal asked, poking him. When Owen didn't respond, he cleared his throat and then poked him.

“Project?”

“Yeah,” Jamal said in disgust, taking a seat next to the engineer. “We both got a commendation for forward thinking and initiative,” he said.

“We did?” Lovejoy asked, looking up in surprise.

“Yeah, so …,” Jamal said in entry, trying to draw the engineer out. He couldn't believe himself, he was actually
asking
for more work! He must be sick or something he thought. He had to admit it had been fun, exhausting, but fun. And exhilarating too, to see something you were putting together with your own two hands come together piece by piece. At first it had been small jumbled parts, but when they got the hang of it, the modules came together rapidly. He was proud of their achievement. He could point to it until he was old and gray and show others that
he
had helped build that.

“So, I don't know,” the engineer said putting the tablet down. “I mean, I suppose we could do a small craft or something else … if we had the parts.”

“I doubt we need one. And we don't need to compete with Antigua. Besides, we don't have all the boat bays that monster has,” Jamal observed, pointing to the six boat bays on the blade-like ship. There were two embedded in each flank: a large one built into the keel and a tiny one in the stern nestled between the massive engines. The damn engine thrusters were nearly as big as
Yris'ka'th
!

“Honestly, I don't know,” Owen mused. “I mean, we could do some stuff to help the jarheads I suppose.”

Jamal snorted at that idea.

“Okay, or here's a thought—satellites,” Owen said. Jamal blinked. “For yeah, helping the jarheads with look down, maybe communications….” Jamal nodded. “We could work out a KEW or surveillance model I
think
,” Owen said cautiously. “The problem is materials. We're almost out of raw materials.”

“Oh. That, um, sucks,” Jamal said, scratching his head.

“What, hoping to get another gold star so you can get an early promotion?” Lovejoy asked with a grin.

“Yeah, well, can't blame a guy for trying,” Jamal admitted, rubbing the back of his head. Owen chuckled. “Okay, yeah, I bitched about all the work and shit. And hell, getting that hangnail ripped out
hurt
!” He flicked his hand a few times. Owen kept chuckling. “Oh shut up,” he grumbled looking away in disgust.

---<>---<>---

Marshall watched the admiral as the admiral read over the proposal. Finally the neochimp grunted and set it aside.

“Sir?”

“What?”

“I was wondering what you were thinking,” the AI said.

“I bet you are. You enjoyed programming the computers for that station, didn't you?”