Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (16 page)

Fortunately, Dead Drop was one of the few places left that could handle the repairs. She had a small slip and a civilian grade yard. Not an entire yard, just a repair facility. The navy had used it for years before recently mothballing it in order to transfer her crew to some other super-secret project in the Sigma sector he wasn't supposed to know about.

Fine with him. He knew all about loose lips sinking ships. But he also knew when to keep a tight lip and when it was necessary to say something to keep someone from shooting themselves in the foot … or worse, get caught in the crossfire.

Dead Drop had recently re-activated the yard with slave labor from the planet. They were half-assed. He wasn't sure if they could trust them, but he didn't have a choice. Whatever had gotten into his fuel line on his port engine had torn her up good. It had also done something to his reactor. Back flushing the works and recycling their coolant had helped somewhat, but it had run them perilously close to dry on fuel and coolant. Both of which were already in short supply on the tiny six-person ship.

Since
HVCC 4391
was a courier, she lacked on-board spares among much of anything like crew comfort. She was a series of massive engines and a reactor with a hyperdrive, the minimum sensors and electronics to get by, and a habitat slapped on as an afterthought. She wasn't the lean racer he'd imagined—more of a dirty beat-up postal worker.

But she was his. He was the only officer on board; he lived in a closet with the crew, but so what? A beat-up bitch she might be, but he still loved her. His cousin was right; a first command really was the real love of your life.

“So?”

“So … what?” the rather bored commander drawled. Apparently they didn't have much entertainment so toying with the skipper of a ship was the next best thing, Captain Opal thought, trying hard not to grind his teeth. His mother had constantly scolded him on doing that.

“So, when can we report in? Do you have another ship available? What about repairs?”

“We're not a major yard, we're just barely qualifying to do small repairs. And yours barely qualifies for that!” the commander said, shaking his head. “I'll get some people over to you. Eventually.”

“You know we're on a time crunch, right? Major doings? Classified titles? Get to Horath as soon as possible or else sort of thing?” the captain demanded.

“Wow! Sucks to be you right about now, then doesn't it?” the commander asked mockingly.

“It's going to be tight having more warm bodies on board,” the captain growled, eying the commander's image. “And we
need
to get this turned around ASAP. We've got some nasty news.”

“Classified you said, yes I know.”

“We also need fuel or will,” the captain said, “once the fuel system is purged and rebuilt.”

“Understood,” the commander drawled.

“So you've got nothing else available?”

“Not at the moment. Not since that ship, the
Moldy Crow
,
came through here a while ago,” the commander said. “There have been some changes back home. I'm not sure if you are aware of it. Communication's is out. Everything seems to be up in the air, so I wouldn't sweat the small stuff”

“Great, so who the hell do we report to? This is important, damn it!”

The commander shrugged. “Well, since it's classified above my pay grade, I can't tell you. Good luck with that.”

“Spirits and saints protect us from fools and bureaucrats,” the courier captain snarled.

“You forgot politicians,” the commander said helpfully.

“Right. Them too. May Murphy burn them all in hell.”

“Agreed. Feel better?” the commander asked politely.

“Not a bit. So, can you do something about our message traffic? Are we supposed to haul it all the way home or what? If we're supposed to do that, how are we going to get there since we've got an engineering problem?”

“Well, we can work on the engineering problem I suppose. It's tight though. Your fuel issue is simple enough to fix. We've got a bunker now, and it's got a modest supply. Your little fly speck of a ship won't suck down too much I suppose.”

“I should hope not.”

“It'd
better
not, I've got to answer for it all. Fortunately, it's all in service of the empire, so the bean counters shouldn't complain too much. At least I
hope
not.”

“Now I know why you've been an unmitigated pain in my
ass
,” the captain said with an exasperated sigh.

“Oh? No, Captain, this is me being
helpful
,” the commander stressed with a grin. “You don't
want
to see me being unhelpful, trust me on this.”

“I'll take your word for it," the captain replied wryly. "So? This is important.
Very
damn important. At risk of my career …”

The commander held up a restraining hand. “Stop right there. You wouldn't just be risking your career; you'd be risking mine as well, possibly our lives. Save it. I'll figure out something. Keep your fingers crossed though that another ship or courier comes through.”

“A courier
is
a ship you know,” the captain growled.

The commander snorted. “Who are you kidding? It's an engine with a thimble attached and little more. And before you say anything, yes, I've been aboard one—two actually. Claustrophobic as hell,” he muttered. The captain snorted. “But that's working in your favor since there aren't a lot of parts to repair, just a pain in the butt getting to them,” he said. The captain nodded.

“I should probably pass on that they need everything they can get in Nuevo Madrid,” the captain said.

“Oh? First I heard of it,” the commander said with a shrug.

“It's probably in my mail bag but from what's left of the fleet before I left, definitely—definitely a repair team, mobile shipyard, replacement personnel, munitions colliers, the works, and ships,
lots
of warships,
fast
,” the lieutenant said with a broad hint in his voice.

The commander froze. He had a minor picket in the star system. A couple of cruisers, some tin cans, frigates, but not much else. “Huh.”

“What?”

“I guess we can expedite you after all if it is
that
serious.”

“Oh, believe you me, it is. It definitely is. I think those battle cruisers were lucky to get back to B95a3 in one piece. If they survive the jump to Nuevo Madrid, they'll be lucky. And right now them and you are all that stand between … well, it
is
classified,” the captain said, catching himself.

The commander stared at the video image, but when the captain didn't say anything further, he puffed his cheeks out for a moment. “Well, let me make some calls.”

“Yes, please do. The sooner we get this to where it needs to be, the better.”

“And the sooner you're out of my hair, the better,” the commander said, running his hand through his thinning red hair.

“Trust me, you better hope we're the only thing in the pipeline for the moment. If the Feds send whatever the hell chewed up
Nevada
, you won't be worth a spit wad. I mean, her flanks were chewed up something
wicked
!” He shook his head in false despair, hoping the little troll realized the situation was serious enough to get off his fat ass and move.

“Yeah,” the commander sighed, finally catching on to the severity of the situation. “Yeah, I'll get your ship done. Before you get me into further trouble with security, why don't you stop that and send me that list again.”

“Yeah, I think we can arrange that,” the captain replied, fighting to keep satisfaction from creeping into his voice as he retransmitted the list once more.

Chapter 8

“This gets better and better, Father, Mason said, shaking his head. The emperor turned to look at his second eldest son and then away. He was only echoing what he thought, but he didn't need nor want to hear it. He'd gotten enough of an earful from his cabinet of ministers all week. Some of the voices had become increasingly strident as they started to panic themselves.

“You don't have to tell me that,” he murmured.

“Catherine was right.”

That reminder stung. His eldest daughter was a gifted strategist, both in the navy and in the political arena. It was a pity she'd been born the wrong gender. “You don't have to tell me that either,” the emperor growled in a darker tone of voice. Catherine might think of herself as his rightful, heir but she should know better. She was the younger twin, born five minutes too late, and the wrong gender. He might have named her after Catherine the Great, but she would forever live in his and her elder brother's shadow.

Unless she did something to move herself out of the shade and into the spotlight permanently a small part of his mind reminded himself as he looked at his son.

“With respect, sire, I do. You asked us for the truth. Is that still what you want from us?”

“Of course,” the emperor stated. He eyed his son. “But don't let it get to your head.”

“Of course not, sir,” the prince said with a nod. “We've been moving quickly. But this can be used to our advantage.” His father's gray left eyebrow rose upward. “An external threat to unite the people of course,” his son said.

The emperor nodded. “It is an unwanted complication, a potentially dangerous one,” the emperor stated.

“Victory is all the more sweeter for the struggle, Father. They are scrambling to defend against us, and to do that they need infrastructure. Ships have to be built in shipyards, and so on and so forth,” he said with a broad sweeping wave of his hand. “We will break their toy boats and when we rule the system we'll have the spoils for ourselves. From them we can expand on the plan at a faster pace.”

The emperor nodded. His great-grandfather had moved the premiership to a “Supreme Secretary” two centuries ago. The discovery of
El Dorado
had moved the grand plan, the plan his family and others had been working on for generations to come into its fruition for the first time.

And he was at the head of it. Pyotr, another Peter the Great. His vision would shape the empire's foundation, would shape the sector and eventually the galaxy.

They were still making changes to the government. He'd settled on minor changes to the original plan, more in names and titles than actual duty changes. The basic structure had been agreed upon well in advance of his birth. He just … tweaked it along more Roman lines. It would seem more acceptable to the masses that way he'd reasoned.

And an emperor tended to get his way. But change was slow, slower than he'd like. It would take time for such changes to be accepted across the empire, time for them to settle in to the new normal.

He had counted on the excitement of the moment, the excitement of rebuilding the broken galaxy to thrust his vision forth. To turn the conquered colonies nearby into vassal states, and then leap onward, using the technology garnered from the Gather Fleet and
El Dorado
as the necessary springboard.

Now it was in jeopardy, his time might be cut short.

“Brooding again Father?” Mason's soft voice asked, making him flinch.

He blinked. “Was I that obvious?”

“Somewhat. Are you worried about the nobles?”

“Them,” he snorted. The ruling families had taken the high spots of course, as was their right. They'd doled out lesser nobility titles to those who had distinguished themselves by their deeds. He was going to have to put the brakes on it soon. The House of Lords was getting rather full, and some were worried about diluting their control.

They were the fools who kept elevating their friends to peers! He shook his head. He'd have to enact some sort of counterbalance. Something to … his thoughts broke off as he heard his son clear his throat. “Sorry. I'm not wool gathering, son, I'm considering politics.”

“I know you are. I can tell by the shade of your face and ears,” his son said dryly. His father glowered at him. He snorted. “Dad, I know you. What's up?”

“The House of Lords is getting out of hand. All the appointments …”

“But many won't be around to vote. Not all the time. Not when they will still be serving … or out governing the worlds or places they control,” his son reminded him. “Transit time will be a bitch too. They'll burn a lot of time going back and forth, especially those who rule distant worlds.”

The emperor nodded grudgingly. “But they'll hand their proxy to their friends and allies.” he growled, “which will be a pain in the ass.”

“And the Senate won't be any better I suppose,” the prince said, picking up his brandy sniffer.

“Them!” the emperor shook his head in disgust. “They are still struggling with the changes we've wrought, those who were not in the loop to begin with I mean.”

“That's because you elevated nearly half the old senators to hereditary titles when we reformed the government as planned dad.” He downed his drink with one gulp and then set the snifter down.

The emperor nodded. “True. And I know those that remain are licking their chops and wondering when lightning will strike them.” He snorted. “Fat chance. None have done much for me, and many have opposed me in the past.”

“I'm surprised you've let them live,” the prince murmured.

“You don't go killing off the opposition, son. You learn to watch them and work with them. I admit, I was sorely tempted for a bit of house cleaning when I heard the news about Protodon,” the emperor growled, eyes flashing. “But that was an impulsive wish, one I've learned to temper,” he said.

“Right,” his son drawled.

“I have,” the emperor stated, lifting his chin. “Trust me, it is easier to watch your opponents and see who is against you, than to kill them and then not see the knife coming behind your back.”

“Keep your friends close but your enemy's closer?” the prince asked.

The emperor snorted. “Something like that,” he admitted. “With the right leverage they will move in the direction I want, sometimes out of self-interest or … other persuasive measures,” he said. “Sometimes it is helpful to have someone as the voice of reason to direct hysteria in the direction you wanted to go in the first place,” the emperor explained.

“Ah, I see,” the prince murmured.

“Good that you do. I know you aren't destined for the hot seat, son, but you never know with your brother and sister as fellow officers,” he said. His son nodded. Not that the emperor planned on risking any of his children, not without a rather lucrative reward for his potential loss. His children were more suitable as his eyes and ears, allies, and marriage material to tie his family to others and them to him.

They were also potential rivals and threats to each other as well as to himself. If Mason didn't see that, then he was a fool.

“Are you really going to take a quarter of the fleet and send it off to crush Irons?” the prince asked.

The emperor frowned then slowly nodded. “I am. Your brother is petitioning me to be a part of it. I know it would be a great way for the family to maintain the glory if they succeed.”

“But the risk?”

“The risk to him in particular isn't all I am concerned about. The loss would become a major loss of face as well as a potential threat, a wedge that could drive the ruling families apart.”

“There is never such a thing as too big a hammer in this case then?” the prince asked.

“Something the admiralty is considering given that only half of our Home Fleet have been rebuilt,” the emperor stated. “A quarter is still in dry dock being rebuilt as well.”

“Working up exercises … and some on detached duty to the other fleet stations or to the
El Dorado
Fleet until it can build enough ships to look after itself,” the prince said.

The emperor nodded. “Yes.”

The prince now understood a part of his father's dilemma. His father's power base came in part from the fleet. Another part was the booty the gatherer fleet brought in. Without the threat of the fleet, things could get dangerous and if Irons sent a raid here, even more so. “And we're still working on the manning issue I take it?” the prince asked. Again he got a nod. He frowned as he poured himself a drink. “I think we might,” he stressed the last word carefully, “consider drafting more people. We'd have to do it carefully of course and start here I suppose. But we'll eventually need more than the home star system can supply.”

“I know. This Irons can draw from multiple populations. He's letting them serve together as well,” the emperor said sourly.

“It's the Federation reborn, Father,” his son said with a diffident shrug, “with all its trappings. They will flock to the banner just as fast if not faster than others will flock to our own.”

“He'll have numbers on his side.”

“Eventually. We've had a lot longer to plan this and to lay the groundwork of course,” his son reminded him, toying with the remote as he brought up an image of the Home Fleet. The image swung about to show the massive reservation of mothballed ships, then onward to the ships out on patrol or exercising. “When we trample Irons, we shall crush the idea of a reborn Federation and take its tools for ourselves once and for all as you said.”

“Yes, my son. Yes, we will,” the emperor growled.

---<>))))

“We're going to have to do something about this, and soon,” Theodore Cruise Rico, former Fleet admiral, Duke of Hinata, and current Minister of War, said to the joint chiefs of staff.

“I'm not sure we can. Not without uncovering our vitals too much for comfort,” Vice Admiral Newberry said with a shake of her head. She was the one outsider welcome to their group since she'd spent so long as an officer before she'd been tapped by his majesty to head the intelligence department.

“Irons isn't invincible. He can be beaten if we use a big enough hammer,” the praetor of the navy said. “Our mistake was not giving the commanders the right tools for the job,” he said.

The countess grimaced mentally. Both the Minister of War and the praetor of the navy had found themselves in trouble after campaigning to let their relatives lead the disastrous expeditions against Irons. They were lucky they hadn't been purged or at least forcibly retired. Only the urge to not scapegoat them and not tick off the military families and start more internal strife had possibly saved them.

And she'd been saved by all the spies her people had bagged over the past several years. The Federation's Commander Montgomery, her counterpart, truly was incompetent. Who would believe people would head towards strife to settle? Single men and women? Granted he'd been smart enough to send humans, but he'd been foolish to send them at all! She shook her head mentally at such bumbling.

She'd been tempted to let them send back information, either cherry-picked by her people or completely false information. Ludicrous information meant to scare them into surrendering or doing something foolish.

Instead the decision had been taken out of her hands. Each time her rather overzealous deputies arrested them, the spies suicided. Their implants were a terror.

“Well, we have to do something—the navy I mean,” General Levot rumbled in his bass voice. The countess turned to him. He was a broad man, powerful, but aging. He had scars on his face and arms. One scar ran through his right eye. The eye was gone, a milky white that he occasionally covered with a patch. Today wasn't one of those times she noted. He usually left it off to intimidate people or remind them of what he'd personally paid in blood to the Empire.

“We're trying to think of something, Robert,” Melwin growled, rubbing his brow. His free hand reached out to take a sip of water from the glass in front of him. He set it back down and then sat back. “We don't have the hyperdrives for
Theodore Roosevelt, Retribution, Star Mauler,
or
Executioner
.
Shen Long's
hyperdrive was cobbled together centuries ago to get many of them here. The others have civilian hyperdrives we aren't thrilled about using.
Teddy's
should be in a museum!” he shook his head. They hadn't had many hyperdrives big enough to handle the large ships so the Horathian republic had borrowed one and slapped it into another to get a hull back to the homeworld. Between the five ships, there were actually only two functional hyperdrives.

Each of the dreadnaught
s
and super dreadnaughts had either limped their way to Sigma sector on their own at the end of the war or had been found and salvaged over the past seven centuries by the Gather Fleet. More than one pirate captain had made a name for himself and his family in finding one of them. Admiral Cartwright's ancestor had found the
Republic
class
Theodore Roosevelt.
Admiral Newberry's ancestor had been an XO on the cruiser that had found the
Brahma
class
Retribution.

“And
Am-heh
is a long way from being finished,” Admiral Rico stated flatly, referring to the first dreadnaught the Horathian yard had started to build.
Imperious
, the first
Brahma
class super dreadnaught and her sister ship
Eclipse
had been repeatedly delayed. “I know we're getting shipments of parts in from
El Dorado
…”