Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (27 page)

Admiral Frost grunted again.

“And Captain Mueller's idea of a C fraction bombardment is smart as well, sir. I think we can use it. Hit the enemy's orbital works if there are any, as well as the planet. Force them to protect the planet and keep them off the battle cruisers.”

“Hmm …”

“And it allows them to remain in the area, harassing the enemy in case our own forces of Fourth Fleet come into the star system, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Dewalt suggested. The chief of staff nodded in support. “Splitting the forces between trying to run the BCs down while intercepting their KEW strikes will keep them off the Kathy's World jump point.”

“And since they are so far out they can jump back with no problem whenever they wish to. If they feel like they are going to get pinned, they can just jump,” the chief of staff argued.

“And don't forget, sir. The Admiral Von Berk's family will owe you for saving his hide. Favors that you can call on later, sir,” the commander suggested slyly.

The admiral eyed him and then nodded slowly. “I'm not thrilled about exposing this star system however,” he rumbled.

“If they find a force moving in to attack us here, sir, they'll retreat to warn us,” the chief of staff suggested. “You can write that in as a nondiscretionary order. But a spoiler raid will keep the pressure off of us now. It will buy time for the empire to send up reinforcements while keeping the enemy on the defense, sir. The admiralty will support it.”

“And they'll be … less than enthused if Post gets those ships even more banged up than they already are,” the admiral replied sourly.

“Yes, sir. But that's on Post. He'll be the man on the scene. You'll be the one who authorized it. If he doesn't go, he could raise a stink in certain circles.”

The admiral glared. “Don't you think I don't know that? You don't have to remind me!” he growled.

“Sorry, sir.”

The admiral stared out the window drumming his fingers for a few minutes before he finally came to a decision.

Chapter 15

“You wished to address me, Praetor Cartwright?” the emperor asked mildly. He was amused that the praetor had chosen now, in a public setting, to address him. Didn't the man know he was playing with fire? One simply did not embarrass the boss he thought. Apparently not he thought, seeing the signs of resolution settle on the other man's face.

“Your majesty, the fleet continues to upgrade. The schedules hold well. So well that we are ready to go on the offensive as your officers have recommended. We have a plan to destroy this rebellion root and branch once and for all, sire. To take what they have built and smash it or take it for ourselves for the use of the empire,” he said.

“The latest intelligence we have is indicative that the enemy continues to reinforce Protodon. Our forces inside the sector are at risk and must be relieved,” he said. What he meant was that they'd received a courier from
Massachusetts
and
Nevada
with the reports of their disastrous battle. That Captain Post hadn't lost both of his capital ships was seen as some sort of miracle. His ships had been recently upgraded as well. The fact that such a meager force had not only taken them on but had done so much damage burned in many circles.

“I know this,” the emperor said, pretending disdain. The man really should have known better. His office had certainly not returned the admiral's calls, but this was uncalled for. He reminded himself to take the admiral to task about the ambush at a later date.

Court intrigue had reared its ugly head twice. He had to tamper his … baser instincts in favor of keeping things running smoothly and efficiently though. Take for instance the praetor he thought. The navy and army had their own intrigue and political families of course. They regularly intermingled with the ruling families since many drew themselves from the military itself. Dropping their sons and daughters into the military was a good way to keep them occupied and allow them to accrue influence and glory and a tidy profit from time to time he thought.

The Cartwright family was one such institution. One that had stumbled with their lasted debacle, but since the Rico family hadn't covered themselves in glory either, they hadn't been pulled down from the top slot.

It was only a matter of time, he thought, eyes narrowing on the praetor. The man was in full formal uniform he thought. He must be sweating under it.

He'd sat on moving against Irons and the new Federation. He'd passed off on an immediate response in favor of gauging all of the paths and decisions involved carefully. Now apparently his seeming indecision had lit a spark of foolish misplaced bravery in the good admiral.

“We need to shit or get off the pot. Soon.” The praetor's course language in formal court made more than one person titter in amusement. “Your majesty, we have a plan. The final details have been left in your capable hands, but we need to move. We await your order to proceed. Each day we delay gives the enemy time to build more ships, potentially their own capital ships,” the praetor intoned.

“I'm aware of that,” the emperor said quietly. He didn't want or need the very public reminder of the threat they faced. He seethed inwardly but refused to be trapped.

“Sire …”

“You, Admiral, aren't aware of all of the considerations I have to take into account however,” the emperor interrupted in a mild but stern tone of voice. His eyes flashed, boring into the praetor's. “I'll make the decision shortly.”

“Yes, your majesty,” the admiral said, aware he'd pushed it as far as he dared. He bowed. The emperor nodded regally and then motioned for him to depart.

He about-faced, feeling the slight itch on the hackles of his neck. But he kept his tread slow and measured as he walked down the exquisitely plus red and gold trimmed aisle and out of the court.

---<>))))

Princess Catherine had schemed to get to the position she was in. This very position she thought as she continued to peel her apple. She loved to do it with a paring knife in one smooth coil. The apple was green and tart, quite delicious the way she liked it she thought as she studiously worked the knife around and around.

As Commander and Admiral Cyrano De Gaulte's operations officer, she'd risen as far as she could on her own merits. Her father wouldn't allow her to go further because that would mean a transfer to a posting or a ship command.

Admiral De Gaulte was a good man. He was an old dinosaur but one of the best strategists they had. He was also scrupulously honest and blunt. He kept himself above and outside of politics, deferring to the government as much as possible. He was a pillar in the naval community.

She had deliberately chosen him as her guiding hand in the navy. He had indeed taught her a lot. Her attachment and fondness for him was genuine; he was more of a father to her than her own biological one that sat on the throne.

As his protégée she'd had a hard time of it though, for the admiral hadn't coddled her at all. She had liked that. Still did, she thought, smiling again ever so slightly. The knife tip nearly slipped, but she corrected herself.

No one dared deny her promotion, but she'd been careful to match her own rise to that of her brothers. Both of them had their careers carefully planned out but for different reasons she thought.

Executioner
had been one of the first capital ships to go through the latest refit cycle to bring her fully up to fighting trim. She was now finishing her working-up exercises. She was ready to defend the Empire.

Her father now had a choice, one he couldn't put off for much longer without causing undue concern in court she thought, eyes and hands working with surgical precision to peel the apple just right. He could send his son and favorite off to an uncertain fate in war, to garner glory or death, or he could send her.

If he sent her she would get the glory, and her brother would be tainted for remaining behind in safety. Her brother would resent it, resent her father, and possibly her. It would position her as a bigger threat to him and his future rule.

She smiled. It was decisions like this that she lived for, the classic damned if you do, catch-22.

Of course his majesty's smartest move would be to send them both. She wouldn't get much glory since she was a staff officer. Her brother was an XO, not a ship's captain though something might happen to change that along their way if her father chose that route. She doubted it. Risking one of them was one thing, risking both?

She was also aware of his plans to live a rather long life now that they had found the
El Dorado
site. The navy was busy unlocking as much technology as they could, but undoubtedly someone was doing their best to get their hands on anti-geriatric treatments. Each generation of the ruling families employed the ones they could, and they all had good genes of course despite the occasional bit of inbreeding. But the more advanced techniques, including nano therapies, would give her father a renewed lease on life. One that could last centuries.

Did she have the patience to wait that long? Quite possibly. She was aware her siblings didn't have such reserves. The boys tended to give into their sadism and blood lust entirely too readily. The young were impatient, and her brother was aware he was the anointed one so he was settled into his destiny. He was ever aware the others were ready to bring him down too.

“The games we play,” she murmured, still looking at the apple as she crossed her legs.

She on the other hand wasn't so sure of his continued time as the second in line to the throne nor of their father's reign. On the one hand, he shielded her from the worst of the court intrigue. After all, he was the ultimate focal point, both him and her brother. They had giant targets on their backs, and they knew it.

So, for her own safety it behooved her to keep in line, to stay the course and protect them. Rivalry was one thing but tearing each other apart and losing the throne wasn't something any of them wanted.

Then there was another thought that had long occurred to her. She could let them do the dirty work, gather up the other sectors, deal with the scheming, and learn from their mistakes while doing her best to avoid her own, and when they were at their pinnacle, then strike.

Her smile broadened slightly for the moment as she finished her coil. She set the knife and apple down for the moment and then began picking apart bite sized pieces of the skin. She licked the juices off of her thumb, feeling like a child for a brief moment.

That was far more tempting than any other plan she thought, to play it safe. For the moment she had decided to go along with her father's machinations and wait. To bide her time and be the good little girl, complacent with her place in their orderly society.

Even though she knew she was destined for far greater things … in time.

---<>))))

Emperor Pyotr Ramichov shook his head as he contemplated the future and all the avenues to it. Many of those paths led to dead ends, to ruin and the destruction of everything the ruling families had hoped for.

Both others were there, the more seductive, the more appealing ones. The ones that whispered of success. The ones that seemed the strongest path, the path of least resistance.

He had to buy time. Time for the ships being built in
El Dorado
and the yards to come on line. Time for the ships in the reserves to come on line. Time … always time.

He had thought now was his time so he had seized it as he rightly should. Now though … now was not the time for doubt he thought angrily to himself. Now was for decisions. For risks. For if they didn't risk, they couldn't get that reward, now could they? Without the risk of the Gather Fleet, the continued investment, they would never have found so many ships. Never had found
El Dorado
to give him this opportunity.

“You think of the future, son?” his mother, Dowager Empress Jezebel, asked looking at him.

He shrugged. “You know me so well, Mother,” he said.

“I should,” she sniffed. “What is it this time?”

“The tasking. We must send a force to squash this Irons. To destroy this … rebellion on our borders quickly, before it spreads.”

“So?”

“So, we must send a portion of Home Fleet with a proper admiral to lead it. One who can do the job without,” he turned and swung his arm across the end table nearby, knocking the knickknacks to the plush carpeted floor, “mucking it up like Rico and Cartwright have done.”

“And others. The admiral in charge of taking Pyrax in the first place … what was his name?” she asked, tapping her chin with a manicured fingernail.

He eyed her coldly then looked away. “It matters not I suppose,” he ground out. “What matters is how we go about it. And who we send.”

“Who we send. You are talking about one of the children, correct?” she asked. He nodded. “Well, then, you are in a fix, aren't you?” she asked, smiling indulgently as she got herself a drink. She adjusted her dress as she sat and then crossed her legs. “Who will it be?”

“You're preparing to play devil's advocate for either I send.”

“Or all three,” she said with a sniff. “They are my grandchildren after all. The future.”

“The very
distant
future,” her son said, eying her. “And I can have more children,” he reminded her.

She pretended to consider that idea and then nodded. “True,” she said, swirling her drink before she took a sip. “So, what's the problem?”

“So I can't send one without opening the other up to allegations of being a coward. That will undermine my influence with them. And I do need them to maintain control,” he said sourly.

“Ah,” she said, uncommitted to what he was saying.

“That's it?”

“Let me see if I have your reasoning straight. If you send Adam, his sister remains behind and gains sympathy while he gets battle credits he can use later. She will have none.” She frowned thoughtfully. “And the reverse is true, with Catherine, dear Catherine, getting the credit, which would potentially undermine her brother and threaten his future rule while also souring him against you,” she said. She took another sip.

“And don't forget Mason and Joseph. Both are marines and ready and eager to prove themselves as well,” the emperor said. He turned and kicked the knickknack, a crystal ashtray before he went to the bar to pour himself a drink as well.

“Then let them all go,” his mother said as he used the tongs to pick up an ice cube from the bucket. He blinked and then carefully set it into the glass. “I'm serious,” she said.

“And let them fight it out on their own?”

“Or get killed. The cream will rise to the top,” she said.

“And the risk?”

“Risk without reward?” she asked, “I do remember not so long ago you pointed out that you could have more,” she said sweetly, mocking him. She smiled over her glass as she took another sip.

He grunted in irritation. She was correct.

“There is a very high risk; we will be sending them in to die. The fight will be hard.”

“And the sweeter victory shall taste in the end, correct?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “If royal blood is spilled,” she set her free hand on her heart, “it will show we too are willing to take the risks the others are. That we fight and die for our beliefs and the empire,” she said mockingly. Her face settled into a mask as she finished her drink with a final gulp. “The public will eat it up and be in your hands after that son and you know it,” she said.