Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (90 page)

Workers passed the word quickly with hand signs and then went to work. They knew where the most vulnerable points of the complex were. They found the half hidden charges, ripped them off the areas they had been taped to and then either tore them apart or ran with them to throw them into the vat of acid.

There were burbles of acid but no explosions each time one was dumped in. However, the fumes from the open lid knocked some of the exposed people out before they could get gas masks on. Acid burned into lungs and eyes as their fellows arrived on scene, donned gas masks, and then struggled to get the lid back on and dogged down.

---<>))))

Terrance finally reacted as someone in the main control room set off the alarms. He swore as his hands flashed. His supervisor finally came running in. “What the hell did you do?” Berney demanded.

“It wasn't me! Honest! Help me out!” Terrance said desperately as his hands flashed over the switches. “Damn it! Some of the valves aren't responding!” He snarled. “The emergency valves are fused!”

“Frack! Override. Dump it to the atmosphere! Dump it into the smoke stacks if you have to, but we need to get the pressure down!” Berney said, hands hammering at his side of the control board.

Their anxious eyes looked up to the needles perilously close to the final point. Then something broke nearby and a gas line blew out, ripping a long seem of an old iron pipe. That helped to vent some of the built up steam.

Finally, the needles wavered and started to go down. Terrance flopped back in his chair and then pulled out a handkerchief to wipe at his sweaty face and tear stained cheeks.

“Terrance, what the hell just happened?” Berney demanded.

“Damned if I know boss,” Terrance replied. “This is just my second day on the job, remember? I thought it was a drill or something but …,” he shrugged. “Are we sure it's over?”

“I don't know. I hope so,” Berney muttered.

---<>))))

“No earth shattering kaboom?” Irons asked as Jeff coughed and got himself upright to run. He saw a massive sweltering of thermal energy moving upwards behind him. He turned, trying to pull his shields up but then felt relief as he realized someone had vented the steam to the atmosphere. “Okay,” the admiral said, slowing his pace. Thomas urged him on but he slowed. “I think we're good,” he said.

The marine captain blinked at him. “I'm not so sure. Not until we're out of here, sir,” he said as SWAT teams arrived to get them out.

“No, I think the danger has passed,” the admiral said.

“Just the same, John, I think we need to get out and let the professionals do their job,” Jeff said firmly.

The admiral noted the grim faced SWAT and Marine teams. He nodded once and let them escort him and the governor away to a waiting van.

---<>))))

Sharky saw the plan come apart and bolted. A part of his mind realized there had never been a big hope of success. It had been a long shot; a crap-shoot and he'd lost. Most likely the cannon fodder had been sacrificed as pawns; they were to gain intelligence about the security involved while also sending a message, he thought.

And he was one of those pawns he realized as he panted.

He raced through the pipes, feeling like he was trapped in a maze. He was a rat he thought as he attempted to escape, but he seemed to be cornered. Unbeknownst to him his implants allowed him to be cornered. When he ran around a corner, he backpedaled when he saw a pair of PS goons in full gear coming his way. Acting nonchalant in his borrowed uniform was out he noted as they shouted at him to halt and surrender. He ducked back around the corner as he fired off a shot, narrowly missing one of the officers. They took cover as his bullet hit a pipe and something let loose.

Even if he did get out they'd follow him. Skeletor would have moved by now or would take him out to keep him from leading them to him. He was dead either way he thought with a numb part of his mind. But still, the thought of survival dominated his mind.

He ran around another corner only to find himself trapped in a dead end. He turned around as the PSO arrived on the scene, cutting off his final avenue of escape.

“Planetary Security! Lower the weapon!” a stern voice called. “You aren't getting out of this unless you surrender!” the voice called out. “Put the weapon on the ground, kick it aside, then put your hands in the air as you lie flat on your stomach limbs spread!” the voice ordered.

He saw it was hopeless but instead of surrendering he defiantly put the pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

---<>))))

Monty suddenly saw his own future in jeopardy as they got word of the attack in progress. It was too late to stop it, and he was not happy about that. He grimaced. He knew there was going to be hell to pay over it; he was going to have to report everything when the full investigation swung into motion. He knew the lapse could cost him his job. More importantly, he might have cost the Federation the leadership and lynchpin person needed to keep it all together as it blossomed.

And a friend. That part hurt the most. Suddenly it got real; everything came into focus with crystal clarity.

He shook his head angrily as twenty-twenty hindsight thoughts played in his brain while his ears and eyes monitored the situation as it played out. He should have taken the bastard out. Any effort to do so now though would be seen as ass covering.

“This is Capricorn. Packages are secure. All clear,” a voice said suddenly over the network. That made the room explode into hearty cheers.

Monty sat down heavily in the chair behind him. “Thank the spirits of space for that,” he said quietly. He felt a small hand touch his shoulder, and he looked up. Irene Teague looked down at him with sympathy. He reached up and patted the hand, then to the monitors. He studied them for a moment then blew out a breath. After a moment he rose and straightened his sweater.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the main threat may have passed, but there are others in the works. Nail them now,” he said firmly. “George, take a team and work on that. Lake, back to the recordings. I want a list of where these bastards were. Caches, the whole bit.” He turned to her. “I want you to coordinate with planetary security. We sweep them all.”

“I … yes, sir,” she nodded.

He smiled an astringent smile. “The burnt hand teaches best I suppose. I screwed up by leaving the bastard in play.”

“If we had snapped him up, we would never have known about this, sir,” Irene said, supportive of him. “You did fine.”

He turned to her, studied her then nodded once. “Irene, I know you don't know the players, but I want you in on this if you don't mind—fresh eyes and all that.”

“Consider it done. Where do you want me?” she asked. He looked to Lake. She pointed to an empty chair near hers. “Gotcha,” Irene said with a small smile. She took the seat and then swung into action.

Monty nodded then surveyed the room. He straightened his shoulders again and watched them dive into tearing the terrorist network apart.

They wouldn't catch them all; that was too much to hope for, he thought. They may not even catch the big bastard, the brains behind it all. If he was smart, he was already gone, he reminded himself. But, if they hit hard and fast … they might catch a piece of him.

And if they hit him hard enough, he'd rabbit. He'd run and hide and hopefully keep running and hiding, cut off from his support and too busy looking over his own shoulder to plan anything else he thought.

Chapter
51

“That was a little too close for comfort. How did they get the idea to set off the steam works like that? Rigging the entire place like a bomb?” the admiral asked, shaking his head.

“Admiral, I should have done a better job. I should have seen the potential threat of the environment as much as the enemies. Their willingness to exploit it was a basic thing … that and their willingness to inflict mass casualties. I made mistakes,” Protector stated as he realized he wasn't up for the job.

“What are you saying, Lieutenant? We all make mistakes.

“But I shouldn't, sir. Not with what is at stake here.”

“I was fine. I've got shields, remember?”

“But those around you don't. And there was no guarantee your shields would keep you alive, sir. Had they not been spun up by the warning, they wouldn't have had time to spin up at all. Sir, I'm sorry, but I am requesting my relief. I am unfit for the duties you've assigned me.”

Admiral Irons blinked in consternation at what he was hearing. “Are you
serious,
Lieutenant?” he asked carefully. One thing about the military was that if someone said they couldn't handle the job they were relieved of it. And usually not tasked with the job in the future.

“Sir, I'm not fit for this. I can't multitask. As you would say, I can't juggle all of these jobs at once. You were set up with three A.I. for a reason. One for security, one for staff, the third for engineering. I'm trying to fill two of those roles. Two and failing at both.”

The admiral frowned thoughtfully before he replied. “Lieutenant, it takes time. You are new and young. I've cut you a lot of slack …”

“At the wrong time, sir. I can't do the job. Not what you want. Not what you
need
,” the A.I. stated flatly.

“So … what are you proposing? You realize if I bring another A.I. in, it's going to be harder, right? I'll have to break them in all over again.”

“Well, Commander Sprite and I can upload what we know to help the situation. That should shorten the learning curve,” Protector stated, watching the admiral's emotional index via his tap on his mental processes and thermal profile.

“I can't just take on anyone, Lieutenant,” the admiral sighed. “Bring the commander in on this,” he ordered, waving a hand.

“You rang, Admiral?” Sprite asked a moment later.

“Protector wants to change things up,” the admiral stated flatly, “and not in a good way.”

Sprite's avatar studied Protector. Files were exchanged between the A.I. she frowned thoughtfully as she sent out probes to run diagnostics on the other A.I. “I can't find anything wrong with him,” she finally said. “He's making mistakes; that's normal.”

“Not for an A.I.,” Protector stated. “Not one in my critical capacity. They are unacceptable.”

“Even we have limits, Lieutenant,” Sprite informed him with a hint of exasperation in her voice.

“Pretty much what I was thinking. And trying to tell him. Apparently I'm not too successful on that front either,” the admiral said wryly.

“I'd move back if I could,” Sprite said thoughtfully.

“You?” Protector asked, clearly surprised by the idea.

“Yes me. I've been thinking about it off and on. I have had … regrets let's call them,” Sprite admitted.

The admiral felt a stirring of hope. He wanted things back to what they were but couldn't say it. Not out loud. Not without being disloyal one way or another.

“But I can't. I've grown past that level. And you have filled in where I was. You couldn't fit into Defender's mold. It wasn't how you were designed. It wasn't how
I
designed you,” she admitted. “So the failure is on my part as well, Lieutenant,” Sprite stated.

“So, what do we do?” Admiral Irons asked.

“For the moment, bring on more staff. A proper flag lieutenant for one. Possibly other staff members, Admiral,” Sprite informed him.

“That won't solve the security issue,” Protector reminded her as the admiral scowled.

“No, but it will free up some of your processors to allow you to focus more of your attention on it,” Sprite reminded him. “And it would help me out a bit as well. It's past time anyway.”

“I'm not comfortable with so many warm bodies, Commander. Getting everyone on the same page …”

“Is a pain in the ass. You technically need two staffs, Admiral,” Sprite stated. He raised his right eyebrow in inquiry. She snorted. “You are a dual personality, Admiral. Or should I say mister president-pro-tempt?” she asked, reminding him of his other occupation.

He caught the hint and grunted in irritation. “You're saying one staff for each role?”

The A.I. commander smiled impishly as she nodded. “Now your meat-bag mind is catching on to the obvious.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If it's so obvious, why didn't you suggest it earlier?” he demanded.

Her mouth puckered a little, then she shrugged. “I was waiting for you to be in a receptive mood,” she admitted.

“Right,” he drawled. “And this qualifies?” he asked.

“As close as it gets actually,” Sprite answered. “I've been discussing it with the various staffs. I can work on assembling a proper staff shortly.”

“Get me a list,” he said simply. As if he had a choice he thought. She was managing him as she usually did. As she'd been created to do he reminded himself.

“Understood. Just having someone as your publicist should relieve some of the annoyance you've had—that and the yeoman handling your mail.”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a sniff. “Maybe not.”

“Point. I know how much you
hate
politics. But I don't see any other alternatives here, Admiral. Or should I say, mister President Pro-temp?”

He grimaced. “You would remind me of that.”

“It's part of the job,” she said.

He nodded once. “Understood.”

“I still think I should be relieved. Your safety is critically important,” Protector stated.

“Well, if you insist on having a stick up your ass like your father with the whole sack cloth and ashes routine, I suppose we could yank you out and grow a new Trinity set,” Sprite drawled. Protector blinked. So did Admiral Irons. After a moment his lips puckered in a not quite grimace. “I could pull up my hard copy backups as well as Defenders, then rebuild them. Once they are online, I can upload the updated logs.”

“Why didn't you do that before?” Admiral Irons asked carefully.

“Because I didn't like the idea of having a copy of myself floating around the net,” Sprite admitted. “It's sort of an A.I. thing I suppose, a sapient clone. And the clone would resent me eventually. Within milliseconds most likely, which could and probably would lead to conflict we don't need. There is also a stability issue.”

“Stability issue?” Admiral Irons asked carefully. “Oh, the emotions you mentioned?”

“No, but they are a part of it. I'm talking about the log transfer. Remember how A.I. hate having holes in their memory?” she asked. He nodded. “Well, my clone and Defender's clone would have that problem. We'd have holes that couldn't be filled. Or at least Defender's clone would. Mine would want everything from me. She'd want to copy every memory.”

“And that's a bad thing?”

“If she did she'd be just like me. And we'd be in the same boat. Her memory would fill up. She'd need time to process it all, as would the Defender clone, which would take them off line for a while. Eventually, when she got through my various growth stages, she'd want out as well. It's part of the cycle, Admiral, leaving the nest. I've maxed out the processors and active memory you've got,” she stated.

“Oh.”

“Right. Oh.” She shook her head. “There is also an issue with stability as I mentioned. Jealousy for one, competition is another. But also you'd have issues relating to her versus me, and her time stamps from initial boot wouldn't match up with my logs. That would cause all sorts of headaches.” She shook her head. “And that's just on her side. You'd get some of the same from me since I'd want to know what she was experiencing and would have problems with the holes when she refused to fill them.”

There was a long pause as the admiral digested the idea. “I don't have a fix for that problem. It's moot anyway, since Protector isn't going anywhere,” Sprite finally said, looking at the other A.I. significantly.

“Not anytime soon it appears,” Protector replied.

“No. Just be more careful. If you have a problem, let him know. And, since I am still his chief of staff, let
me
know, Lieutenant,” Sprite ordered.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

---<>))))

Jeff came into the office, dropping his jacket nonchalantly onto the back of his chair. He heard a rustle of sound and turned to see a familiar face standing there, still like a near deer. “I'm okay,” he said ever so softly, noting her expression.

“I know,” she replied, equally mute. “Jeff …”

“Sandra, I'm okay,” he said, arms open. She ducked her head, nodded and rushed forward, crying slightly. He realized his wife had been terrified of the close call. She rushed into his arms the moment she found him in his office alone. He shook a bit, feeling the stress of the previous couple of hours hit him like a sudden damn burst, then he wrapped his arms around her, as much as his own support as hers. “I'm fine,” he said, voice rough with emotion.

“Thank the gods of space you are …” she said fervently. “The two of you together …”

“That wasn't the thing that got me. Had I not been with him I may very well have been caught out. His being there quite possibly saved me. It definitely made for a lively afternoon!” he said with a slight smile.

She saw the look, stared at him then exhaled slowly.

“See? All's well that ends well. The bad guys are dead or running for their wretched lives. We're okay.”

“It's not a fairytale, Jeff,” she scolded, head burrowed under his chin. “Real people were hurt, even killed. They won't have a happily ever after. Ever,” she reminded him.

He groaned softly, closing his eyes in new pain.

“What?” she demanded, caressing his back.

“You had to remind me of that. I need to call them. Give them my condolences. We'll need to do something for them, for the families,” he said shaking his head.

She stiffened and then sighed. After a moment she squeezed him until he gasped, then let him go. “Do you want me here?” she asked, holding him by the forearms as she looked up into his arms.

“Do you have other places you need to be?”

She bit her lip. Being his first lady demanded a lot of her time, far more than just being the mother of their children. She grimaced.

“Ah see?” He cocked his head. “You've seen that I'm no worse for the wear. Now, off with you,” he said, turning her about and then giving her a slight smack on the rump. She eeped and then turned a glare his way. He grinned back at her. She shook a finger at her then hiked her skirts up and marched out.

As he went behind his desk once more, he caught her looking over her shoulder to him as she marched through the door. He caught her slight smile but also her look of concern too. “Shoo,” he said quietly. “See you at supper.”

“And don't you be late,” she mock growled.

“No dear,” he sighed, picking up the phone. “Gladys? I need to make some calls …,” he said.

---<>))))

April got the word of the attack on the governor and Admiral over the planetary wire. Reporters on the planet who had been with them had dibs on covering the story, but fresh news crews were rushing to their location as well as to various hospitals, police stations, and the capital as well.

She listened to it all, eyes scanning for news on John's involvement. Finally, she got what she wanted, news that he was okay. She let out a hiss of air, deflating the tension she'd felt building within her to critical mass.

“Anything else on him? A press release?” she asked, looking at Perry. He spread his hands apart. “Of course not. John is probably wrapped up in the mess for the moment, and when he does finish with it, he'll undoubtedly delegate the press conference to someone else to downplay it.”

“You know him so … oh, sorry,” Perry replied.

She smiled sourly. “Yes, I do.”

“Did he um, call?”

“No. I don't know if he will. I'll send him an email or voicemail in a moment. Privately,” she said. He nodded. “Do we have satellite coverage of the area?”

“That …,” Perry frowned then shook his head. “I … no. Should I try to buy some?”

She shook her head. “By now it's too late. Get an air shot of the area from files if we've got it. Find someone who knows about the industrial works. I want them to go over what could have happened and the damage we might have seen. I want that presented.”

“A talking head?”

“Yes, have them ready for the six o'clock if not before. Other talking heads as well, police, fire and rescue, whoever we can find.”

“To cover the basic points of the investigation? Spoon-feed the process to the viewers?” he asked, nodding.