Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (91 page)

“Exactly. See if the art department can whip up something for us. A media file on what could have happened. Use your judgment. See if they can map out what happened based on what we've heard as well.”

“It'll be subjective, and we'll be getting multiple reports,” Perry cautioned.

“I got that. We'll put up a disclaimer,” she said.

“We'll have to run it past corporate and legal,” he warned. “You know company policy there. Just the facts,” he warned.

She grimaced. “Let me worry about that. Just get the ball rolling now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a nod.

“I want coverage on who did this and the hunt as well. We may need to put more people on the ground. Look into that. See if we can get information on the investigation. Lean on any sources we've got.”

“Unfortunately it's on the ground. We don't have many,” Perry grimaced.

“Yes I know. The locals have the lead there. Speaking of which, see if we can pick up a few stations. A few friendly deals, a handshake or two. They scratch our back we scratch theirs later, that sort of thing,” she said.

He nodded, making a note. Finally, he looked up. “Are you going down to cover it personally?” Perry asked, eying her.

She shook her head. “I doubt it. John will stick to his schedule once they are clear of the scene or his security will change it, who knows. He's safer in space so they'll ship him here.”

“Got it,” Perry replied.

“He damn well better call me. Soon,” she muttered as Perry left her office.

---<>))))

Teams of grim faced PSO, SWAT, and marines raided each target site the moment the intelligence operatives handed it over to them. Sometimes there was cross chatter and doubling up on targets on the list as it grew. No matter. They rounded up a dozen of Skeletor's people, but an unknown number got away. The big boss was not among those caught.

Images of him were plastered on every media outlet.

---<>))))

Skeletor had already relocated to his fallback base inland before the teams had launched. Two teams managed to succeed; Trapjaw was forced to abort and safely extract after a vicious fire fight. Octavia's team managed to abort before going in. He snarled. “This is a setback; but the war is far, far from over,” he growled. When he caught the image of himself on the news as well as a spokesman, he laughed maniacally. Well, a part of his plan had worked, he was now famous.

When he saw a familiar blond male making comments to the media in a PSO uniform, his eyes glittered and his hands balled into fists. “That Adam guy …”

His hands shook with range as he listened to the big dumb blond go on about the raid on Serpent Mountain. Apparently it was background material. He listened; eyes narrowed but then turned away. He was now a wanted man, and his face was too well known. It was time to become the spider, to go deep and wait patiently until they lowered their guard so he could come forth and strike again.

---<>))))

Once the conference was over, newly minted Captain Teague was given implant software and key updates to go along with her new rank before being sent back to Pyrax on a fast courier with two of her team. The rest would follow along in a convoy. They could see it as a time to read up on various things while also seeing the sights along the way she mused.

Of course she couldn't escape the star system without some sort of send-off. Unfortunately, Nara and Matilda had been called away by duty. They had said their good byes the evening before. One person was left though.

“Captain JG.” She looked at the rank tabs on her collar. “I thought it'd be at least a decade more before I saw these, if at all,” she mused, clearly bemused by her new rank.

“Don't let them go to your head, Captain,” Monty replied.

“Oh, I won't. You better not frack up anymore, or I might take your job,” she warned, eying him.

“Perish the thought,” he murmured mildly.

She eyed him severely then snorted. “Yeah, how do I not believe you?” she asked. He gave her an innocent look. She snorted. “
Right
,” she drawled. “You never did want the top slot. Too much into gaming things. Too much of a spook wanting to stay out of the lime light and stick to the shadows. Just remember, the
point
of having intelligence is to
act
on it. Knowing when and where is as important as finding the means to gather it in the first place,” she said, eying him. “Sometimes we have to step out of the shadows and speak up.”

“Yes, I've learned my lesson,” he said in mock exasperation.

“
Again
,” she drawled.

“Again,” he said in a more astringent tone. “Are you going or what?” he demanded.

She smiled an urchin grin and pretended to look around. “Well, I was thinking of …,” his mock growl made her stop and giggle. “Sorry, couldn't help it,” she chuckled. “You should see the expression on your face,” she teased wickedly, pointing an accusing finger. “Smoke and the red ears … nice touch.”

“Very funny, Captain,” he said dryly. “I'll miss you Irene. Keep a certain old fart out of trouble or at least try to do so,” he said.

“Yeah, right,
try
,” she said, shaking her head. “Take care, Captain,” she said. She came to attention and saluted. He returned her salute.

“You too, Captain.”

“Until we meet again,” she said fondly as she picked up her carry-on bag.

“The next conference. In a year or two.”

“Make it in Antigua. That'll get a certain senior officer's goat when you show up,” she said wickedly.

He cocked his head and smiled slightly. “Tempting,” he said.

“Well, what's more tempting is to record his expression when you finally get your own flag,” She said over her shoulder as she started to pass through the hatch. She heard his sharp intake of breath and turned to smile. “What? You think you're going to stay a captain forever? Get real. Onwards and upwards. I'm going to get one myself someday’ you wait and see,” she said with a firm nod.

“I'll be looking forward to it Irene. Now get out of here before I find more work for you,” he growled.

“I'm going, I'm going,” she sighed, shaking her head in mock exasperation as she swam up the boarding tube to the waiting ship. Slowly the hatch closed behind her. “Grumpy old fart,” she muttered.

“I heard that!” a voice called back to her. She felt her own ears burn as she crossed the inner hatch and landed on her feet to report aboard.

“Accommodations are spartan, Commodore but …,” the rating saw her blink and smiled. “One captain to a ship,” he reminded her.

She felt a thrill, an anticipation somewhat hungry there in that bump in rank, but it cooled instantly. “One day,” she murmured as she hefted the bag. “Which way, Petty Officer?” she asked. He waved for her to follow. She nodded and then followed him obediently.

---<>))))

The
Prowler
UFN-001P exited hyperspace in B95a3 and performed the same unscheduled exercise on the cruiser picket.
Shepard
managed to get a whiff of them and followed them for a day before the Prowler shook their trail. Eventually after all their search patterns turned up empty, the LC returned to her post.

When the
Prowler
was across the star system, she dropped her stealth and turned her IFF on. That surprised the picket force.

“Show off,” Captain Song of
Shepard
muttered in disgust. “Comm, raise them. Wish them luck and tell them we'll kick their ass for scaring us later,” he said, shaking his head. “Damn spooks,” he muttered under his break.

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Well, I suppose if they can do that well against us, then they should be okay against the eyes and ears in Nuevo Madrid,” the captain growled.

“We should hope,” the XO said. The captain looked at him then away.

“We've received a reply. It's, um, laughter, sir. And um … 'It's a date if you can catch us,'” the rating said.

“Smart alecks too,” the captain snorted. “Send this. Good luck and spirit of space speed.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

The
Prowler
finished her preparations and then jumped for Nuevo Madrid a few hours later.

Chapter
52

Captain Post shook his head slightly as he watched his fellow captain pace. Admiral Von Berk's departure—some called it a cowardly betrayal and abandonment of their personnel after all the work they'd put into saving his sorry ass—had his fellow captains fit to be tied.

Well, most of them, he thought. One in particular he let vent in his presence. He owed Shantell that much. They were a team, and he knew it. But even he could tell from her reaction to the departure of Von Berk that morale was on shaky ground at best. “We're back to square one. With
him
in charge still,” Mueller said.

“We work with what we've been given; you know that by now Shantell,” Captain Post said.

“But I don't have to like it, Arnold. If I could have traded one admiral for the other …”

“I know. Me too actually,” the captain said with a shake of his head. “But we deal with the hand we've been dealt, like it or not.”

“You are getting repetitive,” she said, eying him. “Don't tell me you are slipping,” she observed.

“That's because you are being inordinately dense all of a sudden,” he replied, eying her. “We're stuck in a rut in more ways than one I suppose.”

She shook her head. “Nothing like the prospect of a hanging or in this case getting our asses thoroughly kicked to make us focus or come apart. Sorry,” she said.

“It hasn't yet come to that. There is some small hope that the Retribution Fleet will get here before the Feds move on us. For the moment the Feds are acting conservatively. We can count our blessings there I suppose.”

“True,” she replied with a nod.

Again the crews were doing their best to handle the repairs. There were fewer people to do it with too; both battle cruisers had sustained additional fatalities and casualties. The other ships were much in the same boat and of course had their own ships to repair. The machine shops on the warships were overworked. Machinery was being pushed too hard; some of it was breaking down. Some of the engineers were also reaching their breaking point.

In order to try to keep up with the repairs, they had shipped some of the simpler parts to the ground to be reworked in the forges and machine shops there.

Admiral Frost had one small civilian class 1 industrial replicator with him. It was beyond precious and therefore had to be carefully used. They pushed it hard to churn out trays of parts. The parts were all civilian grade and limited in utility, but they did help in small areas. They focused the replicator on making common electronic components that the native industry couldn't reproduce.

Conscription was rampant on the ground. They had even resorted to conscripting wet sailors in order to try to fill in some of the voids in their ranks. Conscription was also ongoing for the industrial plants. Children of all ages were escorted to industrial centers to do their civic duty to the state and the military that was protecting them. The proctors and principals of the reeducation centers had howled about the squandering of the children but all hands had to be used.

That included the condemned. Neo and alien slave labor wasn't unknown to the Empire, though they tended not to rely on it because of the questionable source. Now they had to take whatever they could get but do quality control checks carefully. The best of the prisoners were given a brief lease on life, though the admiral kept them on a near starvation diet.

The conscription and air of … well, not desperation but grim determination had leached its way into the minds of the native population. Enough word had been spread through bar talk and other means to let some know something was up, and that it wasn't good for the Empire. The natives were getting decidedly restless, which meant the admiral's occasional brutal executions to keep them in line were starting to backfire. Some were no longer cowed by what could happen to themselves. The threat of executing families of people who were condemned as enemies of the state had made a few back off … briefly.

He wasn't certain how long it would last. Each escalation would undoubtedly make things worse in the long run. They were definitely not winning over the hearts and minds of the people. Far from it.

But that wasn't his problem, he reminded himself. He scrubbed his tired and drawn face with his hands, then clasped them together in front of him as if he was praying for guidance or patience.

“We've got months of waiting until the Retribution Fleet gets here.
If
it gets here in time,” Shantell warned, turning back to look at him. “And you and I both know if the Feds come at us in force …,” she shook her head.

“We can dance around them if we have to,” Captain Post replied, still not looking at her. “We've, well, we don't have the legs; their ships are faster I admit. But if we place ourselves right …”

“You're talking about putting us further out. Behind and facing inward of the normal jump zone? You do realize if they do what we did and jump short they'd come up our ass?
And
we have to be there
first
. We can't be there if we're stuck in orbit trying to get our ships fixed. You know
he's
going to want us to stay as long as possible. That way he can stay on the ground and control things from there.”

“I don't know any such thing. What I am glad of is that he is staying ground side for the moment.”

“Only because your flag bridge was destroyed and mine was crippled,” Shantell replied mirthlessly. “He's not interested in occupying
Apache's
for some reason. I wonder why,” she said sarcastically.

“True,” Captain Post admitted. They had done a bit of creative paperwork to write off the flag bridges of each of the battle cruisers to keep the admiral off them. It had helped that his engineering teams had already ripped them apart for parts to sustain their repair efforts elsewhere on the ship.

If the admiral was determined enough to command, he could always do it on the bridge with one of them, but apparently that thought hadn't occurred to him or he was reserving it for later. He wasn't certain, nor was he certain he wanted to find out.

“Any help from Lefou?” Captain Post asked.

“Not since his last request to transfer to one of our ships. He has a point, he's a ship officer not staff. But apparently the admiral is insistent on keeping his claws in him for some reason.”

“Huh.”

“Think you can convince him to let Lefou go? We need officers here. He's a seasoned one with combat experience. He could prove useful,” Shantell said.

Arnold grimaced. “I'm not sure I want to chance the ire of a certain somebody over one warm body. I'll think about it. If I find a way, I'll see what I can do.”

“Okay,” Shantell said quietly. “Arnold …”

He heard the plaintive tone of voice and looked up to lock eyes with her. “Don't say it. I know you want to, but the answer is no. We have to set an example. We can't run out on them, as much as strategically we probably should,” he said. He clapped his fingertips together in annoyance. “It's not something we can do, and he'd have plenty of ammunition to sink us both, possibly even cut our throats if we did run out on him. You and I both know that.”

Shantell grimaced but then nodded. She looked over her shoulder to the clock and then nodded once. “The shuttle should be finished. I've got to go. If you think of anything …”

“You'll be the second person to know. Keep your head up Shantell, we'll get through this one day at a time. Remind your people of that. Give some speeches over the PA on our progress. Emphasize the good and reward those who get it done.”

“As long as they don't get stupid and paper over something. I don't need a weakness I thought was fixed biting me in the ass,” she warned.

He grimaced and then nodded. The temptation to do that very thing was probably powerful for some. But since everyone was looking at everything … trying to do it and getting away with it were two different things. And the realization that if they did do it and it broke and killed them, that was a powerful motivator to do the repair right.

That and the implied warning that if they did screw it up, the chain of command would land all over them with some of the harshest penalties too.

“Good night or day. Whatever time it is,” Shantell said with a wave as she showed herself out.

He frowned, then shrugged off her departure and got up. He had some paperwork to catch up on before he took a walk through the ship for morale and to check on things. Then he maybe can catch some Z's he thought.

Maybe.

---<>))))

“Again, Commander? Why are you so persistent? Trying to get out of my clutches?” Admiral Frost asked, only half joking.

“No, sir. I feel … more comfortable with my sea legs, sir. I love being on a ship,” Commander Dutch Lefou said, feeling a rising thread of hope. It was difficult at best to temper it.

“Sir, I owe you for this duty. It is an opportunity for redemption, and I know it. I appreciate it, sir. I won't forget that.”

“You'd better not,” the admiral growled.

“Sir,
Calico Jack
has suffered some heavy casualties in her officers. I can be of use to them. I know I can, sir,” he said.

“That ship is a death trap,” the admiral said, eying him.

“Sir, I've got plenty of command deck experience. Please, let me go where I am most needed. I know they need people like me. And I promise …,” Dutch realized he'd let a little too much of his desperation to get on a ship get through when he saw the admiral's set expression. His heart sank as he listened to the inevitable slap down. “If I have to be here, so do you, Commander. Get over it. Get over yourself. You are needed here. Now get back to work,” the admiral said coldly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now get out of here, go,” the admiral said imperiously, waving him out.

“Yes, sir,” the commander replied in a leaden dejected tone as he about-faced and moved out.

He fought a whimper of self-pity as he left the admiral's office. His bottom lip quivered but then he realized he was being watched so he straightened his shoulders and schooled his expression into a mask. “What are you looking at,” he growled to the yeoman in passing. “Back to work you lazy bastard,” he snarled as he kept going.

---<>))))

A brief flash twelve light minutes out from the normal B95a3 jump zone heralded the arrival of a new player in the star system. However, the ship didn't broadcast an IFF transponder. It disappeared as quickly as it could from their sensors.

That set off alarms in the capital as well as the company of the warships. The four frigates set up as the picket around the jump point tried to run the ship's course down but came up empty handed. Grim faced officers rallied their exhausted and overworked crews to button their ships backup and to try to squeeze additional performance out of them. The time for battle was nigh.

But when no battle presented itself after an hour, questions began to mount. That turned into a conference between Admiral Frost and his senior-most ship captain.

“Damn it, what the hell came in?” Admiral Frost demanded. “
Something
did; you are sure of that?”

“It's in stealth. A ship, based on what little we got on her when she initially jumped in, she's small. Probably about the size of a tin can or smaller from what little sensory data we got, sir,” Captain Post said patiently.

“What little we got?” Admiral Frost demanded.

“The hyper translation was weak. There was also a small mass reading before we lost it. That tells us something came through, but it went into some form of stealth.”

“But
not
a fleet?”

“No.” Captain Post grimaced. He caught the admiral's eyes narrow at the lack of a sir honorific but kept going. He hated stating the obvious, but apparently he had to in this case. “My expert opinion points to a scout of some sort, sir.”

“A scout,” Admiral Frost said in disbelief. He stared at the junior officer for a long moment.

Captain Post let him absorb that idea then flipped through the images and material his staff had assembled and then presented it to the admiral. The admiral listened quietly as he was practically spoon-fed the results the CIC team had come up with.

“And we do not know where it is now?”

“No, sir. It's fiendishly good.”

“Federation level of course,” the admiral said sourly. “Well, does your expert opinion have a means of running this ship down? Preferably before it gets back out with whatever intelligence it has gathered? If it hasn't already?”

“We would have seen a translation, sir. And there is only one area in the solar system that it can safely jump back to B-95a3.”

“Okay, so we have a chance to kill this ship. But I'm not hearing any ideas,” the admiral said pointedly.

“I … do not have many, sir. If we pull the ships we have off of the refit and guard duty cycles on the jump point that we've set up, we'll weaken the forces there. We'll also run a lot more on their maintenance clocks while using up fuel.”

“So …”

“So we don't have a way of running this ship down, sir. The only thing we do have going for us is that we can spread out to envelope the space where it has to exit. The moment it drops it's stealth to jump, we can pounce on it.”