Federation Reborn 1: Battle Lines (19 page)

Which was true but not nearly as bad as he'd feared. He'd seen worse. It was not as bad as some star systems he had been forced to work in but bad enough. “I think I owe the man an apology. And I think I need to pick his brain again about the players involved.”

“Do you want me to arrange a meeting, sir?”

The admiral turned and waved such considerations away. “For the moment it will keep. Any word on TF22?”

“No, sir.”

Admiral Subert pulled out his chair and took his seat once more. He checked his implant clock and accessed the timetable. “They should be getting to Protodon anytime now,” the admiral murmured.

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

When Doctor Thornby's freighter arrived in Agnosta, the Admiral ordered her to return to Pyrax. She immediately appealed to Admiral Irons and Colonel Forth.

“Your transfer is legal. He didn't sign off on it, but that's his problem. He made it clear that anyone who wanted out could quit and be transferred or could resign their commission,” Colonel Forth told her.

“So, what do I do?”

“The next convoy to Antigua isn't due for another month. I'll handle it,” he said. He put in a reply to the Admiral when he ordered the doctor to be forcibly returned to Pyrax.

“He did?” Nara asked, aghast. “Is he seriously considering court-martialing me?”

“You notice this is from him, not JAG,” the colonel pointed out. He picked up the tablet on his desk. “This is my reply to him.”

“Admiral, I have taken Commander Thornby on as a temporary professor and medical observer to the base here. She is busy overhauling my facilities here. I am going to do due diligence with my command, my personnel, and my facilities. I suggest you do the same. I am the commander in this star system. Your authority ends in Pyrax. Best regards, Lieutenant Colonel Forth.”

“Let's see how he takes that,” the colonel murmured as he set the tablet down.

“Jersey ….”

“It's already done, Nara. I transmitted that through the ansible this morning. It is out of your hands now. If the man wants to fight …,” he smiled a shark-like smile. “If I know anything, I know a marine loves a good fight.”

“I guess so. But don't put your ass in a sling over this.” She shook her head slowly. “It's not worth it, Jersey, I'll resign before it gets to that point.”

“I didn't care for the guy anyway,” Jersey said, waving a hand. “Now come on. You've got to get to work on the hospital and facilities here and in orbit.” He caught her expression and snorted. “What, you thought I was kidding? I'm not going to have you sit around and mope!” She smiled her thanks and bobbed a nod. “You've got a month before the next regular convoy is scheduled to come in. I expect good things.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied with a smile as she dashed a tear. She'd almost wished to return to Pyrax. She already felt horribly guilty about running out on everyone. But being kept busy may cure that she thought wryly. He certainly wanted to get his credit's worth out of her visit!

“And when you've done all that, I want you to go over the sample team's work for your project Resurrection,” the colonel mused. “Project Destiny has stalled. I know the admiral ordered us to leave the orca and whales alone, but I thought if we preserved some of the carcasses that wash up on shore you or other scientists would have fresh, or well, decaying flesh to use to clone them.”

She blinked in surprise. “Are you serious?”

He turned to her. “What?”

“You have orca here?” she asked, voice rising in excitement. “And whales?”

“You didn't know?” he asked. She shook her head. He frowned but then swore as his implants pinged. “Great, now I've done it. I think I just screwed the pooch. The admiral didn't
tell
me it was classified. At least I don't remember it,” he said, rubbing his brow in frustration.

“Oh, Jersey,” Nara said in concern, eyes soulful as she considered the trouble he'd just walked into.

He waved a dismissive hand. “I'll deal with it. But I'd like you to take charge of the samples we've gathered. The bodies are frozen; they aren't going anywhere. But with what you've got on file for the various cetacean species plus some DNA from living survivors, it should help you jumpstart that project.” He frowned again then set his jaw.

She got a ping on her implants, a warning they were straying into classified territory. “Enough, Colonel,” she murmured. “We'll get it done,” she said. He nodded curtly and then had an Ensign assigned to her.

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

Admiral Subert fumed over the colonel's reply. He was ready to draw up papers for insubordination when Saul handed him a tablet. “What now?”

“It's an order from Fleet Admiral Irons.”

“Oh? What now?”

“All transfers from Pyrax have been approved, including and especially Doctor Thornby.”

The admiral scrolled through the document and then grunted. He handed the tablet back without a word and walked off. So much for that he thought.

Chapter 10

Captain Shantell Mueller, captain of the
Derfflinger
class battle cruiser
Nevada
,
was quite pleased with her command. Oh, it could be better. She was playing second fiddle to Captain Post on the
Massachusetts
, but Arnold was a good captain, a good officer. He'd led their division to victory twice in the last emperor's exercises, which was why they were on their present assignment.

She had initially thought of it as an exile. Arnold had disabused her of that notion. Admiral Rico was going to need the support; their initial assessments of Pyrax had been low. If the two flag officers hadn't already moved in to attack Pyrax and the so-called naval force there, the two
Derfflingers
and their support ships would be a welcome addition to the force.

The navy was changing and evolving rapidly. It had started over a decade ago when some genius had broken through the manufacturing barriers and created industrial workarounds to get around the replicator lock outs. That had finally had the sleeping phoenix crack an eye. But the discovery of
El Dorado
had been the clarion call to arms.

With the
El Dorado
,
they no longer needed to play as pirates. All the megatons of equipment, ships, and other material carefully arranged in the mothball yards and dozens of orbital warehouse complexes had finally found their true purpose. The shipyards in the home star system were alive and full of terrible purpose. Horath would be the beacon, the shining light to restore order to the galaxy. They would cleanse it of the filth of alien presence once and for all to keep her law abiding subjects safe and secure.

Her ship, like
Massachusetts
, had been salvaged over a century ago she thought to herself as she stroked a wood bezel around a console. She'd barely limped to the home system with a cobbled-together civilian hyperdrive her salvagers had pulled from a massive bulk super freighter. The engineers at the time had not signed off on her being used again due to her age and cobbled-together repairs.

She had been mothballed like so many of their other collected ships, a sleeping dragon until the genius Leonardo had taught them how to go back to basics and build the parts they needed to refit her. It was a pity the old fool had killed himself and done so much damage. But
El Dorado
had been the catalyst needed to not only restore the ships to full Federation standards but to also jump-start the growth of the empire, to turn it into a force to be reckoned with.

She had a sterling career to her credit. She had worked her way up through what was considered a man's profession in the tactical track before she had served as the XO on
Reprisal
. After she had brought in a string of prizes, the lords in the admiralty … her lips quivered a bit in a not quite smile at that turn of thought. They had given her own first command, a gunship in home fleet. She'd hung in there despite what some considered an implied insult, and after doing her duty, she'd been reassigned to a string of hypercapable commands.

The “entertainment and support ship”
Sexy Margarita
, followed by the frigate
Blood, Sex, & Tears
, the destroyer
Bloody Mary
, and then her beloved heavy cruiser
Lizzy Borden
. She'd assumed someone in the brass had been having a bit of fun at her expense with all the ship names. But she'd gotten to her present position by sheer force of will. Will and talent she thought with a slight preen. Her fingertips traced her collar sensuously for a moment, then unbuttoned the top two buttons. She caught Trisha's look and just shrugged it off. Okay, and maybe a bit of sex here and there, but for a woman that was how the game was played in the empire's navy.

Not that she had to spread her legs anymore. Heaven help any male in equal or lower rank who even
hinted
about it; she'd castrate them. They'd be lucky to survive an evening as her “guest.”

She knew she was good at her job; she'd racked up a dozen fat juicy prizes on
Bloody Mary
and
Lizzy Borden
while patrolling the Sigma sector. Her insistence on sticking to the tactical and command track and not allowing herself to be diverted had paid off; she had plenty of prize money invested in various accounts and businesses.

Those who thought she'd favor her own gender were in for a rude awakening she thought, glancing at Trisha once more. The JTO was good; she had to admit that. But she still needed some fine tuning before she was up to Commander Esenly or her level, a lot of fine tuning. But since her captain excelled in war games, she'd found to her dismay that she'd had to work her pretty little tail off more than she'd expected.

“Ready for another round, Lieutenant?” the captain asked, smiling devilishly at the woman.

“At your command, ma'am,” the young woman replied, doing her curly long blond hair up in a ponytail. She'd expected more women on the
Nevada
. There were a few in various roles but not many. And of course there were the galley slaves and sex slaves the ships had. Most were beaten down wrecks though, submissive. She pursed her lips. She'd found out the hard way that she couldn't coast on board. She'd also found that the skipper meant for her to exercise her authority regularly with both the enlisted and her junior officers. That she was still working on. The cajoling batting eyes act she'd perfected to get her way just didn't work with them. They had to respect her. In some cases fear her.

Fear was a problem though; the bitch of a captain didn't tack with having a dungeon. Nor did she allow the slaves or any prisoners the ship picked up to be abused. She wasn't certain how to fix that.

Sleeping with the men was also out. Oh, the captain didn't care as long as they weren't enlisted or in her chain of command. But the one time she'd strayed a little too close to home, the skipper had threatened to lock a chastity belt on her. She'd been a lot more selective with her playmates after that.

She surveyed the ship's status board. They were in hyper on their way to SNHH so they couldn't call on the other ships to do some virtual war games. That made everything internal, which meant she was the captain's target.

“I think we'll …,” the captain played with her lip as she ran through a selection of scenarios on her number two screen. “Okay, how about some real fighting since we may run into some Pyrax ships one day. I'll give you a tin can. I'll take … um, I'll take a scout cruiser. We'll see who wins.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Trisha replied, sighing in resignation. Even if the positions had been in reverse, she knew she would have been outclassed. The scenario came up on her repeater boards. She nodded to the noncoms in her department then keyed the sequence alerting them that her station was going into tactical simulator mode. “I'm ready, ma'am,” she said, settling herself.

“Take a moment to get familiar with the surroundings, Lieutenant.”

“Something tells me I'm not going to enjoy this,” the young woman murmured as she scanned the field of battle. The skipper had selected the Pyrax system and had loaded the latest intel they had on the star system. She immediately started to pick out various asteroids to use as fallback cover. Maybe if she got into stealth and used the sun at her back to blind the skipper? She hummed thoughtfully as she came up with a tentative plan.

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

Commander Emilio scowled as he watched the maintenance team tear into the fighters. He hated the F-32
Raptors
. If ever the home office had to build a fighter from the ground up, why that one? Sure it was simple, easy to use, and yeah, they had put it into mass production. But the craft was a dog. The maintenance crews loved it since it was easy to tear apart; he crossed his arms as he watched them at work. They had a panel up on the starboard side while two engineers took parts of the engine out and checked them over carefully. Something was gumming up the works in the fuel lines, of that he was certain. Either that or it was another software bug.