Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (69 page)

“I … let me think about it?” he asked, blinking all three sets of eyelids. Two drooped, a sign of fatigue.

“As you wish,” Trajan said with a nod. “If you wish, we can also relocate you to Antigua. The capital has some water dwellers there now who are building a colony in the oceans. And I know the planetary government will need people to help build and maintain water structures there as well. Since it is the capital, you will be able to get news of the other captives faster there than anywhere else.”

“It … is a tempting offer again. I have much to think about.” He looked away. “Sometimes I wish Mara had let us die. Had we known what they were going to do to us …”

“Think about what I said. And please, rest and get well soon,” Trajan urged, ignoring the bite of self-pity and anger. He knew all the water dwellers were going to go through withdrawal. The medics had managed to isolate the cocktail from the ship's stores and replicate a synthetic analog to help wean them off of it, but it was a slow process. Getting their blood and brain chemistry back to normal was going to be tricky since they didn't have a baseline to compare it too.

“My thanks, surface dweller.”

“Spacer actually. I swim in the sea of stars. I actually don't care for planets,” the captain said. “But I get your point,” he said as he left the compartment.

---<>))))

“We've been hurt. There is no denying that. No one said the enemy would just roll over and surrender once they faced us. They want to win just as badly as we do. But we will not waver in our resolve to do what is right. We will
not
surrender. We
will
push on. Even as I speak, forces in the Protodon star system are moving in to capture the enemy ships that were left behind. Even as I speak people are moving to help their fellow neighbors both on Protodon and Nuevo Madrid. Even as I speak ships are moving to Protodon to hit back. Even as I speak we are putting together new relief packages to help our fellow citizens recover and rebuild.” He held up a restraining hand. “I admit, for some, the aid will come too little, too late. But they will help; they will make a difference for the survivors.” Admiral Irons surveyed the group of reporters sternly. April's red hair and trademark yellow jumper stood out prominently on the right side. He ignored her, eyes still scanning the group like the eyes of a shark looking for any sign of weakness or indecision.

“Remember that. Remember, they've hit us. Remember
this
pain,” he hissed, “for we will make them feel it
too
. We too can hit back, softly at first,” his voice dropped into a low voice then began to steadily rise in power and volume as he continued. “ …Like the start of a rain that will turn into a thunderstorm, and then a
hurricane
. We can
hammer
them as often as it takes to make sure they get the message that we are
not
going away,
we
are the light that shines in
their
darkness, that we are going to win!” he thundered, leaning forward to make his presence felt.

The room erupted into cheers.

---<>))))

The entire Federation had been stopped to hear Admiral Irons' broadcast. It had gone out simultaneously over the ansible to every inhabited star system or military outpost. Amadeus reacted in approval to the broadcast. Approval, but the idea of John giving a Gipper speech just made him groan mentally. It smacked of desperation to keep things together. Had it really come to that? He shook his head. “It's a good speech, sir,” Jojo said. Garfield nodded, but looked doubtful.

“It is. Only so long as the public is willing to buy stuff like that. We've got to back it up with tangible results or things will fall apart,” the admiral replied.

“Is it that serious, sir?”

“Bad enough. We're still fragile. Returning to the concept of the Federation, of centralized government and the Federation is still new. Everyone is feeling their way into it. We've made promises, and obviously we haven't delivered on the protection one. That stops now,” the admiral growled, surveying his staff. He waited a long moment then nodded once. “Now, let's get back to work trying to coordinate help on the planet. I know the marines on the planet are saturated with the SAR mission to save as many as they can while also dealing with their mission to hunt down the surviving pirates and their supporters. Let's see if there is any way we can help. Start with eyes in the sky to map the devastation in more detail than we've already provided. Put our CIC people on that. Com, help direct people. Ops, you've got to choreograph everything.”

“Yes, sir,” Commander Offenger replied with a tight nod.

“Jojo, poll our ships. Find any additional hands willing to go down there and get their hands dirty, even if it's just passing out clothes and other supplies or directing people to where to go.”

“On it, sir.”

“Good. Let's see if we can make more of a difference.”

He left off the part about more of a difference than the little they had made so far. He was pretty sure some of them were thinking the same thing, but they had to try, if only as a sop to their wounded pride and conscience.

---<>))))

When the broadcast ended, the Neos shook their heads and went about their business once more.

Hank was disgusted with it all, with both their reaction and the speech. “Well, so much for that!” He shook his head.

“What?” Nohar demanded.

“They'll forget about us now that there is a new victim. Just you wait,” the blue Neocat said. Other Neos around them looked up or flicked ears their way.

“I think we are at the point where we can pull our own weight, don't you?” Nohar asked. He looked at the others. “We're never going to get the people we lost back. All we can do is move forward. To strive to make sure this never happens again to us or our children. To make sure the bastards who did it, pay for it,” he growled.

That earned a lot of growls of approval.

“So what are you going to do? Rush out and join up?” a voice asked.

“I already joined up. I was in the 501st. I was medically retired,” Nohar replied. “But I'm thinking about it,” he said, flexing his cloned right arm. It, the eye, and the leg weren't quite up to snuff but far better than the prosthetics he'd had for years.

Hank stared at him. “Seriously? Nohar, no offense, but you’re … well …,” he waved a hand, “
old
!”

“Thanks,” the yellow Neotiger replied dryly. “I hadn't noticed.” He flexed his cloned hand as he looked down at it.

“And well … damaged and …” Hank stopped himself when Nohar glared at him. “You know what I mean! Haven't you had enough?”

“I do. But I also know they have a slot open for me if they want it. I just hadn't made up my mind about taking it.”

“And your fear of space?”

“You have to face your fears. If they have to sedate me, fine. But I'm going to go where I can make a difference,” Nohar growled. “Where I can help get some payback,” he snarled, ears flat. “Got a problem with that?” He felt his fur rise in anger.

Hank's eyes were wide. He put his hands up, ears flat in supplication. “Peace. I'm not the enemy.”

“I never said you were. You're just in my way,” Nohar growled.

“But … well, we need you!” a Neomutt said.

“I'm sure Commissioner Gordon or one of the others will step in to fill my shoes just fine,” Nohar said.

“But they are humans!”

“So?” Nohar rounded on the group. “So what? Yes, the enemy is humans, but the people here are fighting
with
us. They aren't the enemy. Don't let the Horathians make you think they are. Many are just as disgusted as we are. Remember Doctor Richards? She's still busting her ass helping anyone she can. The same for others. Never let prejudice rule you or the bastards won that battle. I. Won't. Let. Them,” he growled.

The Neomutt nodded, eyes wide.

It was going to be hell to go, but he'd figure out a way Nohar thought. They no longer needed him on the planet. And he was getting too damn old to be playing private detective. He didn't like the planetary security gig anyway. It was too much responsibility. Give him a sergeant or warrant rank and he'd do just fine in an element he was used to. It was time to tap the military veteran’s aide and see if he could get his head screwed back on right at the very least. If it meant traveling and getting his brains picked to help rebuild the military, well, there were worse ways to earn a living.

Epsilon Triangula was still battered, still recovering. The healing process had already begun long before the promised convoys had arrived.

The replicators from the Fed ships like
Prometheus
, plus the tireless efforts of the navy and marines, had made a large impact in the recovery. And then there were other things that helped a lot.

The star system now had a permanent picket force as well as an ansible. They'd even had a recent visitor, a small ship, a yacht the
Carib Queen
had come through shortly after
Prometheus
had left the star system. She'd been briefly inspected but her abrasive captain had put him off doing anything for her. They'd gone on their way and that had been that. Hopefully traffic would pick up as the navy secured the area and more civilian ships were built.

They were better off in some ways than they had been before. Rebuilding … it was still going on of course, and in some places they were still digging out and burying the dead. But in others giant 3D printers were out on the landscape making buildings for whatever purpose that they were programmed for.

He'd heard that there had been some protests from the construction companies. The idea of lost jobs was laughable. There was more than enough work for everyone.

Food was still a sticky issue but the food replicators had helped offset that. So had the food shipments that had come in from Gaston. It hadn't been much, but it had been helpful.

No, what he didn't like was the rearing of a familiar and hated head. He hated the graft and corruption that was seeping into things. And since he was now very public, he was becoming a target. Some were ready to pull him down, others wanted to draft him for office.

He shivered internally as he left the building. He had no intention of being in office anymore. Frack that. He'd rather face his fears in space then be a damn politician he thought.

Maybe … he frowned. If he put in a call to Helen, maybe, just maybe she could knock his furry ass out with a mallet as she liked to say she threatens bedside leaches with, then stuff him in a stasis pod and ship him to Antigua. He'd heard that Irons had been trying to rebuild the army there.

It was time he put in an appearance to see if he could lend a helping hand paw. He flexed his cloned hand, then nodded once.

---<>))))

Admiral Subert heard the speech as well. He had stopped all work to broadcast it across every channel except the guard channel. When it was finished, he topped it. “We know what we're fighting for folks. Time to get back to work and finish the job,” he growled.

He saw Saul and others in the outer office clap and sound off with here here cheers. He sat back and nodded.

“Nice sentiments. He's getting better at speeches. I detect a bit of Churchill in that one. Or Roosevelt? Maybe President M'rll?” He shook his head, putting the thought aside. They did indeed have more work to do.

Chapter
38

The Intel dump from Protodon was like a fresh wave for the various analyst teams to go over, but it was tantalizingly brief and lacking in details. They would have to wait until the next convoy returned to see a copy of the raw details and full reports.

One thing Monty did right away however. There was a narrow window when you could draw material from a suspect during an investigation, a window of vulnerability when they were off balance mentally as well as physically. By isolating the personnel and then looking for weak links, they might get lucky. He passed on the orders to Locke and then waited as patiently as he could.

He didn't have long to wait. The spot check by Lieutenant Locke of new POWs got a hit on
El Dorado
right off. The intelligence officer used truth and biometric readings to confirm it. A random sampling showed everyone he interviewed knew something about
El Dorado
. They clammed up on specifics once they realized the intelligence officer was interested in it.

“Locke was good to get that much out. He showed too much of his hand in letting them know he wanted to know it. If he'd played it like he already knew and was just looking for confirmation …”

“Which would have been hard since he's not cleared for it yet,” Fletcher replied.

“True,” Monty acknowledged. Apparently the double blind had paid off but also bitten him in the ass. No matter. They had identified those who knew something and had isolated them from the general population. If he had to he'd have them shipped back in stasis and then taken apart to find out what they knew. He knitted his fingers together. He had to admit, he'd been wrong. “So, it is real. And apparently it is now an open secret in Horathian society,” he stated.

“Or at least their military,” Commander Lake replied, nodding.

“True,” Fletcher stated. “Which means they are moving forward with it. Moving openly will mean it is going well.”

“Possible. It isn't happy news though,” Commander Lake said, eying their boss, “at least for some of us.”

Monty snorted. “For any of us you mean. This is dangerous. It's a warhead with the media and public. A secret is only as good as the number of people who know it. The more there are, the exponentially higher the risk one will say something, even if inadvertently or in confidence. Once it does hit the Horathian public, they'll get an uptick in morale undoubtedly. And eventually, it will work its way back to us and the reverse will happen.”

“Unless we can do something about it and soon,” Lake replied.

“Don't count on it.”

“Don't count the admiral out just yet,” Fletcher replied.

“You know something we don't, Lieutenant?” Monty asked, turning to eye the A.I.

“I have faith. For now, that is all I need.”

Monty stared at him and then Commander Lake. She shrugged but didn't meet his eyes. “I guess so. Let's get back to work.”

---<>))))

NCIS and Intelligence operatives in Antigua finally pulled enough of the pieces together the story of the ship's transit to Antigua. Along the way they picked up the news that
Rhianna
, the
Caravan
class freighter, had been abandoned in Centennial with booby traps in place.

They realized that the captain of
Chico
hadn't been who they'd thought; he'd been the captain of
Rhianna
originally, right up until his death. They had a narrow suspect list since only two dozen people had come off
Chico
, but it took time to run them down. Some were eliminated fairly easily, but since there had been computer record tampering, the agents involved were cautious and chose to take the thorough route.

Eventually though they started to take a hard look at Sharky Fang, the quiet Native American with black shark-like eyes and a hard air of discipline around him. He kept the others in line, kept them working out, and kept them motivated. By listening to recordings of his interactions with other prisoners, they immediately picked up on the deference the others showed him. The one time a noncom tripped up and called him, sir, clinched it.

He was exposed, but on orders from Captain Montgomery, they left him in place in order to monitor his discussions. Every prisoner had a rice-grain-sized implant to keep track of them at all times. A new implant was arranged to be given to him through his food. The nanite package worked while he slept much like an advanced ID implant, but in this case it grew taps into the subject's hearing, vision, and mastoid bone as well as a small Wi-Fi link.

By careful monitoring of the subject, they developed a better psychological profile of him. The initial interviewer had already found out that he didn't like people to talk much. But they also found interesting topics to explore further through inference from what he didn't want the other prisoners to talk about.

“We can't leave him long, sir. He's a major security risk—one to the guards too. Their safety is now in doubt. He is a rally point; they'll look to him for discipline. It's breaking up our intelligence gathering in that cell block and the surrounding ones. He's also organizing some plan for a breakout,” Lake said.

“We can monitor him. Any attempt at a planned breakout we can nip in the bud,” Monty replied.

“If he knows he's being monitored, and he probably knows we're doing it, he'll take steps, sir. We could miss something,” Commander Lake warned.

“I'm aware of that. I want to feed them some information and see what they bite on,” Monty said.

“You
still
have doubts about
El Dorado
, sir?” she asked, eying him.

“No. I want to see how he and others around him react to other things. But I'd also like to see how much about
El Dorado
that they actually know. And what else is out there waiting to turn up and bite us in the ass,” he growled.

“And who knows what, sir? Biometrics and a truth exam will ferret them out, sir. Monitoring him like this is taking up a lot of processing as well as manpower,” she warned.

“Humor me,” the captain said with a bite of finality in his tone.

She nodded, instantly sober. “As you wish, sir,” she replied formally.

---<>))))

The weekly or bimonthly cabinet meetings had been getting easier, something he hadn't expected. Operative word there,
had
, Admiral Irons thought as he entered the wardroom. The formation of the acting Federation government was still an ongoing process, one filled with ups and downs.

This was a clear case of a down.
Waaay
, down, he thought.

“I can start this off with a bit of good news,” Admiral Irons said with a smile of welcome as their last member came in and found a seat. “Well, technically two bits. The first, Sandra'kall's convoy jumped into Triang space yesterday evening. While the convoy is in port, she's taking the opportunity to use the ansible to get what news she can in general and from her department to get herself up to speed,” he said.

“She's going to get an earful,” Emily said.

“True,” the admiral said with a nod. “The second bit of good news was also brought to us from the ansible network. This one from the one that has been set up in Centennial.
Spirit of America
&
Fuentes
have arrived in Centennial space as of this morning. They made excellent time,” he said.

“I'll say,” Lawrence said, surprised by the news.

“I know; I wasn't expecting them to get there for another ten days. Apparently they pulled out all the stops. I'm glad.”

“Well, we know the enemy has already jumped out of Centennial. They seem to have missed out on the opportunity,” Doctor Kraft said with a dismissive wave.

“Perhaps they did. The enemy moved far faster than we expected. Since we've been sending forces and relief convoys into Epsilon Triangula from Pyrax, I'm going to order the warships to hold station in Centennial for the time being. The rest of the convoy can move on through Gaston to Epsilon Triangula on their own,” Admiral Irons stated. “Though I am tempted to backstop them temporarily to unload a few care packages,” he frowned looking at the treasurer. When he didn't respond, he shrugged. “Depending on if they are truly needed or not of course.”

“That is wise. It is a bit of a case of closing the barn door after the horses have fled, but it is a show of doing something I suppose,” George Custard said.

The admiral snorted mentally. Trust the down-to-earth farmer to dredge that simile out of the depths of time.

“It is more than that. If there are other ships in the area, more raiders, then we'll be able to do something about it. At the least we can protect the citizens of Centennial.”

“Yes, sir. “And they have an ansible now, so they are okay.”

“Yes, yes, they are.” He frowned then decided to throw something else into the mix. “Our intelligence pinpointed an abandoned Horathian freighter in Centennial space. We've gotten a report that the ship has been located. America sent a robot over to board the ship and disable the booby traps. A prize team has boarded. Unfortunately, her computers were wiped, but at least we now have another hull to use. And her cargo can be returned to their proper owners.”

“A minor triumph,” Captain Broken Antenna buzzed, waving her one good antenna.

“Every little bit helps I suppose. Putting the ship in our service is nice. From the reports I've read, she's not much however. The prize crew is going to jump her to Gaston and then from there to Pyrax. I'm of the opinion that once she's been gone over and possibly repaired, we should sell her,” he said, eying the minister of commerce.

“A drop in the bucket for the value,” the treasurer stated quietly.

“It's the thought that counts,” Captain Azul Herschel, minister of transportation said. “Though I'd appreciate a few liners moving around.”

“The sale of the ship is a laudable idea. It will support the growth of commerce,” Captain Broken Antenna said. Her mandibles flexed a few times. “We could use the boost. It will give Treasury a kick too eventually.” Her multifaceted eyes turned to the Veraxin treasurer.

“As long as the Horathians don't come around and take her again,” T'rel'n said darkly.

“What about the forces in B-452c? Are you just going to leave them there?” Doctor Kraft asked, eying the admiral and ignoring the pessimism in their ranks.

“No. They aren't needed, not with forces in all of the neighboring star systems. The star system is empty, there is no gas giant or other means to refuel and resupply. A courier from Agnosta will recall them there. The picket will remain on station to keep an eye on traffic while the frigates return to Agnosta and the destroyers resume their convoy escort duties,” he said.

“You should send them in to Briev and pound them flat,” Lawrence said darkly. There were some murmurs of surprise but others of support for the idea the admiral noted.

“Now now,” Doctor Kraft scolded mildly. “An eye for an eye will only lead to blindness.”

“Cute.” Lawrence eyed the human doctor coldly. “What? It's a show that we're hitting back!”

“It's nothing of the sort since we still have little information linking Briev to the pirates,” Captain Herschel said. “And I'm not in favor of sending warships in to bomb a planetary surface. Not after what we've seen.”

“But they did it to us!” Lawrence protested.

“The
Horathians
did. The peasants on Briev are relatively innocent. They are deeply oppressed, yes, and trapped under the boot of tyrannical monarchy. We can't divert resources to change that at this time,” Emily said.

“And doing so opens legal issues we do not wish to face at the moment,” D'red reminded them. All eyes and eyestalks turned to his holographic avatar. “Technically, they aren't members of the new Federation. Under the strict interpretation of the old Constitution, the Federal government can't interfere in the government of a local star system without a petition and sufficient unbiased evidence and inspection to warrant it, which we don't have.”

“So, you are telling us we can't go in unless someone on the ground asks us to, and we prove they have a case for our intervention—unbiased as you said—and to do that they have to get off the planet? Rather steep ladder for them to climb, don't you think?” Lawrence asked caustically.

The Veraxin signalled second level agreement. “I didn't make the rules; I'm just the one who is supposed to enforce them,” he stated.

“Classic catch-22,” Emily murmured.

The admiral nodded. “For the moment, Briev will keep. I'm not going to tie our forces down there; it would take a battalion of marines to secure the ground at a minimum. That's more than we can afford to tie up on that planet for the moment. The ships in B-452c will be recalled and reassigned to their previous duties or new ones.”

“Understood,” T'rel'n said. “Can we move on? We still need to go over the debacle in Protodon. This fresh one,” the Veraxin said in disgust.

Admiral Irons noted the tension ratchet up and organic bodies stiffen in reaction to facing the consequences of the third battle of Protodon.