Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3) (8 page)

Hopefully, he would be able to pack everything including the kitchen sink into the bird. It did have a weight limit, and he was contractually obligated to take the four volunteers back down with him to the planet.

They had planned to stage the dissection project from the derelict, right in the tank compartment; there really wasn't any other place to do it.
Descartes
remained attached to her flank and pumped in air and power to the wreck while crews did their best to patch any leaks and get what they could running again … all in their munificent free time. It was too much for the crew of a frigate to handle though, that and their own job of keeping their own ship up and functioning smoothly. Throw in the occasional request for INTEL from the ansible and things got complicated. He'd already explained three times that he had no intention of kicking everyone off and waiting until an ONI team could arrive on site to pick the wreck over. That wasn't going to happen.

If he had his way, the derelict would become a station of sorts, a cramped place for the crew to get a little liberty while they also used it to store goods and extra supplies. Troy, Captain Yu of
Loch
, had wanted to turn the wreck into target practice. Since they didn't have the munitions to waste, he'd been denied the request.

It would have been a fitting end or a sun scuttle. They'd had to preserve the damn bodies too, which had been ghoulish and had sucked. Fortunately, Andy and Tucker had been on the shit list for minor infractions so they'd drawn the duty. And the paramedic was still with them finding bits and taking genetic samples for ONI. The spooks never quit in the requests and orders department.

At least he'd been able to use the brass's order to fend off the multiple inquiries from corporations and people on the ground. Everyone wanted a piece of the prize it seemed. Well, tough, it was his prize to dish out.

Well, his and Troy's and the navy's. Mostly the navy's, he thought in sardonic amusement.

The three medics and fisherman grumbled about the project, as they went about their business.

“This thing is huge.”

“I know,” the captain said from where he had been standing in the shadows.

“It's going to be a bitch,” the doctor said. He was a male, human, with apparently no sense of smell. He apparently did a lot of mortuary work on the side. According to his profile, he was some sort of vet as well. That explained why he was so capable and ready to get the job done.

Of course the Fed credits and doing the navy a favor didn't hurt, nor did seeing space—a “once in a life time opportunity.”

“This is going to suck. It is like cutting rubber sushi,” the fisherman said. He gasped at the smell.

“It's for a good cause.”

“If you want my opinion, it should all go over the side. Spoiled. Who'd eat this anyway?”

“It was a person,” the captain replied. The man blinked at him as he retied his rubber apron. “And no one is going to eat him. He may be the last of his race. Your job is to preserve what's left so the genetics people might be able to save his race.”

“Oh.”

That apparently stopped the grumbling, Captain Levinson thought. At least for the moment he judged.

“Are we doing a necropsy? Autopsy here as well?” the lead doctor said as he examined his tools carefully. He'd been allowed only so much due to the shuttle's weight limit. He didn't even have a change of clothes on him; the navy had promised him a change when he was finished.

They'd better deliver. When they finished he was going to be a sticky mess he thought as he pulled on rubber gloves.

“I think we can figure out how they died. Any data you collect there will be of use I suppose. The main focus is on preserving as much genetic material as possible,” the captain said.

“Why not load it up into a stasis pod?” an assistant asked quietly as he readied a face shield.

“Because …,” the captain sighed heavily, more from exasperation than any sort of fatigue. It stank to have something pointed out to you that lurked right under your nose he thought. “Because no one thought of that. Okay, we'll do that as well. We'll toss as much as we can into a stasis pod.”

“Make it two; there is a lot of material.”

“We only have so many pods, Doc,” the captain retorted.

“Make it two. The more the merrier.”

“Okay, okay. We'll take one from each ship. That leaves us two left in case of accident or injury.”

“Sucks to be you or your crew,” the doctor said. He picked up a saw and checked it for sharpness. “Now, if you'll excuse me?”

“Yeah,” the captain said, choking back a grimace. The doctor put the blade implement down and then checked a long wire he wasn't sure was needed. Captain Levinson shook his head. It was positively medieval, he thought, gulping back nausea.

“Don't barf here. Go. It's just another day of work for us,” the doctor said, as he picked up an electric bone saw and checked to make sure it was plugged in. “This should do,” he said.

“Yes, um, good luck, Doctors,” the captain said hastily as he made his retreat. He shook his head once he was on the other side of the hatch. He could hear the high pitched whine of the saw, and his imagination did the rest. He turned a bit green and tried not to think of what was going on as he got away.

They would need to replace the filters for that compartment. Maybe use something to mask the odor he thought as he ordered his overtaxed implants to keep his stomach on an even keel.

:::{)(}:::

Captain Levinson was chagrined when he found out that the salvage team had found a stasis pod with remains carefully preserved inside. The body of the second Ssilli apparently; when he'd sent his people to find extra stasis pods, they'd hit the jackpot again. Someone, most likely the ship's doctor, had preserved as much tissue samples including the brain and reproductive organs. The stasis pods had lost power when the ship's power net went down, but the battery backup in the pod had been fully charged.

In fact, the blinking red light of the battery dying warning had been what had attracted the salvage team in the first place. So good fortune for them. Not so much for the crew and definitely not so much for the Ssilli. He pitied them. To have ended their lives like that … not knowing freedom was within grasp …

He pounded out the updated report and gave credit to the ratings involved. They deserved it. He also found the doctor's logs and copied them. He couldn't send them over the ansible; there was too much data. They'd have to be hand couriered to the nearest ONI secure facility for further processing. Once he was certain of them, he made copies and put the master in his safe for safe keeping.

:::{)(}:::

Fleet Admiral and acting President John Henry Irons read the new revised report from
Descartes
as well as an amendment with another urgent request for relief and refit from the picket force. Apparently Phil had gotten to it first; the rear admiral had anointed it with scathing comments about the crews wanting to abandon their post. Admiral Irons shook his head. Phil didn't understand the problem of being trapped in a small cramped ship with no relief for the crew. That a civilian on the planet had gotten a small cargo shuttle working at all was a minor miracle, at least they could get some downtime on the planet with liberty. But it wasn't enough.

And obviously, they'd expended munitions in each encounter. Irons tapped out an upgrade priority to the status of Nightingale as well as Airea 3. Phil would need to find a way to send something bigger and better to picket each star system or swap the picket in Nightingale with a similar or larger force.

There was one spot of good news; the crew and especially their officers were long overdue for promotions. Getting his hands on some combat veterans was good news in any book. Captain Levinson deserved his recent overdue promotion. He should by rights be skippering a tin can by now, perhaps even a light cruiser or heavy cruiser. A lot of his graduating class had passed him by. That probably burned, John thought with a twist of his lips.

He made a note to have the review board work through each of their spots of combat, appoint medals where needed, then break the crew up after promotions and liberty. The skippers would make dandy tin can skippers at the least.

:::{)(}:::

Nara came in to the office and tossed her bag into her guest chair as she sat with a flounce into her office chair. She'd had time to think about it during her shower and morning commute from base housing, and she'd come up with a tentative plan on the walk to her office. It all hinged on Helen over at the naval hospital in Epsilon Triangula being amiable to reason. She'd initially thought to send a medical team to Nightingale, but they'd never make it there in time. And neither would one from Pyrax, if one could be scraped together. But if Commander Richards sent a team with the remains once they got to ET to Antigua to keep them viable, then maybe,
maybe
she'd agree to that.

It would also allow them to do a sort of medical exchange—a little cross pollination. She cracked her knuckles and got to work pounding out the email.

:::{)(}:::

Rear Admiral Phil Subert read the upgrade in the Nightingale status when he got it in his inbox from the ansible the following morning. He was not happy about the shift, but he'd half expected it. He should have done something about it earlier. Fortunately, frigates and corvettes were a dime a dozen. He had Saul draw up a plan to send a relief force with a
Dora
class freighter and a shuttle as well.

The
Dora
class, like the
Liberty
class, was a flexible platform. In the
Dora's
case, it was the smallest support ship in the navy's inventory, built on the corvette and frigate production lines before they'd been retooled. He had plenty in the basic configuration of a freighter.

He typed out a missive and note to himself about the performance of
Descartes
and
Loch
. Captain Levinson should have allowed the enemy ship to get into orbit before he'd hailed them. He definitely should have gotten a lot closer before doing so as well. Granted he had been cautious, but given that the enemy ship had been a freighter, it would have behooved the man to have let them get into orbit, perhaps even shut down their engines, then gone in and boarded, pinning them in place where they couldn't escape.

At least he hadn't used any of the defenses
Prometheus
had left behind near the jump points. He added a second note to have the two frigates and support ship tow the gear from the ET jump point to one of the other two jump points in the star system. There, he thought as he finished his order with a flourish, that should keep them busy and humble.

Lastly, he ordered Captain Levinson to secure basing or at least hangar rights on the planet for the shuttle and crew. He'd have to secure hangar security and support staff as well and pass on any contacts he had to the incoming commander relieving him once they arrived. It was a pity
Marengo's
shuttles had been destroyed. That sucked. He grimaced when Commander Teague's ONI office put in a request for the derelict. He knew she would want it, but she was a bit far to dispatch a team. The ship was also too damaged to warrant it being salvaged and brought back to Pyrax as a prize.

He tapped his chin thoughtfully, then picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip. When he set it back down, he'd collected his thoughts enough and tapped out another memo.

He ordered Teague to contact ONI assets in ET and have them dispatched from there to secure the ship's databases. Then he ordered her to have a follow-up team ready for when he sent the replacement force. He tagged it with a link to Saul as well as to Admiral Sienkov and Captain Levinson.

“That should put a bee in a few bonnets,” he said as he rose from his chair.

“Sir, your working breakfast with System Senator Abernathy is in ten minutes,” his yeoman said, leaning into his doorway.

“I know. I'm coming,” the admiral said as he finished the coffee off and checked himself briefly. He was still dealing with the fallout from his splash in Pyrax. Apparently it had been a bit messier than he'd expected. A few people didn't take to his abrasive shake-up, and he still had to deal with people like Abernathy.

Of course the damn senator might just want something and was playing at being affronted, he thought as he put his jacket on. He shook his head. It didn't matter; he wasn't about to give the guy any favors, nor take any. He made certain his implants were recording as he headed out.

Chapter 4

Captain Shelby Logan shook her head as she watched the picket line on the video feed. The ET news was filled with protests, and for some reason the locals were up in arms about her. Well, not technically her, but at least her ship,
Prometheus
. For some reason someone down there, or more importantly several someones, had thought she'd become some sort of permanent fixture in orbit.