by Chris Hechtl
“Don't ask,” the Neodog said.
“I wasn't going to. Okay, moving on …”
“Wait, I didn't get my question,” the dog barked.
“Oh, sorry, you were saying?” the Neocat asked politely, looking at the dog.
“Why did the admiral retreat?” the Neodog asked. “Did he not have enough forces to handle the job?”
“Admiral White had six battle cruisers and six escort carriers along with the other ships in Second Fleet in the star system at his disposal. He was, is, I should say, up against six enemy battle cruisers and two dreadnaughts along with their supports. Both sides are not quite healthy, but the enemy took far less damage than he did. He could have fought them there. Prevalent opinion I received from the Admiralty was that he didn't just want to drive them off. He wants a win.”
“I see.”
“Next?” she asked, pointing to a Knox News reporter. The Veraxin flicked his feathery antenna and then stood off his saddle seat.
“Their chance of success? Do they have the forces in Protodon to do the job? And what is the risk to the planet? Haven't they suffered enough?”
“That's far more than one question,” Liobat drawled. “I'll do my best to answer it, but you should direct those to the Admiralty I'm afraid,” she said with a slight moue as her ears went back. She consulted her notes and then nodded. “Okay, here goes. According to what they gave me, with the support of the repair facilities and orbital warehouses to resupply from as well as the orbital fortresses, the chances are quite good. They didn't give me the odds though,” she said, waving a hand paw. The odds increase in our favor with time however.”
“Why?” a reporter asked before she could continue.
“I was getting to that,” she said, looking up. “Every moment they have means the engineers can work on repairs. It means our reinforcements, you know, the ones we dispatched that everyone was having such a fit about, can get there. Once they do the odds will shift almost entirely in our favor.” She grinned a feral, predatory smile. “Then the hunters become the hunted,” she hissed.
That earned a startled chuckle from the audience.
“But can he do it? After being beaten?”
“If anyone can do it, it is Admiral White. He has the full faith of the Admiralty and the administration. He's our best Battle Fleet admiral, which is why he is where he is.”
“What about Admiral Irons?” a reporter demanded.
“What about him?”
“Could he do the job?”
“Of course!” the Neocat replied. “What sort of silly question is that?” she demanded. “But Admiral Irons is the acting president now. He is where he is for a reason. As much as he would like to be there with our sons, daughters, wives, and husbands, to face the threat, he knows his place is here. Here guiding our government as it continues to grow and mature, and here helping to forge the weapons and ships our sailors and soldiers need to fight off the barbarians. No, not just fight off, but destroy them,” she said.
:::{)(}:::
“Care to share, Amadeus?” Admiral Irons asked once things had settled down in Protodon.
“Am I in trouble?” the Neochimp quipped.
“Somewhat it seems. What is up?”
“Armchair quarterbacking, John?” Amadeus asked in a more subdued tone of voice.
“I think by now everyone in Protodon knows you retreated. Morale just took another hit. And it's now making waves here. People are demanding answers; they are losing faith. They are asking questions of me. To answer them I need answers, the right answers. So, what is your plan, Admiral?” he asked.
“Okay, if that's how you want to play it. I didn't believe another fighting withdrawal was worth the risk. I had damaged ships as did the enemy; yes, I know. I was also in an ambush position, but they could jump short. The courier report proves that they did just that. They could have also jumped long and came in behind us,” he stated.
“Go on,” Admiral Irons stated.
The Neochimp settled himself. He noted Jojo looking at him out of the corner of his eye but ignored her inquiring look. “I don't want another withdrawal. I gamed it out. If we did another withdrawal, the enemy would back off. They wouldn't stick their noose into Protodon until they were reinforced and resupplied. That could take months. I could have launched spoiler attacks, but I didn't like that scenario. Instead I calculated that a sudden unexpected withdrawal with the cat and mouse game would convince the enemy that we're running for real. That we don't have sufficient forces behind us to back us up in a straight-up fight and that we're playing for time.”
“Thus getting them to come charging in without scouting or properly assessing the situation. Risky though,” Admiral Irons replied. “Your own reinforcements might not get there in time you know. If they don't you invite defeat in detail. The forces you have are barely sufficient to hold off the enemy fleet as it is as far as we know it is,” he warned.
“True,” Amadeus admitted. “A calculated risk, sir.”
“And you know that fighting in Protodon will endanger the population again,” Admiral Irons stated flatly.
“Political fallout?”
“I'll deal with it. Hopefully it doesn't come to that,” Admiral Irons growled.
“So, am I relieved?”
There was a long pause, long enough to make the Neochimp admiral blink in surprise and suddenly get an uneasy feeling. Finally, Admiral Irons snorted. “No. You know better than to ask something stupid like that.”
“Took you long enough to reply,” Amadeus growled.
“I wanted you to squirm a bit. Feel some of the discomfort and pucker feeling I'm getting here,” Admiral Irons replied. “Knock out,” he ordered.
“If I can arrange it, definitely. If I can route them without the planet getting hammered again, I'll take that too. With what you're sending me, I can chase him to hell and back, and he'll just …”
“Die tired, yes, I know. Good hunting, Amadeus.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
Chapter 30
Admiral von Berk's “triumphant return” to Horath was overshadowed by the concurrent arrival of a courier from Dead Drop with recent news. He expected a warmer welcome; when he realized he wasn't going to get it, he transmitted to his family and then “leaked” the story of his arrival to the media. Naval Intelligence met him with doctors and lab techs to take charge of the prisoners. They managed to hustle Doctor Milgram and the subjects off out of sight just before the media arrived in droves to interview the admiral.
“I can't say my leadership was solely responsible for getting us out of the mess we found ourselves in,” the admiral said in the impromptu press conference. “But it was a contributing factor, as was our subjects that were just debarked. They will be invaluable to the empire and her cause,” he said with a hand over his heart.
“Sir, can you tell us the story from the beginning?” a reporter demanded.
Linnaeus hid a smile. The reporter was a front, a stooge put up to ask that very question. “Why certainly. I have yet to be debriefed by military intelligence so I'm afraid I'll have to leave a few things out and some things vague for security of the empire you understand. But, well, it all started when …”
:::{)(}:::
Mara was a little bewildered when Doctor Milligram took her by the arm and hustled her and her fellows off. “Just follow the nurses and these gentlemen. They'll tell you where to go,” the doctor said.
“Um …”
“Don't worry, everything will be just fine. They've got facilities ready for you, pools and such. I'm afraid going down to the planet is out of the question at the moment,” the doctor said, nervous as he noted the no-nonsense imperial intelligence officers around them. “Ah,” he said, recognizing someone in a matching white smock. “Doctor Nutell! An unexpected pleasure! I hadn't known you were going to be one of the people to meet us!” the doctor said, disengaging from Mara to meet and greet his superior. He smiled broadly as he shook han
ds with the chocolate-skinned older human.
“Are you kidding me? I wouldn't miss this Staten, not when we've been anticipating it for so long. So, these are your subjects?” he asked as they paused to allow most of the gaggle pass. He observed them and then nodded. Some were on grav carts to assist their movement. What it really meant was that their method of movement wouldn't slow down the group or attract too much attention from others.
“Yes,” the doctor said.
“And the blue skinned woman?” the doctor asked. “Did you pick up a pet?” Doctor Nutell asked.
“No, she is my star pupil,” the doctor said as his voice faded. They rounded a corner, and Mara bumped someone.
She apologized and then ducked her head from the glower the nurse shot her. “Sorry,” she murmured.
“That one is to be taken care of carefully, Jane,” another nurse said.
“Oh? Okay,” the matron woman said, reducing her glower. She lifted her double chin to look at the other woman, ignoring Mara. “No restraints?”
“None necessary supposedly. Doctor Milligram's orders,” the other nurse said.
“So, we're going to get them settled and then run tests?”
“All the tests have been run and a full demonstration. Doctor Nutell downloaded the database from Doctor Milligram. Everyone is going nuts it seems. I don't know what the fuss is about over a bunch of mutants, but it's not my call. We'll be running comparison tests again of course, but they want to jump right into phase two and three as soon as possible,” the nurse said as the Nurse Jane took Mara's elbow.
“Phase three. You're talking about going right to the breeding phase? Skipping the genetics or doing it in parallel? I hadn't known that had been authorized,” the nurse said.
“It has.”
“Well, the females will be useful for that. I suppose the males will have to be milked. What then?” the nurse asked.
“Not here.” the second nurse said, eying Mara and her own charge. “I suppose they'll be handled differently. The females will be kept in reserve for breeding, but I understand we've secured artificial wombs to help speed up the process.”
“Ah, I see. Well, this one isn't so bad. If they clean her up a bit, remove the less obvious bits, she'd do well,” Nurse Jane said.
“That's not up to us obviously. The second gen will be tested once they reach maturity. I overheard Doctor Nutell mention cloning them or at least the ones with the most desirable traits,” the second nurse said as she guided her charge. “Just be glad they're not asking normal people to be brood mothers,” she said with a sniff.
Mara shivered.
“Cold?” Jane demanded.
“No,” Mara said softly. “Just … ready to swim in the god sea again,” she answered.
“We'll see,” the matron replied with a sniff.
:::{)(}:::
“What the hell do we do with him?” Admiral Rico, the minister of war demanded.
“I know. The man is acting like some sort of hero when he lost all his ships under his command and practically all his personnel for what, a bunch of mutants?” Praetor Cartwright said, shaking his head. He was thoroughly annoyed by the man's grandstanding antics.
“And we can't really do anything about him. But if he expects us to hand him another fleet …,” Vice Admiral Post growled. The news that his cousin was trapped in Nuevo, Madrid, most likely dead didn't sit well with him. He blamed von Berk for not staying and leading the forces there. But then again, given the man's track record with decisions up to that point, he wasn't certain he would have been of much value.
“The problem is, if we don't, he'll be here, under foot politically, a constant thorn in our side. Imagine him becoming a talking head to politicians and the media? We don't want him bitter and undermining us or the sailors’ morale. Least of all now,” the praetor warned.
“All right, all right, I'll find him something to do. At the least I'll ship his ass to El Dorado or use him to fill the slot of someone better and more qualified who we're shipping out. Throw him at something in Sigma we need handled. But he'll get a minimum amount of resources to do the job. If he fails, it'll be on his head,” the OPS officer said.
The minister of war winced but then nodded in mute agreement. He glanced at the praetor.
“Lewis is right. He'll find something. Linnaeus is virtually untouchable now since he survived the federation gauntlet and his 'harrowing tale' has hit the media and the public are eating it up. Fine.”
“And the payout for the prize?” the minister demanded.
“That … is trickier,” the admiral admitted. “Some of the money has been sequestered but obviously not all of it,” he admitted. What he didn't say was that much of the money had been “borrowed” over the years. Just getting the people who'd been porking in that particular coffer to hock up their ill-gotten gains was going to be rough he knew.
“The usual tragic accident won't work here; he's too well connected and too visible for the moment,” Lewis mused. The other two men nodded grimly.
A series of prize rules had been established by past Horathian administrations centuries ago. They were paid out on a sliding scale, depending on the nature of the prize, its condition, and what sort of investment it would take to get it to the Horathian home system for refit. It was one of the reasons the Gather Fleet was so effective in what it did.
It was also why prizes like the Firefly and Bismark derelicts had been overlooked apparently. Both would have required far more investment than anyone had been willing to give to get them back. They wouldn't have broken even on the project so they'd been ignored. And now the two were being used against them.
The ruling families oversaw the paydays and usually had their own fingers in the pie to skim off some for themselves. But, there was an unwritten rule, one that few people knew about. If the prize was too great, too onerous to pay, other steps were taken. The winner would be quietly eliminated or convinced to give up and renounce their claim in lieu of a title and future holdings.
Some ships and cargo were still en route, using the pirate dens and cove star systems seeded in the neighboring sector for the Gather Fleet's support. The largest ship found, a super monitor, the Kaiju class Jotnar for instance had been en route for nearly five decades from where she'd been found. Just getting her in motion had been a monumental feat of engineering. The winning family didn't get a single credit until the ship arrived at Horath.
Which was now impossible since the Admiralty had just released orders to redirect all prizes to the den supplying El Dorado, the praetor thought.
“We'll have to have someone do an evaluation of them. Pay them on a scale. I wish we could charge the bastard for losing all his ships. You'd think he could have gotten one of them out!” Admiral Post growled.
“I know. He burned them up trying to escape the federation. And yes, I checked the records; his report is accurate, even understated in some cases. The federation has sown up that side of the sector.
“You're kidding!” Admiral Rico said, aghast.
“I wish I were,” the praetor said, shaking his head. “And they are sitting on the chain to Tau sector. We can write off any assets we've got there,” he warned. “Ditto for any assets coming in to Syntia's World from Pi sector,” he stated.
“Damn,” the minister stated, sitting back.
“I know. Every hull they encounter is potentially one they can catch, refit, and add to their ranks to use against us,” the praetor warned.
“Not a nice thought. Though with the crack problem …,” Lewis scowled.
“Wanna bet their ships don't have that sort of problem?” the praetor replied with a disgusted sniff. “Trust me; they are far more thorough than our engineers are. Well trained apparently too, since we're seeing new construction here. If the reports are accurate, they had new battle cruisers in Protodon during the third battle there. New ships when we still haven't finished our own new construction in that class.”
“And we've had a h
ead start,” Lewis said, now disgusted as well. “But they've got Irons. That bastard is a key master,” he said.
Admiral Rico frowned. “What led you to that conclusion?” he finally asked, turning to the OPS officer. “I'm not discounting it, but do you have evidence?”
“It fits. And yes, we do. He's said so in several speeches. Imperial Intelligence has copies,” Lewis said. “And we know he's acting president. They confirmed that with this last courier,” he said.
“So he's giving out keys like candy,” the praetor said. “Keys to build warships, and more importantly, to build the tools to build them,” he stated.
“Lovely,” the minister sighed. “I see now why you are so alarmed by the situation. Now we need to stress the danger to others,” he stated. The other two officers nodded.
:::{)(}:::
Doctor Milligram settled himself the best he could. It wasn't easy. He knew all eyes were on him and his subjects, so they had to perform and they had to beat expectations. More importantly, he, or he should think, they, had to impress powerful skeptical people. Passing on the detailed records of their transit times had helped immensely in that regard. He also knew that the losses appalled some powerful people. They couldn't be helped. He had no way of knowing if it was pilot error or an engineering fault, nor did they.
While they were digesting the reports and the admiral was making his pitch, the doctor did his best to get his subjects to the labs and settled in. At least he had Doctor Nutell in his corner he thought.
:::{)(}:::
Mara and her people toured the facilities while they were being led to a special series of chambers for their exclusive use. Doctor Milligram had promised them to her, he'd made it out like they were special, but she felt anything but relief when she saw them. It felt like they were in a zoo she'd seen somewhere with glass walls and mirrors to put them on display. There were cameras everywhere she noted, looking around anxiously. Also many people, many in white or full biocontamination suits she'd seen. The series of labs were sterile and industrial in nature with tubes and bodies floating in the murky fluids. She wondered if they were alive. Possibly preserved a small corner of her mind whispered.
