by Chris Hechtl
"It's good to be back," He replied with a nod and look around.
"It feels good, huh?" Sprite asked.
"Yeah," he said softly under his breath. "Yes it does."
As they walked through the ship he exchanged salutes with various crew members who lined the ship's companionways. Mayweather was ready to chase them off but the Admiral waved her off. "Let them," he said, ignoring his planned schedule.
<----*----*----*---->
An hour later he arrived in the wardroom. "Bet you didn't expect that greeting Admiral," Firefly said.
"No, not really," the Admiral said. "I'm glad they aren't holding my departure against me," he said.
"Most understand what happened. Some may hold some lingering resentment, but that will fade I think," Sprite said.
"True."
"So, plan for the future?"
"We get sorted out. Or at least the ships. Unfortunately there aren't any natural resources readily available here. One of the reasons I went for B100 omega over this system."
"Agreed."
"No gas giants means a lack of fuel. Some moons and a few meter size rocks, but all too far apart to make mining useful. I suppose we could blow apart a moon, but it would be a pain to do."
"And we still lack fuel."
"I left a gas giant refinery in B100 omega. That we can work on. But we need fuel too. Or will. I think we are going to go over the ships with a fine tooth comb. Anything not worth salvaging will have her systems vacuumed for intelligence value, then she's going to the breakers."
"I was afraid you'd say that Admiral," Captain Mayweather sighed. She looked up as the steward entered holding a carafe of coffee. She held up a hand and then looked at the Admiral. "Coffee?"
"Sure. I think we'll be here a little while," he said with a smile.
"Your new crew..."
"Are a bit rough around the edges I know. They lack protocol training and many of the fundamentals. We focused on the critical points," the Admiral replied as the steward poured the coffee and then silently withdrew.
"We had to work with what material we had on hand," Sprite said defensively.
The captain held up a hand. "Not complaining commander, just observing. I too remember my early days," she said with a smile.
"You can't dump civilians into a military structure, especially these civilians and expect instant results. That takes time. Time and training."
"Leadership by example. Which I understand you are providing now."
"The beauty of not having any politicians around to muck things up," Sprite said dryly. The officers chuckled.
"We're shorthanded on experienced personnel in some areas, command especially. I'd like to change that," Irons said. He held up a hand before Gustov or one of the other officers with him could bristle in self defense. "That's not a criticism, just reality. We're shorthanded across the board period. More experienced warm bodies is something we need."
"Something I have," Captain Mayweather said, smiling slightly to Commander Logan. "Somehow I knew where this was going."
"We can't be everywhere at once," Gustov said, trying not to sound defensive. He shrugged to Major Pendeckle. "And I know we have a lot to learn sir."
"Good attitude," Pendeckle replied with a return nod. He had been impressed with Lieutenant Gustov. The guy was good, he had a good head on his shoulders and he wasn't afraid to learn, get his hands dirty, or listen to his subordinates. All were great qualities in an officer.
"True, we do our best, and keep an open mind. This is partially a way to build bridges and mend our people into one navy. With your support of course Captain, Commander," Irons said, nodding to the two.
"What do you need?" Commander Logan asked after looking at her captain. She turned to look at the Admiral expectantly.
"Well... I think a trade is in order. Some of our greenhorns for some experienced people who need a new challenge. Volunteers first if possible. And promotions will be flowing for those you think can handle the added rank and responsibilities..."
<----*----*----*---->
The Admiral took charge of the battlecruiser. She was a proper mess, torn up. Half her engines were scrap, her hyperdrive was done, and her port side was in ruins. He smiled. He now had to fix what he had wrought. A bit ironic.
“You always loved a challenge,” Sprite teased. “And a work in progress. Engineers,” she exhaled noisily in exasperation. “Boys and toys,” she said.
The Admiral had to smile over that exasperated observation. “Reading my mind again Commander?” he teased. She chuckled.
Work crews surveyed the ship looking for wounded or hiding Horathians as well as mapping the damage. In the process one of the techs found the ship's original builders plate. He used his sleeve to buff out the soot and debris so they could read the plaque.
“Sir, this ship, she came from the Terran yards! Sol herself!”
“Yes?”
“She's the Maine!”
“Then we'll return her to her original name then,” the Admiral replied with a nod. He placed his hand on the plate. “This is Fleet Admiral John Henry Irons of the Federation Navy. I hereby take possession of this ship once more in the name of the Federation and return her to her original name, Maine. Long may she serve freedom and democracy,” he enunciated. Data flowed from him and Sprite into the ship's computers.
The crew looked at him in surprise and then some smiled. A few cheered. The cheer spread.
“I never liked Queen Adrienne anyway,” Sprite said, amused again.
“Officer of the deck, make a note in the log. Now let's get back to work,” the Admiral ordered.
<----*----*----*---->
Sprite, Defender, and the other AIs were up to their virtual necks in captured databases. Some of it was corrupted, some encrypted or damaged. Some had been partially erased. Apparently only a few of the ships had security practices in place.
Once they had the data they began sifting through it, forming an index for later. That was in between their other duties of course. They would have plenty of time to analyze the data in transit.
Recovering the dead and bringing all the ships together took two days. The AIs and exhausted medics scanned the Horathian bodies for identities and intelligence value, then passed them on for their final rights.
Once a head count was taken the Admiral ordered a day of rest. In the evening all hands assembled and they held a funeral in Firefly's cleared number one boat bay.
The Horathian dead were sent off in a quick quiet ceremony, and then it was Fleet's turn. The occasion was formal, in dress uniform with all the crews mixed. Some like Firefly's crew seemed to hold themselves apart.
Irons was stern as he looked on the assembly. The officers were arrayed in the back rows as tradition dictated. In front of them were the enlisted sailors. Firefly's officers were clustered together. He realized it wasn't any sort of stigmatization, it was the simple fact that the others had been burned, while Firefly had yet to feel the flames fully. He hoped for their sake they never did.
A temporary lock had been formed, with a launcher. The air sparkled with the force field. It was quite beautiful, the stark beauty of the starry void just on the other side of that thin wall of energy. It had taken a day to set up the lock and launcher.
Marines held their weapons at reverse arms, standing at attention. One had a bugle at port arms, ready to use it when called for.
A chaplain came forward and passed a blessing. He did so twice, one of the crew from Romeo had been Jewish and required a different method.
When he was finished the Admiral stepped up. Behind him were the rows of flag draped caskets containing the dead. Five from Romeo, one from Phoenix, twenty from Lassie, and nineteen from Bounty. Too many, he thought with a pang. “We've sacrificed a lot to get where we are today. We've been burned. We've seen what war can do, we know its cost.”
“To those of us here, and those listening on the other ships, never has so much been accomplished with the cos
t of so many friends and shipmates. The price for victory here was heavy.” He remembered death of some of the crew, faces that would never be seen again except in his nightmares. Mary Apple's drifted in his vision briefly. He inhaled and then let it out slowly. “Many of our friends lost their lives giving their all to accomplish this victory. We who treasure freedom and democracy thank them for their sacrifice. They are heroes, as are each of you.” There was an uncomfortable shuffle but not a word was spoken.
“It sounds trite really,” he said frowning in the silence. “To some, just words. We've heard that before. Until now, some hadn't really felt their importance, realized their reality. They pale in comparison to what we experienced. It feels wrong somehow to survive. It's a false guilt, but one all of use share in this time.”
He waited a bit, letting them absorb that. “But as you know, the war is far from over. We have seen the face of the enemy, we know what they are capable of now. We have a lot to do. Tonight we mourn our friends and comrades. We must keep them in our hearts until space gives back her dead.”
The pallbearers took charge; all but two were from Firefly's company. They smartly came to attention, folding the flags as a row of Marines snapped off three blank shots into the air. More than one person flinched at the bark of thunder in the compartment, but no one complained.
Each of the flags of the Federation were folded carefully and neatly into a triangle, and then those that could were presented to surviving friends or family members of the deceased. The few that remained were taken by the commanding officers of the ships that had deceased crewmember.
When the last was presented Sprite signaled the bugler through his implants. He stepped forward smartly and brought the shiny brass bugle to his lips. The Admiral saluted and held the salute. The assembly did as well.
Saluting with the company, they watched, some tearfully as the bugler played Taps. Then the pallbearers took up positions along side each casket and marched them in lock step unison to the waiting launcher. One by one they passed through the temporary lock and were fed out in a steady stream into the void. Air and water degassed from around each, in a glittering temporary shroud that sparkled when sunlight hit it. After a few moments the caskets were gone, claimed by the darkness.
<----*----*----*---->
Jethro attended the funeral as a marine honor guard. “This is happening entirely too often,” a marine said. Jethro didn't recognize the human. He had been wounded, his skin was shiny on the right side of his face and he was missing an ear. Most of the hair on that side was gone. His right shoulder was bandaged under his uniform.
“Such is war,” Jethro said in an aside. “People die in war. I agree though, I'll never get used to it,” he said softly.
The new Marine shot him a sidelong look. Jethro flicked his ears. “Think of it this way. Yes we lost some good people, but the enemy lost a lot more. I'm still not okay with it, but at least they killed a lot of the bastards before they died.”
The other marine nodded and then settled down at his post.
<----*----*----*---->
“Admiral, a word?” Jethro asked coming up to the Admiral.
Irons turned and then smiled slightly at the panther. “Well, look at you, a sergeant. Sergeant McLintock. I'm proud of you,” he said.
Jethro felt a thrill at that. He came to attention.
“I still haven't caught up on what's been going on in Pyrax. I did catch the part about setting up the base on Agnosta though.”
“Yes sir. I was a Drill Instructor there briefly.”
“I see. And Gunny Schultz is there now?” Jethro nodded. “Good.”
“Sir... I've had some issues. Medical and well, classified issues. Commander Firefly stated I needed to speak to you about them.”
“Me,” the Admiral mused thoughtfully. “About?”
“Sir, I... I recovered my ancestor Tobias's suit. I... know what it is. I know some things about it, and I've guessed its link to me. However there are some health issues.” He frowned and rubbed the small of his back. “Sometimes painful ones.”
Sprite linked to the sergeant's implants and interrogated the system to recover his health files. However much to her ire Defender intervened and blocked her. He redacted everything except the sergeant's basic vital signs.
“Really? Why did you do that?” Sprite demanded.
“He's doing what he is supposed to Commander,” Irons replied. He pinged the Sergeant and then blinked when an echo returned. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. The echo was definitely an AI, a cadre AI.
“Is... what was that?” Sprite demanded.
“Classified,” Irons replied curtly. “Even beyond your level Commander,” he said sternly.
“Seriously?” Sprite asked, surprised and a bit taken aback.
“Yes,” Irons replied. He turned outward to Jethro. “Sergeant, I can't explain now. I'm not certain what I am allowed to tell you,” he said, noting Defender's red eyes.
“It's cadre sir. I know that. Synthetic biology. A biological computer of some sorts growing inside me and linked to the armor,” Jethro said. “It's primitive. It's taken control of the suit on its own.”
Irons felt his lips pucker slightly in a smile. “It seems you've guessed the broad strokes. You want me to fill in the blanks?”
“If you can sir. I'd also like to know if it was why I was allowed to become a Marine sir,” he said with just a hint of curiosity and resentment.
The Admiral pondered that as he received a report from Firefly. It was encrypted. He set it aside; he'd read it later. “You impressed me young man, even before I knew your heritage. I showed you the door, you came through it on your own, and you've done well. I'm a bit busy, but I can block some time out. On the transit back.”
“Back?”
“I'm not ready for that to be brooded about. I can transfer you to Maine and we can discuss it.”
“Sir... what about my squad?” Jethro asked warily.
“Just you. Your squad is needed to cover the prisoners and help run the captured ships,” Irons replied, studying the young man. He knew he had just put the young cat in an unenviable place, torn between curiosity and concern about his own body and his friends and comrades. Duty.
“Sir... my place is with my squad. We were hammered in Antigua and I've got some really green rookies still.”
“I understand. Well, there will be other times Sergeant. I will make certain of that,” Irons replied with a nod.
“Thank you sir. That's all I ask, honesty,” Jethro said, coming to attention and saluting.
The Admiral returned the salute and then broke it. “Dismissed,” he said softly. Jethro nodded once and then returned to his post.
<----*----*----*---->
A week after the battle four hundred former slaves were sufficiently rested and recovered enough to demand a return to duty or even to enlist in the military. The Admiral had anticipated the interest and had set up recruiters with the AI to interview candidates. They worked closely with the medics, who were not at all certain most of the people would be ready to serve.
“Well, they have to do something, just sit around and mope won't do. Work will do them good. A return to freedom will wake some of them up and remind them that they had better work hard to keep their freedom,” Ian replied.
Irons had called a meeting to deal with some of the issues, or at least air them out. He had a sizable fleet now, larger than the one in Pyrax, but raw. He had hammered it, now it was time to bring some order to it all.
Three hundred ninety people signed on to the Marines and Navy. To oversee them, the Admiral ordered a complex exchange of personnel and equipment. Firefly's experienced crew served not only as a template, but also a source for noncom and commissioned crew for the other ships. Some of the people were promoted out of the zone to fill positions on the other ships. His objective was to have every surviving ship manned by a minimal skeletal crew. There were some holes when he was done, but most of the important positio
ns were covered.
He tried to limit his poaching and lessen Captain Mayweather's good-natured grumbling over his activities, but knew they were inevitable. She caught up with him as he tore into Maine's hyperdrive repair.
“I should be used to it by now I suppose,” she said in a mock grumble. He chuckled silently. He had taken her crew down to bedrock. She had less than forty trained crew left on her ship. Even the marines had been pressed into service; those that weren't guarding the various brigs were manning posts all over the fleet.
He was tempted to take Shelby, but he had other plans for her in mind. It was past time to get Prometheus flying.
“Take good care of them will you?” she asked. He nodded.
Irons turned over command of the Bounty to McGuyver when Ian exited sickbay. Ian settled into the role easily, since he had served briefly as the ship's executive officer not too long ago.
The factory ship Carnegie chewed up the derelict ships to made great strides in repairing the battle damage, as did the replicators on the ships. Irons felt a pang as Phoenix and Lassie were both torn apart and recycled.
He used his implants to manufacture industrial replicators, molecular furnaces, and other manufacturing equipment.
“We should be used to this by now,” Sindri said, sounding disgusted. He was now in command of Echo and not at all amused by it. He had however, gotten the ship back to ship shape.
The Maine’s AI was not present, so Sprite copied the remains of the Phoenix AI, the kernel of Firefly and Bounty, and then merged the copies. Then she debugged them to form a new AI. It would take weeks for the AI to grow it's neural net into a sapient person. Until then the crew would have to make due.
<----*----*----*---->
Firefly’s sickbay helped with the injured, and then switched to augmentation of the crews of the other ships once most of their charges had recovered sufficiently to return to limited or full duty. The medics had come a lot way since Dr. Richards and Doctor Thornby's first efforts, now getting up to level three implants. Doctor Standish built off of the Admiral's nanite implants. They trained an eager Doctor Glenn and his wife on the various procedures.
