The Gathering Storm (The New Federation Book 4)

by Chris Hechtl

  “Agreed. Good luck selling it to the emperor though,” Malwin replied with a nod.

  “You'll be right alongside me when I do,” Theo replied with a thin smile. Malwin grimaced but then gave a grudging nod.

  “I'll try to do something about the games people have been playing. We need to get Dead Drop sorted out. Cyrano will need the base there to be fully stocked and ready to go,” the countess said slowly.

  The men in the room looked at her and then nodded.

  :::{)(}:::

  "Thank you for seeing me your lordship,” Admiral Newberry said with a smile as she was ushered into the prime minister's office. She looked around and made small talk briefly as they each took a cup of coffee.

  She rather liked and respected Franklin Lloyd Tucket, Duke of Garth. The man had ambitions, yes, but he was smart and he worked with his wife. But, they couldn't quite temper their avarice, which was annoying but also amusing. They were trying to be discrete, but one couldn't overlook such shenanigans forever.

  When the duke finally had enough of small talk, he made a show of glancing at the ancient clock on the wall over the fireplace. She smiled. “I know we both have busy schedules, so I'll get to the point,” she said as she set her cup down on the tray service. “The Admiralty has recognized they have erred in not sending enough material and ships to reinforce the Sword Fleet.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I'm afraid they underestimated just how many missiles and such would be needed. Which has sparked an inventory of what has been sent already.”

  Her coveted eyes watched him stiffen ever so slightly. She hid a thin smile.

  “So, as they make up for their mistake, we need to fix the previous mistakes.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “We'll also have to sell it to his majesty. I'm certain you'll be helpful there,” she said.

  He grimaced but nodded again.

  “But, that leads me to the games a few people have been playing in accounting. I'm afraid some have gotten a bit too cute with the paperwork. Some of the hardware sent to the Sword Fleet was, well, let's just say less than optimal. Dregs or equipment near the end of their operational life times,” she said. “And I've been instructed to look into such matters.”

  He nodded woodenly.

  “More importantly, I need to make it abundantly clear that such games need to stop,” she said with a slightly more powerful tone of voice. “Stop everyone from dragging their feet or diverting ships and vital material from the war front. We don't want it to stall, or worse, fail. Bad things happen to those who do. I'd hate to have to mention to the emperor that someone was building up a force to use against him,” she said with velvet smoothness.

  The prime minister's eyes narrowed, but he felt sweat beading his forehead. He didn't dab at it. Pyotr was becoming increasingly paranoid, and he knew as someone positioned to take over the throne, he was a major target. “I assure you, it is a mistake …” How she knew about it … no, she was the head of Imperial Intelligence after all. No doubt, someone in one of the crews had complained.

  “If we're going to survive this and move forward with the plan, we need to all get behind and push. And we need those ships and materials on the front,” the countess replied evenly.

  He stared at her. “Do you know something I don't?”

  She spread her hands in a shrug. “I unfortunately can't claim clairvoyance in my range of skills. I wish. But given that the enemy will most likely reinforce and has keys, they'll eventually force Cyrano to stand down and break off his attack. When he does, he'll be forced to send his damaged ships back for repair. They'll need to be repaired quickly, and they'll need ships to replace them or replace losses.”

  “Understood.”

  “We need to make it clear to some with sticky fingers that it is best that those fighting nearby have the ships, personnel, and material to do the job. After all, one doesn't want that fight to spill over on your doorstep, do they? It can be tremendously expensive after all. Best it happens as far away from our star systems as possible, right?”

  He nodded once at the logic in that statement.

  “I'll make certain the next courier is available so you can … explain it to your loving but misguided wife,” the countess replied. He didn't so much as wince but nodded once. He counted his blessings that she was slapping his hand so lightly. No doubt, he'd pay for it again down the road.

  “I'll get the missive off by the end of the day.”

  “Good. I'm certain it was all a misunderstanding. It wouldn't do to have an official investigation and trial,” the countess said as she stood. “Not now. Hopefully, it will all come to naught in the end,” she said as he rose and shook her hand.

  “Yes, indeed,” he murmured.

  “Have a good day, your lordship,” she replied with a smile in her voice as she left his office.

  Chapter 7

  The emperor was pissed at the diversion of firepower when he got the news. He was instantly suspicious of the intentions in the orders. His own sources had confirmed that his prime minister had been diverting war fighting material to his own holdings. Confronting the bastard was tempting, but upon advice from his mother, he'd decided to put the idea off for the time being. He signed off on the decision to send reinforcements, but he pared it down to a single capital ship and squadrons of small ships. If Cyrano had done his job like he should, his dreadnought division would have broken the back of the Federation anyway.

  In a slightly better mood at stifling his underling's antics, he got dressed with his wife. They were attending the gala at the Death's Head Brigade's headquarters like many of the ruling families. It was quite the shindig and Irazabeth was looking forward to the pomp. He didn't care to dress up in his formal uniform, but he did like to see his underlings bow and scrape for him. They needed occasional reminders like this one to put them back in their place he thought as they rode in the armored air car to their destination.

  Irazabeth looked quite stunning in red he thought, glancing over to his silent partner. She caught the look and cocked her head in question, but he merely looked away. After a moment of studying him, she did too. His eyes caught one of their escorts outside and then followed it idly back to see the escorts warning off media air cars and civilian traffic. He pursed his lips and made a mental note to have imperial security push the perimeter further back in future travel arrangements.

  Security was tight at the gala and for good reason. A majority of the senior leadership of the ruling families were there for the art showing and contest, dinner, dancing, and charity auction. The viewing and contest were to take place in the Death's Head Brigade's gallery. The massive building was shaped like a skull, with an imposing skull entrance. Inside were images of derring-do by the members of the brigade. Some were real images or video, some were “tweaked.” It was something of a private museum few of the public ever got to see.

  The emperor was there to put in an appearance since he and his wife loved artwork of a certain type. The public appearance served multiple political purposes for him. It showed him to the public as well as the leadership, though it also offered him up as a potentially inviting target. That target also showed disdain for such things, showing his bravery. He privately hoped that Imperial Security was on its A game. He didn't want a slip up.

  His time in the public eye also allowed him to be in a formal yet non-state event so he would appear readily accessible to some of the leadership who wanted to bend his ear outside the confines of the court. Many minor decisions were made in such venues as people got together to softly discuss one thing or another or to remind allies and enemies of favors owed.

  Once they were inside and through the reception line, he managed to relax and drink in the showing. There were different designs by different members of the Death's Head, both active and retired members of their “fraternity.” Some were sculptures of various media, including holograms; a few made out of glass, crystal, or plastic; some were real world bodies.
One such display attracted his wife. It was a peeled-back face that still kept a semblance of expression on it. Talk about a facial, a small corner of his mind thought. The artist had gone through the trouble of artfully dying the various arteries, veins, nerve clusters, and other things in such a way to make it look like a dress or outfit.

  He pursed his lips at the tag with the suggested price for the auction. Well, perhaps—he looked over to his wife but she was already looking away at something else. And perhaps not he thought with a sense of relief. He really didn't want that thing around all the time. She would most likely have wanted to stick it in one of his offices as a coat rack or something.

  They moved on to other media in the form of various paintings of skulls. One of the pieces in a Latin style attracted his attention briefly. There were candles nearby. A close look made him wrinkle his nose in distaste. Yes, the artist had used real ground-up bone and other material in the paint, but he hadn't treated it or buried the work under plastic. Pity, he thought as they moved on.

  He had to appreciate the display of crystal skulls. He admired a skull on the tip of a cane. Pity it was too large to be practical. He made a note of the artist to look up later to commission something more his size and taste.

  After the judging and a consultation with Irazabeth, they bid on some of the work that they liked for the family's personal collection. Those who bid against them wisely fell short of funds and bowed out quickly. All in all, it was a splendid relaxing evening and a good change from the tension of the court.

  :::{)(}:::

  Malwin was disgusted with the emperor and senior lords for the evening's distraction. Judging an art contest for the Death's Head Brigade didn't seem like a proper use of time. It wasn't like they had anything better to do, right? Sure, they all needed a chance to unwind, but such an event was … wrong, he mused internally. “This is a waste of time,” he murmured. His impatience and annoyance finally spilled over into murmurs to his companion.

  “Not to mention excessive,” his companion murmured back, indicating the proposed skull dropship, assault shuttle, and even a skull on the bow of a transport ship. “Do they have a clue about the expense of that?”

  “I doubt they care,” Malwin replied.

  The brigade drew images of skulls and such, their trademark. They were rather brutal about anyone else drawing the same thing, which made a long-standing rivalry with the Skull Squadron a dark and dangerous subject to explore. Most people tried to look the other way, unless the level of warfare got to the public eye.

  Skull Squadron was a very professional unit, preferring to fly their fighters and stay on top of the leader boards. They tended to keep to themselves and their areas and rarely mixed with the ground pounders. Both sides held each other in contempt, but a truce was currently in place. The Death's Head Brigade were compiled of men and women who were not afraid of getting their hands dirty, so it behooved the flyboys to maintain the peace. Many of the brigade members were sadistic bastards. Some used alternative media to make their art, including once-living people.

  “No, I'm disgusted because, yes, it is a diversion, and we need to focus on what is going on practically at our doorstep. There is a war on, not that anyone has taken notice. And they spent a lot of time and energy, not to mention credits on this, not on training, which, given we're up against a tough opponent, we should be doing!” he said as he slammed a skull's jaws shut. It had flames in its eyes and mouth and made a cackling sound. Occasionally it would blow flames out of its orifices if someone got too close. “Not this … this frivolous drivel!”

  “I understand the colonel spent a lot of time roasting that skull to get the right look. He went through several versions, spending a great deal of time and credits, so I concede your point,” General Levot said. He'd wanted some of those credits for additional training and deployment, but the House of Lords had diverted the funds to the art projects. That had burned in a different way.

  “And that's another thing, the sadism. Do we have to wallow in it? Is that strictly necessary? Yes, we come from pirate stock. I don't think we want to forget our roots, though some have been rewriting our history books,” Malwin said darkly, knowing the statement was verging on treason. “But, I know we can do better than this. We're supposed to be professional military personnel,” he growled. “Maybe we shouldn't just look the part, maybe we should start to act it too. If we're going to have any hope of beating the resurrected Federation, we'd better figure it out and soon.”

  The general nodded. He had thought Malwin had too much to drink, but he didn't smell liquor on the other man's breath. “Agreed, but this is a good distraction for the public,” he said, waving an expansive hand. “A good way to get our face out, so keep your mouth shut and play the game,” he said tightly in a reminder that they were being watched. His fellow praetor nodded with a fresh grimace.

  :::{)(}:::

  Captain Elvira Varbossa kept her face as impassive as possible as they made their way through the lines. She occasionally smiled politely to someone she knew, but this really wasn't her affair. She was a naval officer, an engineer. She'd been dragged into it by the family at the last minute since just about everyone wanted to show off their best and brightest. As a Varbossa, she had a lot to prove.

  She had long black hair with a single lock of white in it. Some thought it was due to her age, but it was, in fact, a genetic trait an ancestor had programmed into her genes ages ago.

  Her family had emigrated just before the founding of the Federation. Well, half had; the other half, the navy half, had joined them in what they termed exile a few decades later. It was all due to a black sheep in the family, something her family rarely talked about. A painful incident on a destroyer that had wrecked many careers in the family.

  She knew she had a cousin in Tau sector and a couple more in Sigma. If she had lived during the beginning of Horath, she might have had trouble with the honor code at the time. Her family's descent from the honor of naval service to piracy had taken time and its toll on many. Some had reveled in it; others had settled into Battle Fleet and had turned a blind eye to the Gather Fleet.

  Normally, such an event would be well above her pay grade, even for someone of her family. But, she was one of the stars of the family, an engineer that had brought some credits and fame to restore some of the family's luster.

  The push to build new ships had started when she had been an ensign, but it was picking up steam. She had stuck with engineering throughout her career and was glad she had. She had moved over to staff positions a few years ago, taking on control of a yard module and then an entire section. It was through her efforts that the empire had begun producing home-built fighters, then Apollo class corvettes and Manta class frigates. She had taken the lack of replicator-produced parts as a challenge and was quite pleased with the result, though fully aware that they still had a lot to improve.

  She ran her fingers through her white lock in an unconscious motion as she smiled and bobbed a curtsey to a duke and duchess.

  The yard was still dealing with the El Dorado changes that were shaking the establishment and yards and overwhelming much of the industrial subcontractors. It had taken years for the discovery to get back to the Empire, well, at the time they hadn't been an empire, had they? They had been in all but name, but not publicly. Emperor Ramichov had changed that with his declaration speech a short time after the discovery. The existence of El Dorado itself was still highly classified.

  It had taken time, precious time, to get resources to El Dorado in order to begin getting a return on their investment. But, they had finally done so a few years ago when she had been a lieutenant commander. That had allowed them to begin the process of refitting the existing battle line while finally opening up the mothballed Reserve Fleet for their own refit. Finding the manpower to crew each of those ships had been a headache. Someone else's headache to be sure, she reminded herself. It was also why the brass had gone ahead with beginning to consolidate the Gather F
leet into the Battle Fleet. That in itself was a whole migraine and then some she thought.

  But, Elvira had finally gotten the resources to do something about production of the new ship classes. And it seemed, just in time since the brass wanted production ramped up with the new designs pronto. If they were going to have a hope of staying in shouting distance of the Fed production, they had to hit their production quotas without problems.

  Which meant all of the bugs had to be ironed out of their designs. Fortunately, they had spent years working on ways around the replicator issues. Doctor Vinatelli had helped shape her and the R&D's mindset in that regard. It was a pity that the man had never been indoctrinated.

  And more of a pity that the bastard had inflicted so much damage when he had found out about the empire's true purpose she mused darkly. They were still finding his sabotage even years later and sorting it out.

  Much of what she'd picked up from the inventing genius had been about attitude and reverse engineering what they knew worked. Getting the right materials was the sticking point now she reminded herself. They had figured out how to laser scan objects to get the CAD right.

  She felt a glow of satisfaction as a countess murmured in appreciation of her work. “Thank you, Dame, I'm honored you remembered,” she said, bowing over the old woman's hand.

  “I think we need many more of you in the service, my dear. Keep up the good work,” the matron said before she moved on to the next in line.

  She was right in a way, Elvira thought as she dropped her hand to bow to an unfamiliar lord dressed in a civilian outfit complete with a cape and top-hat.

  She had started her rise by copying a part in her off time. It had been out of annoyance since the part had been in short supply. She'd scanned it, had a rough blank made, and then programmed a CNC machine with a scan of the original part to grind it to the final shape.