The Gathering Storm (The New Federation Book 4)

by Chris Hechtl

  He made another puttering sound as he scanned the brief. He'd gotten to the meeting early; their meeting was running late or so the aide had said. He glanced at his HUD and then shook his head. They had until the meeting officially started—four, no, three and a half minutes. If they couldn't get there on time, he was gone. He had better things to do than hold hands and listen to drivel.

  He had to admit, he was chafing in his current position more and more. He was an administrator. He knew he shouldn't have a problem with meetings, but it was getting to him. Perhaps he needed a vacation? He shook his head mentally. Like that was going to happen.

  Three minutes he noted.

  He still wanted that transfer to Naval Intelligence, but he didn't want to give up his command to someone he didn't trust. After what he had found out about what was going on in Bek from Horatio, he was doubly determined not to turn over Pyrax to a Bekian officer. Not until that matter was resolved.

  He considered his options and the current pool of officers. If he had his druthers, he'd pass the command over to Commodore Ortiz. He might be a Bekian, but he was squared away and willing to learn unlike some of the other officers who tended to throw their weight around.

  Two minutes.

  He checked his inbox, answered a few emails, and trashed a few that had gotten through his and Saul's filters, and then checked the time again. Thirty seconds. He started to gather his tablet and rise from his seat when the door opened. He looked up as the aide showed the first of the delegation in.

  “Sorry about the wait, Admiral,” the deputy of Pyrax Engineering said smoothly as she entered the room.

  “Understandable,” he replied as he shook hands with each of them. “I was a bit early after all,” he said as she waved for them to take a seat once more. “Your agenda mentioned the Dyson Sphere proposal …,” he said as he settled in and pulled up his planned points to discuss.

  :::{)(}:::

  Commander Saul Garretaj scrubbed his eyes and then adjusted his implants. As Admiral Subert's chief of staff, it was his duty to make sure everything was running as smoothly as possible. That meant he had to watch over the entire star system while also passing on orders from the admiral and clarifying any issues that tended to come up. Admirals were known for broad strokes with their mission orders, trusting those under them to use their initiative to figure out the nitty gritty details.

  At least, that was how it was supposed to work. Each admiral had his or her own style though. Admiral Subert expected everyone to be on the same page and took great pains to explain things when he thought understanding was lacking. Or, when he wanted to eliminate wiggle room so someone couldn't get too cute. Some saw that as micromanaging and stifling however.

  Whenever a problem came up, the various officers knew to contact him first. It was better to get the problem sorted out before it came to the attention of Admiral Subert and his rather caustic and sharp tongue. The running joke was “better call Saul.” He wasn't certain where the genesis came from, but it was accurate.

  He rolled his shoulders and then glanced longingly at an image he'd put up on the wall. It was from Oasis of Space. He really should take it down; it always brought him feelings of pain and misgivings. He had been there often enough in his rare moments of time off. He felt dirty that he'd never noticed the damn Xeno Wraith in the ship's systems. It was an irrational thought, but it was there, hovering over him.

  It did explain why he and other senior officers received so many free trips there. All the time he'd thought it was to get him to blow his paycheck. That was most likely true but not the sole reason. The fallout from the Wraith was still ongoing. He'd even been billed for his recent visits. He was well aware that the owners of the ship were fighting the navy through the courts for the cost of repairing the ship. They wanted a replacement ship or a fully-restored ship. That wasn't going to happen. That didn't stop them from trying to intimidate the navy into giving in just to shut them up and make the situation go away.

  He snorted as his fingertips stroked the frame. He was in the center of the image, two girls, dressed in feathers and fake jewels. The blond he had his arm around was smiling brightly for the camera. He didn't remember much of the visit other than a satisfied glow and a rather empty bank account when he'd gotten home.

  He turned away from the image. He really should take it down. It might be the source of his odd dreams—that or survivor's guilt or something linked to his past. He was still dealing with his time loss after all, plus the trauma from the Lemnos incident. It could all be jumbled together. If the dreams continued, he might have to see a counselor. He didn't like that idea though; no serving officer liked talking to a shrink. There was always the threat of being noticed or worse, relieved of duty.

  No, for the moment he'd continue to muddle through, and hopefully, it would all go away in time.

  He frowned as he looked at his inbox. More promotions were on the horizon. He was starting to feel left out again. By rights he should be rising in rank as well, but for staff officers, it was a much slower process. Still, he should have made the list given how explosive the navy was growing.

  Would the Bekians slow the speed of promotions? He was of two minds about the subject and not just his and the admiral's misgivings about the Bekians. He didn't like someone he didn't know lording over him. Someone with a decade of service coming in as a captain; that sort of thing fried him. He agreed with the other survivors from Lemnos; something had to be done.

  Perhaps that was why the promotions were being allowed? He knew Admiral Subert hated how fast the navy was promoting, but they had no choice. They needed to continue to grow. To do that they had to have the personnel to fill all the empty positions. He grimaced and scratched behind one ear as he sat down again.

  How to break it to the admiral … he made a soft sigh as he consulted his files for his list of ways to massage it past the admiral with the least amount of grumbling and effort.

  :::{)(}:::

  Captain Senior Grade Firefly realized he was getting more like an organic every cycle. It all came to his level of impatience with his personal situation. For an A.I., a being who thought in microseconds, it was something that could dwell on his mind for seemingly ages. It boiled down to one thing; he was getting tired of running a staff. That was not what he was built for.

  He was a hybrid smart A.I. He had started out as a simple dumb ship's A.I. back during his commissioning days but had evolved over time. Code transfers between himself and then Commander Sprite had accelerated his evolution as well as his rank.

  When his ship had been damaged in Epsilon Triangula by Admiral Von Berk and the Horathian Gather Fleet's Fourth Fleet, he'd been resigned to a lengthy recovery. That recovery process had been repeatedly stymied and had been put on hold for nearly a year. His organic crew had all been reassigned. His ship was a ghost ship once more, and he did not like that.

  Instead of repairing his ship, it had been tied into the military electronic network and ordered to serve to the best of his ability there in a variety of roles. But, he was not a staff A.I., nor was he a system management A.I. His hardware was limited as was his access. He couldn't for instance access the networks in San Diego due to the distances involved. So, he was relegated to clerking or messenger duties if he wasn't asked to serve on a promotional board, jury, or other position.

  As an officer, he understood that sometimes he had to take on such duties. But he should be well past the basic clerking or messenger duties. He was also not the admiral's chief of staff. He had been reminded of that seven times, twice in the past week. He was not a staff officer. Technically, he was stepping on Barry's virtual toes. Even the subordinate A.I. was a bit put out over the captain's position. It was time to make a change. Since he couldn't go anywhere and therefore couldn't take leave since the system had very little net space for an A.I., that meant something else had to be done.

  Consequently, he put in an additional request to BUSHIPS and BUPERS for his ship to be repai
red and for him to be reassigned. Barring that, a transfer of his core and hardware to a capital ship currently under construction. He was well aware that such a change had its risks. It would also mean a transfer to Antigua since he was not suited as a carrier A.I. His hardware would have to be taken offline and his software copied and transferred to the new hardware. The old hardware would then have to be reset, which would mean the personality core would be zeroed. That could destroy the intellect there, it was better to just start over he knew.

  He would also have to undergo a series of software upgrades and changes while his system grew into the new hardware and made its final adjustments. That would be something the bean counters would weigh in on he was certain. The expense of scrapping his core and transferring him would have to be factored in, plus the risk of losing him totally. He calculated the odds to show that the Admiralty was balking at such a risk and expense, and for good reason. He could understand their lack of wanting to lose his experience if something went wrong.

  If that was their only reason, he could understand it. But, he had to look after his own career as well.

  He also wrote a suggestion that he take on his old ship once it was repaired and go out pirate hunting in a neighboring sector. He wasn't certain how that would go over with the Admiralty however. He briefly wondered for a microsecond if his rank had something to do with his current predicament. He wrote a series of questions to ask about it with the other A.I. Perhaps Captain Sprite could illuminate the situation for him? Or at the least, act as an advocate for him with Admiral Irons?

  :::{)(}:::

  A second delay with launching the Eastern Front had occurred. It was out of his control, but that didn't make it any less vexing, Admiral Irons thought.

  His people had scrambled to get the shipment of ansible cores to them in time. They had come in just before the Tau mission had departed. Those destined to go with the Eastern Force had been put in storage until they were ready to depart. Finding a ship to carry those cores was one problem. But, some of the teething issues with the command structure was another. One he hadn't anticipated.

  The Bekian Rear Admiral V'r'z'll had stepped up to take command the moment she'd gotten out of Caroline. She hadn't been asked which had surprised a lot of people. She'd insisted on the command since she outranked everyone else and was a carrier flag officer. Her involvement had kicked a certain other female Veraxin out of the job. Admiral Subert had demoted her to XO of the force but that hadn't sat well. Apparently, there had been a lot of passive aggressive crap going on for quite some time.

  In a recent fit of pique, the recently-promoted Commodore Xx'll'rr had refused command of the screen after what some called a particularly icy meeting of the proposed mission senior staff. She had sighted differences between the two officers and that they could not get along due to the admiral's personality. A subtle threat of her resigning had gotten BUPERS to buck the problem up to Admiral Subert and then Admiral Irons.

  Both flag officers hadn't been happy about the situation. They had marked the commodore's reluctance to serve down in her jacket. It would affect her future promotion later. If she was aware of it, she gave no sign.

  Instead, recently promoted Commodore Zachery Binks would be in charge of the cruisers and screen. There were still some rough edges to be worked out between the two flag officers and their staffs, but they would have to figure it out on the march east.

  For several months, Resolution class heavy cruisers and North Hampton class light cruisers had been sent ahead with divisions of Arboth class destroyers and tenders to act as wolf packs in Sigma sector. The ships had paved the way for the Eastern Front.

  Unfortunately, none had been sent out with courier vessels to bring back any intelligence they had gathered along the way to their assigned duty sectors. That oversight had been remedied by the last wolf pack to depart ahead of the Eastern Front. TF 3.3 would have them breaking trail for the main body.

  The wolf packs had undoubtedly been noticed by the enemy, so some surprise was lost. The plan for the wolf packs to infiltrate the enemy's core as well as to get into Sigma and Pi sectors to patrol would take time. It would take even more time and an abundance of caution for the prowlers and small support groups that were following in their wake.

  The crews of those prowlers had to be careful; there were no additional prowlers in the pipeline at the moment. Each cost as much, if not more, than a heavy cruiser despite being unarmed and their small size. Their cloaking technology, other stealth equipment, more sensitive sensors, longer range, extensive databases, and other equipment had easily pushed the costs up. And that same equipment took a long time to build, install, and then tune.

  All of the deployments meant his cupboards were getting bare. He didn't like that. He needed to reinforce Airea 3, hell; they didn't even have a picket! Not a proper one, the last ship there had been forced to depart before the Tau mission had stopped there. He shook his head. He needed a picket there, at the B443 jump point, plus he needed to heavily reinforce the Senka and Syntia's World pickets. No doubt once the Horathians got wind of what had happened to their precious Sword of Retribution Fleet they would cut orders for raiders to try to get in to hit the Federation.

  That wasn't going to happen he vowed. Hopefully, the wolf packs in Pi and Sigma would keep them busy. He needed time, time to get his own house in order. Time for the new yards to get up to speed, for the next generation who were better educated to come into the workforce … time for Bek … damn it, what the hell was going on with that star system? He shook his head in frustration.

  “Deep thoughts, Admiral?” Protector asked.

  “Yeah. You could say that,” he said as he shook himself. “What do you have for me?”

  “Well, your ten thirty is running a bit late and asked to reschedule. I'm trying to move things around now. It may cut into your workout time.”

  He grunted. “Understood.” He hated it, but he also knew the needs of the service did that from time to time. His best way of handling it was to accept the inevitable. Getting irritable about it was just a waste of energy.

  “Commander Gray has a new design for you to look over. It is in your inbox. I thought I'd mention it. Or you could read the briefs on your next meeting,” the A.I. suggested with just a slight hint of exasperation in his voice.

  “Give me synopses. I don't need the entire thing. High points.”

  “Understood. Bullet points coming right up,” the A.I. replied. He put a fresh document on the admiral's HUD. The admiral nodded as he twitched his fingers to control the virtual mouse pointer. He double clicked the icon and then began to read.

  :::{)(}:::

  Captain Firefly's request passed through Saul. Saul grimaced and informed Admiral Subert.

  “Firefly,” Admiral Subert said. “We need to have this out now. What is your problem? You think I want to be here either?”

  “I think,” a disembodied voice said before the captain's avatar appeared before him standing at parade ground rest. “…That I am a ship A.I. I have been of use with the Xeno wraith incident, but I am not a system A.I. I am interfering with that A.I. who was built for such purposes. Also, my hull is just sitting there when it could be of use out there,” he said.

  “I don't have the manpower to man the ship. I don't even have the slip space to repair it. You know we're saturated,” the admiral growled.

  “With respect, sir, my previous crew made a lot of the repairs with the help of Prometheus. Otherwise, we would never have gotten back here. I was also in a worse state during the dark time. I can make some repairs using my on-board robotics and have done so. But, I need resources to finish the job. I'd prefer it be done properly by yard personnel. But I can make field repairs if none are available.”

  Saul glanced at the admiral with an expression as if to say he's got you there, sir.

  The admiral saw it out of the corner of his eye, and his lips formed a brief frown.

  “Point,” he finally conceded. “B
ut, I'd rather your ship be shipshape,” he stated.

  “Agreed.”

  “I think you need to understand Captain that Firefly is a symbol. She was once the flagship of the Federation at one point. You too are a symbol,” Saul interjected diplomatically.

  “Understood. But, to counter, I am an A.I. and a member of the crew. Everyone else has been reassigned to other ships. Secondly, consider that symbol languishing in mothballs. It isn't a good image to convey to the population.”

  Saul grimaced as his own argument was torn to shreds.

  “Fine. I'll pass it on to the Admiralty,” Admiral Subert said, clearly nettled by the idea.

  “Thank you, sir. Will there be anything else?” Firefly asked smoothly.

  “No. Dismissed.”

  “Very well,” the captain replied as his avatar vanished.

  “Damn it,” Saul muttered.

  “He did have a point, sir.”

  “I know he did. Technically, you should have moved on as well. A lot of personnel should. I admit; I want to hang onto people including you out of selfish reasons. It's not quite laziness; it's that you know the ropes and routine. But, damn it …”

  “He's tried to be diplomatic about it. He's given us options. Personally, I agree with him. And as an A.I. and a captain, he's entitled to a command of his own, correct?”

  “That would be interesting. A ship ….” Slowly the admiral grinned.

  Warily Saul eyed him. “You've got that look. The one that spells trouble for someone somewhere.”

  “I know. I was just thinking about the Bekians. They hate A.I. I'd love to see an expression of one of them as they reported to him as his XO or something,” Admiral Subert growled.