by Chris Hechtl
“Agreed. Any progress in getting into the prison?”
The Veraxin signaled second-degree negation and regret. “No. As much as I'd like to get in there and secure Admiral Logan, I don't think it is in the cards. Childress was too careful to put his own people there. Those that aren't beholden to him are too stiff to bend and let us in. We'd cause all sorts of casualties if we tried to force a breakout. It would also expose us. We also don't have any sort of extraction plan. It is too deep in his defensive network. Any shuttle that did get out of the prison station would be locked up and destroyed.”
“Which is what we don't want. They'd most likely kill Admiral Logan in the crossfire in the prison. No doubt someone has orders to that effect. It'd make Childress's day,” Captain Coglin stated.
“True. That is the most likely scenario,” the Veraxin agreed.
“We're running out of time though, or I should say, he is. Once they get the jury in, Childress could act swiftly to put the admiral out of his misery,” Lieutenant Filmore said glumly. “They'll turn him into a martyr, but a dead man is easier to refute than a living one.”
“I know. And I know there isn't anything we can do to stop it. And I hate it,” Captain Coglin stated.
“You and me both,” Captain N'll'm'll replied with his own equivalent of a sigh.
@
Admiral Draken was not happy about the slowdown and made it known to the various department heads, starting with Logistics. The email said for them to trim fat and get down to basics and find as many cost-saving measures as they could while squeezing out the same amount of work.
Weaver shook his head after reading the missive a second time. He knew it was coming down from on high about the problems with the budget and industry, but something needed to be done on their end as much as his own. He threw himself at the project only to be frustrated when he came up for air in the afternoon.
He took a late lunch and tried to get the problem out of his head, but his mind couldn't get rid of the problem. He ate his sandwich mechanically as his mind toyed with the problem. It boiled down to money. Without money flowing into the navy's coffers, they were having trouble paying their contractors, let alone their personnel. The powers that be on the civilian side claimed it was a problem within the banking system and politics. He knew better. Someone was striking at Childress and his people to hurt them.
And it was working. His problem was it was his duty to find a way to keep things running. He grimaced as he rubbed his temples. They were going to have more problems as money ran out, and it began to filter down to the sailors and Marines that they weren't going to get paid.
Hopefully, someone was smart enough to keep Childress out of it initially. He'd only make it worse he knew. How worse … he looked at the half-eaten sandwich as his stomach soured and then pushed it away.
@
Admiral Ss'k'ttthhh hissed softly to himself as he tried to deal with the overload. He was fully aware of what had happened with the bomb plot, Omar had gotten cute. He was not happy with Commander Lopez's performance. The man had gotten too cute to the point of getting sloppy. Omar's ham-handed attempt to clean him up had only made the situation worse to the point where the Naga had been forced to quietly redirect the agent to a retreat to sit things out for a while.
Cleaning up Omar's messes were taking up almost as much work as trying to deal with the mutiny. He knew Patty had an entire section consisting of four teams watching the trial. Everyone involved had to be monitored.
Worse, some of his people had gone dark. He didn't like that. Some wanted to sit it out; he could understand that urge. Colton for one, his entire team was damn good. But they were also honorable people most of the time. The fact that they'd decided to go dark and sit it out was annoying. He could use their help; they were good most of the time.
Though he wondered if the commander's slipup on the stand had been deliberate or not. You just didn't do that; his agents were trained to maintain their cover. Fitz was an engineer, but he'd been in ONI for years.
His other games were playing out, though he was a bit disappointed in Admiral Zekowitz. He'd expected the man to remain true to form and he was. He had stirred up trouble, then pulled his head into his shell and remained quiet, playing the engineering professor at the academy. He'd actually hoped the man could have started a conspiracy, maybe even one that could have threatened Omar's grip, but apparently, that had been too much to ask for.
And Patty, he tisked tisked in his own way, flicking his tail from side to side. She was another disappointment. She'd pulled back on monitoring Zekowitz and other questionable people when they'd kept a low profile in order to funnel resources to where she thought she needed it. She had too many irons in the fire with the trial and the mess in the fleet.
Orders from Omar to watch their own people had only added to her workload. He had been amused to discover that she had started to take steps to cover her ass. His people had identified worms she had created as well as script files and an electronic scrubbing plan. He knew that was step one. She still didn't know about his back door into her supposedly secure systems, so she most likely didn't know he'd tapped into everything including her GOTH plan. The GOTH plan was extreme, going to the extension of burning down entire data centers in “accidental electrical fires,” but that would work. He knew no one would believe it, but at least it would keep the data out of the wrong hands. And, well, he could do something about tidying up people if he had to later on.
What to do, what to do, he thought. He much preferred to be the Terran spider, monitoring the web but never the one to actually do something. He admitted that privately to himself. He loved information and the reputation of gathering it. The ruthless part came with the title, but that was fine too.
His mandibles twitched as he flicked a claw out to touch the icon for Bek B. That, he didn't like. An entire subsystem of Bek going over to the other side and dark. He hated not knowing. He had started the information gathering process by inserting agents into the civilian traffic, but the distance between the components made it impossible to keep up-to-date. The time lag … he shook his head slightly in a human mannerism. He had to admit; he'd gotten spoiled by the starships when they'd jumped back and forth. It had been addicting to get information that quickly.
His claws drifted down the terminal screen to the president. He knew the president was up to something, but he was playing passive aggressive with Omar. He wasn't quite willing to push Omar into a coup. That might be what it would take to show people Omar had gone too far. He checked the files and then hissed again, this time in annoyance. Again, his data on the civilian centers were less than before. Patty's bumbling had made the president crack down on ONI's activities.
Which, was a good thing in a way he thought. It weeded out the people who weren't doing their jobs properly; that was for certain. He hated the image of being that inept, and he hated the idea of exposure even more. But sometimes a good housecleaning was in order. A good shaking up to see who really could handle the job and to get the complacency streak out.
“Sir, your four o'clock is here,” his yeoman stated over the intercom.
“Send him in,” he said as he cleared the screen and brought up the information about the commander. The hatch opened, and he looked up expectantly, ready to rip the commander a new one for getting too cute.
@
Admiral N'r'm'll did his best to deal with mounting personnel issues. Most of the ships in First and Second Fleet were at half strength, those that were out in space at all. Admiral Draken was not happy about the lack of exercises. Worst, the commandant had shut down the mustang program, and the admissions at the academy were getting hammered so new officers were in short supply.
He didn't see a way to entice anyone back. They were getting veterans back, but Omar's insistence that those who resigned would come crawling back was unfounded. Most of the veterans had left a while ago. Some were desperate for income. Most were marginal of
ficers or noncoms at best based on a cursory look at their records. But, he needed every warm body he could get his claws on. Omar was running the navy into the ground, and he didn't seem to care if it crashed and burned around him.
Part of the problem he was seeing was something he'd failed to admit to himself even privately. His job, the job of every officer for that matter, was to see to the future of the navy: to support and nurture the talent, to identify the next generation and train them to their fullest potential. He'd thought of that as part of the patronage system, but now he wasn't so certain patronage was a wise policy—not if it was leading to this situation.
But, there was not a lot he could do about it, which was the most frustrating thing of all. And with little funds, he couldn't entice others to come back.
@
Admiral Zekowitz noted the loss of students at the academy. He shook his head when he started the next class only to find a dozen students in it. He was also down to one TA. “Is it just me or is the student body running a little thin these days?”
@
Admiral Childress fumed over what was going on with the banks and not being kept in the loop. After he had a moment to vent, Admiral Draken shook his head. “We have to delegate somewhere.”
“Not here.”
“We have got to trust our people to give us the right data. Obviously, there was a breakdown. But landing on them hard will only cause more problems. It will look like cover-our-ass thinking and a witch hunt.”
“Damn it, what is the navy coming to that they let this happen? Where are our accountants? Why weren't they on top of this?”
“They are.”
“Bullshit. They are playing games and writing up fairy tale spreadsheets that mean dick all! The budget?!?” Admiral Childress snarled, throwing one exasperated hand up in the air as he tossed a paper file over his shoulder. “Bullshit!”
“Well, the good news is, we know who are really willing to stick it out. Many have been complaining but still doing their duty,” Admiral Draken drawled.
Admiral Childress shot him a sour look and then looked away. After a moment, that idea sunk in and he grunted. “I guess we don't need to bribe people.”
“No, not everyone. Sweetening the pot will be nice. The problem is we need to get this sorted out. I'm leaning on the banks. We could use some help with the Treasury and the GAO.”
“Them. They want in on what we're doing. The GAO has been after me to give them a breakdown of our budget. Well, they can't have it!”
“And that is why they are dragging their feet and playing games,” Admiral N'r'm'll insisted. “This is their warning shot. We play ball, and we get the money. Otherwise, they'll keep playing games.”
“Damn it …”
@
Weaver wasn't thrilled when he got an email when he came into work. The email was short and to the point; he had a new boss, Rear Admiral Helen Sung. He looked her up with his implants as he read the rest of the email. His implants pulled up her bio as he saw the line about reporting to her by 0830. He grimaced, noting the time was 0900, his normal clock-in time. “Wonder-fracking-ful. Already late to see the new boss. A nice way to make a bad impression,” he muttered.
He scanned her thumbnail bio as he ID'd where she was at and then took off to her office. Some of her history was impressive, but she was only recently promoted from a captain's slot. She had never served on a ship, preferring fortress command or staff positions.
He got to her office, and the yeoman shook her head but showed him right in.
“Ma'am, Commander Thistle reporting.”
“Ah, Thistle, there you are,” she said with a drawl as he came to attention. “I see you finally got in?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“I don't like tardiness, Commander. It is usually wise to report in before your shift starts.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“We'll let it slide this time. I have to admit, I didn't come up through the department, so I only have inkling about it,” she said. “Your people don't move very quickly these days,” she drawled. “That's something that will need to change.”
“We're trying, ma'am. It isn't easy,” he admitted.
Her blue eyes narrowed at him. “I don't like excuses, Commander. We've got a job to do; we get it done. I just got an earful from the powers that be about you. A lot of people are pissed about your little stunt.”
He blinked at her. “Ma'am?”
“You heard me. Oh, don't play all wide-eyed innocent with me. I wasn't born yesterday. You'll hear more about that later once they are done cleaning up your mess.”
Weaver frowned slightly but then schooled his expression into impassive lines for the moment. He had no idea what mess she was referring to.
“You've been more or less on your own for a while now. That ends today. There is a new sheriff in town, and I'm it. Consider your leash yanked. Get with the program or get out. It's that simple.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“I went over your record; you think you are some hot-shit engineer whiz kid who was sent here to show us backwoods hicks how to run a yard. Obviously, someone put you in your place. Good for them. You've stuck with it though, and other than a couple blemishes on your record, you've done passing.”
Weaver didn't know what to say so he remained silent. She studied him for a long moment and then nodded once to herself.
“Even better. Okay, I want your latest reports now.”
“They are on file, ma'am. Do you want my notes?” he asked.
“Yes, them too. You mean to tell me you've kept that up-to-date?” she asked.
“Yes, ma'am. We've been … slow due to the shortage of funds. I'm trying to, as some put it, make lemons without lemonade. It isn't easy.”
She tapped at her terminal with a frown and then nodded once. “I see you are up-to-date on the paperwork side. Good. I scanned yesterday's reports on my way in and while waiting for you to arrive. Did you file these recently?”
“I filed them when I went off duty at 2200 last night, ma'am. They are time stamped. Sometimes the system takes time to log them properly and make them available. Sometimes you need to refresh the inbox too,” he said helpfully.
Her eyes squinted until she found the time stamp. She sat back. “So they are. Impressive. So, you did have a good excuse for not getting here earlier.”
“My normal check-in time was 0900, ma'am. Do you want me here earlier all the time?”
“Yes. I thought I just got done telling you that. From now on, 0830.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
The intercom beeped. “Yes? What is it?” the admiral asked testily.
“Ma'am, Captain Prescott is looking for Commander Thistle. She requested he be sent to her office.”
The admiral glanced up to the chimera and then back to the speaker. “He's with me now as you know, Aphus. I'll send him along in a moment,” she said.
“Aye aye, ma’am.”
When she lifted her finger, she looked at the commander. “I'll go over your most recent log. I expect a verbal briefing from you when you get back. You better not be gone long. I want you here before lunch.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Weaver replied. He ran a scan for Captain Prescott's location. He wasn't surprised to find she was in Command One. That meant a shuttle trip. “Um, Ma'am, Captain Prescott is in Command One now. I don't know if I can make it back by lunch,” he said lamely.
“Then you'd better hustle,” she said, waving a dismissive hand.
He snapped to, about-faced, and moved out quickly.
It was going to be a long day he thought with a mental grimace.
@
With a bit of arm twisting on the political side and some horse trading, Admiral Draken managed to get some of the money released. It had taken a copy of their revised overview of their budget to make it happen, something he knew Omar wouldn't be happy about, but he didn't care. He had gone around Omar and had ignored the man's co
mplaints in order to make it happen. The spigots were open but at a trickle.
It got some of the money flowing; that was the main thing, even if they'd had to eat a bit of crow and give in. A light hint of how there were limits and that angry people with guns were getting annoyed helped grease the process along slightly to the point where the money started moving by 1100. As long as he kept his mailed fist covered with a velvet glove, he was okay he thought.
@
Weaver tried not to thrash his tail in the shuttle as he inhaled and exhaled. He knew that the brass was not. Happy. With. Him. If he hadn't picked up on it with Admiral Sung, he had after his interview with Captain Prescott.
She had given him an ass-searing dressing down for not going through her office before making a public statement. He could see the woman was seething, but he couldn't help but resent being chewed out. Even though, technically, she was in the right.
Weaver did his best to just weather the storm. He was surprised when Admiral Sung herself met him when the shuttle docked. “Ma'am?” he asked, coming to attention.
“Cutting it a little close there,” she observed dryly as he checked the clock. It was 1158, just two minutes before his regular lunch. “I understand that the captain's time was out of your hands. You didn't dawdle though. Good for you. Now, I suppose we can have a working lunch while you catch me up to speed. Unless you want to go somewhere and sulk, Commander?” she asked dryly.
His back stiffened. “No, ma'am. A working lunch is fine if you prefer,” he said.
“Good. Excellent. I've ordered lunch in the officer's mess. Let's go get this over with then. I just found out by the way, the brass got the budget sorted out. So, we're back in business, no more foot dragging.”
Weaver nodded but his feelings were mixed about the news “Good to know. After you, ma'am,” he said graciously. She studied him for a moment, then pursed her lips and looked around. “Ma'am?” he asked.
“I …,” she seemed annoyed and embarrassed. He realized she was most likely lost.
