Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3) (43 page)

“He was an outstanding tactical officer, also a patriot. He turned a blind eye to a lot of what was going on around him; when we plebes asked, he refused to answer. I remember …,” he stopped, exhaled slowly. “I remember his last day when MPs came and took him away. He told us it was our duty to stay above the politics, the drama, to think with cool heads and keep our passion for our homeworld without judgment.”

“You've said that before, sir,” Catherine said softly.

The admiral nodded. “I have. Now you know the source.”

“He was taken away?” Myron asked.

“I found out later it was the final purge. He was sent to the gladiator pits. He managed to survive for a while despite his age. He made a name for himself until the people in charge became fearful that he might make their plans backslide. He was pitted against a slew of opponents and eventually thrown into a hopeless battle. He had to fight with one arm tied behind his back, if you can believe it, against four opponents, young men. He fought and killed two of them before he died with honor,” the admiral murmured.

“That's why you don't like the gladiators, sir? Why you won't watch it?” Sedrick asked him.

The admiral seemed to settle himself. He nodded. “Yes. Such a waste of talent. The original hatred had been focused on those who hadn't come from the Terran star system. When they had left, the people who'd started it went for anyone different than themselves. Had he been born in the right species …,” he shook his head. “But a couple genes said he was different than the rest of us so he became disposable. Pity. But he's dead, we're not,” he said coming to a decision. “We owe our duty to the living and to the future. We owe our respect to those who have served in the past. We learn from them and their mistakes.” He cocked his head. “Another saying of his.”

“I wish now I could have met him,” Catherine murmured. That seemed to shock some of the staff. “I'm not … completely behind my family's policies. I know a few have … expressed different opinions from time to time. I remember the period of time you mentioned. Some of your fellow students resigned in protest I believe. That was swept under the rug of course.”

Sedrick grimaced. The admiral saw his expression out of the corner of his eye. Undoubtedly the discussion would make it into someone's report sometime soon. So be it.

“One of the things that Irons can draw on is that talent—those different perspectives, and more importantly, manpower. Neos can breed far faster than we can for instance,” the admiral said. “We have one species to man our ships; he has dozens to draw from.”

“But he loses something in coordination and life support, sir. We know how each other thinks,” Myron stated.

“Do we? Sometimes I wonder.” He shrugged.

“The manpower issue … I don't know if anyone has explored that question,” Catherine said slowly. She glanced at Sedrick. He shrugged. “But what is done is done. We can't undo it at this point.”

The admiral nodded. “And it's in the past. We need to focus on the future. So, lesson for today,” he said, rising to his feet. “Don't
ever
underestimate your opponent. Don't let those bigot blinders lead you into a trap of your own making. Don't let others blind you to the potential of an opponent.”

“Or you'll lose,” Catherine agreed with a nod. “Always consider your opponent as smart or smarter than you. I remember that saying, sir.” The princess surveyed the audience and then nodded as her eyes returned to the flag officer. “Noted, sir.”

“Good. Now, we have to figure out a way to get in there and kick his furry ass. Preferably without taking so much damage that we'll lose the next fight.”

“That's always the rub, isn't it?” Myron asked with a twist of his lips.

“Yes. Which means we need you to find interesting ways to cover our weaknesses while finding the enemies,” the admiral rumbled.

“Ouch. Tall order but we're working on it. That extra time gave us a lot of skull time. I know you've read the reports,” Myron stated.

The admiral nodded. “I have indeed. Now you,” he turned to Sedrick. “And you can work on a psychological profile of our enemy, Commander. I want to know how he thinks, and you can simulate how he'll react to stimuli based on what we know about him and his past actions. Then we'll plug them into your simulations as the opposing force, Commander, and try it out.”

“We are still having problems with A.I., Admiral,” Sedrick cautioned. “You know the empire has recently banned exploring the field.”

“But we haven't ignored it. We need counter tech to A.I. obviously,” the admiral stated. The spook nodded grudgingly. “And we need A.I. in sims as well as smart systems to run the computers in our ships. Which,” he frowned pensively, “is another advantage the enemy has over us, their A.I..” He turned to the tactical officer. “Another thing to factor into your plans and sims,” he said.

“Aye aye, sir,” Myron stated.

“Good. Get on it,” the admiral ordered by way of dismissal.

:::{)(}:::

Chief Riker exhaled slowly when the board came back all clear. Not all green, that was too much to hope for, but all clear.
Star Mauler
would live to see another day he thought.

He checked once more and then started his log update before he stepped out of engineering. The extra time the other ships had required to get in order had allowed his people to fix every new crack and make additional repairs on the ones they'd already known about. He smacked his hands together then rubbed them. It was past time he visited the ship's still for a
much
-needed reward.

:::{)(}:::

“Translation complete. We're holding steady in the seventh octave of Alpha band,” the helmsman reported, looking over her shoulder briefly to the captain and XO.

“Looking good,” Commander Ramichov stated. He looked at the captain. “Skipper?”

“I know. I'll man the fort here. Adam, go check out engineering; make sure they aren't struggling,” the captain ordered.

“Do you think they are, sir?” Prince Adam asked carefully.

The captain grimaced. “I doubt it. Just go check,” he ordered.

“Aye aye, sir,” the XO replied dutifully. He nodded and exited the bridge.

He walked calmly through the companionways, nodding as juniors scurried to get out of his way or flatten themselves against the sides. He did like that juniors had to make ways for seniors. They'd done it through his entire career though. Even the captain occasionally got out of his way.

He stood in the lift car and politely took a step back as a noncom came in with him. The noncom nodded to him. “Going walk-about, sir?”

“Something like that. How is she hanging, Chief?” he asked.

“Still one lower than the other as usual, sir,” the chief replied, cracking a smile. He sobered when the XO didn't respond in kind. “Sorry. We're okay.
Potemkin
took more hits than we did.
Musashi
too. I think they're struggling, but I haven't heard anything obviously.”

The prince nodded. Even the chief's phone had its limits he thought. “Anything I should be worried about, Chief?”

The noncom cocked his head as if to consider that then shook his head. “Not that I'm aware of. I'm going to check and make sure the kiddies are doing their jobs on level six. I've heard there is a dice game that keeps cropping up there from time to time. If you could make a pass through on your way back through the back ways just to keep them on their toes …”

That did make the prince crack a smile. “Sure thing, Chief. I always like to spoil someone's fun when they are supposed to be on duty.”

“Thank you, sir,” the chief replied with a nod as the lift pinged. “This is my stop,” he said as the doors opened.

“Dismissed, Chief,” the XO said as the man exited. The doors closed again and he stood there calmly as it moved sideways and then down again towards central engineering country. If the chief believed everything was good, then it was. He could trust that; the man's word was bedrock.

But he was still going to check anyway.

:::{)(}:::

Commander Sedrick Lovato put the last finishing touches on his report or at least, the last for the night he thought as he continued to type. He was fairly confident that the report wouldn't be a nail in Admiral De Gaulte's coffin. It would, however, be potential ammunition for someone back home to second-guess the admiral.

That was Cyrano's problem he thought. He shouldn't have been so eager to close into energy range, he thought as he formalized his conclusions. The admiral himself had pointed it out in two of the hot washes, so it wouldn't come as a surprise to many.

Had the Retribution Fleet sacrificed some of its speed and range, they could have come in at an angle or parallel to the retreating federation fleet. Then the admiral could have opened up with his broadside launchers for a devastating volley.

It was armchair quarterbacking, and well, a stab in the back to his nominal boss, but that was what he had to do as a spy. He took no pleasure in it, he thought as his fingers hovered over the keyboard. After a moment to get back into the groove, his right hand dropped to the mouse. He selected a video file and then linked it to the report. The video was of the relevant speech during the hot wash, potentially damning in some eyes.

Should the admiral ever run for office or attempt to attain higher rank, he knew that the material he had compiled would be used against the man. He shrugged such considerations off.

What did interest him was Catherine's reaction and role in the decision-making process. She hadn't counseled the admiral to hold back and fire their broadside tubes instead. She too had supported his decision to close and try to get as much damage in as possible before the enemy hypered out.

He conveniently left out the counter discussion about how the enemy could have countered the broadside plan by delaying their own jump to open their own tubes up and Herod's entire explanation about how it could have been more devastating for their own forces was “accidentally” deleted.

When he finished up, he hit the enter button with a flourish, then double clicked on save, then dragged and dropped the file into his encrypted archive. He then copied the encrypted file and tucked it into the next courier dispatch log.

Now it was someone else's problem he thought as he rose and flexed his fingers. He glanced at the clock and then yawned. He had thought about going walk-about, but he didn't want to. And as much as he liked his voyeurism in watching the various camera and sound feeds on the ship, he just wasn't in the mood.

He frowned pensively. Besides, the admiral had assigned him more work, to find out the amount of damage they'd inflicted on each ship and what it could mean to her in the future. Also what the enemy could do to repair it would have to factor into that simulation.

He shook his head. He had no clue how to go about that. Herod's off-the-cuff suggestion at starting with the ship class and models of their hits … he frowned as he glanced at the clock again. Finally, he sighed. He had a couple days to get the report in, but he might as well see what he could do with one ship and then see if he could use it as a template for the others.

:::{)(}:::

Prince Mason Ramichov shook his head as he noted Chief Riker's passing. The Marine lieutenant liked the larger ship.
Star Mauler
was a nice ship, but all the talk about structural cracks made him leery. He was starting to regret allowing the transfer.

He wasn't certain if his sister or brother had been behind the transfer. He wouldn't put it past either of them to put him on a potentially doomed ship. He was, after all, third in the running for the throne. Dominitia might not be able to play the sweet and innocent princess consort that Marina could, but he knew she was also plotting and planning.

Most likely she was also playing the field while he was gone. He wouldn't put it past her, he thought as he continued his jog. Dominitia was smart enough to keep her machinations low key; neither one of them wanted to appear as a threat on anyone's radar. Such actions tended to have painful and quite possible
final
outcomes.

No, it was best to bide their time, be the best at what they were, and wait. It didn't come easy though. He was young, full of life, and he was certain he could do things as well as if not better than his older twin siblings. They might have had a longer time to get to where they were, but he intended to play a role in any future administration … whenever their father relinquished the reins of power, either willingly, or more likely, unwillingly.

He fought a smile. “Pried from his father's cold dead fingers” tended to come to mind when he thought about the future. And he knew, that his father knew, that the twins were the biggest threat to his reign. Their positions in the Retribution Fleet … he paused to leap a knee knocker then kept going. Their position, he thought, getting his mental train back on track, to gain glory that he lacked would play well with the public in the future … if it didn't blow up in their face.

If Admiral De Gaulte was forced to withdraw, it wouldn't look good for any of the senior officers involved. He was insulated due to his position in the Marines and his low rank however. So, if the next engagement went south enough to force a retreat, he'd get a small slice of glory while his sister and brother would be tarnished for bungling it.