Federation Reborn 1: Battle Lines (36 page)

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Moldy Crow jumped into the B-97a star system after 5.7 weeks in hyper. The wary crew watched anxiously to make certain the empire still controlled the star system. To their surprise a scan of the far jump point showed a ship about to jump. “It's small,” the sensor rating said.

“Raise it!” the earl urged.

“I can't, sir. She's spooling up her hyperdrive now. By the time a signal got to her, she'd be long gone,” the rating said. The earl looked at him and then to the communication's rating.

The young man sitting there spread his hands apart and shrugged. “He's right, sir.”

“Damn it,” the earl cursed, then went on cursing for several hours as they watched impotently as the ship charged its drive and then jumped.

“The good news is we might catch up to her in the next star system if we hurry,” the sensor rating said.

“If. Big if, which we can't do,” Captain Media said with a scowl. The earl turned to the big man. The freighter captain was wearing a worn blue sweater. It looked rather shabby and appropriate for the lesser man to wear. “We have to make our best speed to the jump point.”

“Best speed?”

“We have to balance our fuel against the hyper jumps. We'll have just enough if we …,” the captain played the numbers and then looked up. “It is going to take us five days to cross the star system.”

“And it will take them what, three?” the earl demanded.

“Three and a half judging from her speed, sir,” the sensor rating said.

“Who asked you,” the earl said, shooting his sour expression to the sensor rating. The young man hunched his shoulders and looked away muttering. “What was that?”

“Nothing, sir,” the young man said, hunching his shoulders as the earl moved in to cuff him or worse.

“Leave him alone. He can't change physics. We're just going to have to catch up.”

“To a courier? Not going to happen,” the earl sighed.

“Not until we get to Dead Drop.”

“Yeah,” the earl sighed. “Perfect,” he grumbled.

“Sorry, sir.”

---<>---<>---

A long time, Earl Gumel thought, a long time to get back to the empire. Months, nearly a half a year at the pace they were going at. Terrible, but it had to be endured.

What made it worse was that he'd ordered the captain to jettison his slaves. So, he as a “guest” had little to do to entertain himself. Go over his report? He'd done that every day for the first few weeks of the journey. Sit a bridge watch? What a dull bore. He couldn't squeeze out any more speed out of the tub; it had to be carefully rationed if they were to get to Dead Drop safely. No, let the captain handle it.

He sulked, pacing. What was he to do? He frowned. If he couldn't get in to any command to get his revenge he would surely go mad. Hell, he'd go mad just in his tiny cabin! He banged his fist on a bulkhead, leaning into it after a moment to stare at the wall.

After a few minutes, he sat down and scrubbed his face. Well, he could work out again, he thought, flexing his arm. It was healed but still sore. The tendons were painful when he overdid it. The same for his shoulder. But what else to do? His memoirs? Bah, he shook his head angrily. He flopped onto the bed and tucked his arms under his head. He'd have to think of something to do he thought in annoyance. Something to do even if it meant tormenting some pissant rating.

---<>---<>---

In the B-97C star system,
Moldy Crow's
crew was surprised to see the courier was still in the star system. “What the hell? Shouldn't she be out of here by now?”

“She's not pulling the speed like before,” Captain Media observed.

“Uh oh, it looks like she's limping,” the sensor rating reported. The rating tapped at his board for a moment then looked up and nodded. He put up a graph of the courier's previously observed performance and the current output.

“She must have broken something. She pushed it too hard I bet,” Captain Media murmured. “Com, put a whisker on her. Let her know we're here, and we have news,” he said.

“Tell them I'm here,” the earl said, striding onto the bridge. He pointed a thumb to his chest. “Better yet, put me on,” he ordered.

“Sir, they can't respond. They are over five light hours away,” the communication's rating stated. He shrugged when the earl turned a fulminating expression his way.

“He's right. But we do need them to carry our report.”

“Carry the report hell, I want them to carry me!” The earl said.

“And I'd gladly be rid of you. But that is a courier vessel over there. They are on a mission. They are also pretty tight quarters,” Captain Media said mildly. “You won't fit, trust me.”

“Trust you? Trust you??” the earl demanded.

The captain shrugged. “Or don't, it is up to you. I could care less. But I served on a courier in my youth. They have only so much room and can't carry someone else. Everyone has to pull their own weight,” he said with a slight barb in his voice.

The captain frowned. He'd done a few stints on the bridge before he'd gotten bored with the duty.

---<>---<>---

Ten hours later both senior officers had made it a point to be on the bridge when they got the IFF reply. “She's the HMCV-9913, a courier obviously, sir,” the communication's rating stated.

Captain Media nodded. The HMCV was standard on all new vessels. Up until a decade ago, it had stood for Horathian Military Courier Vessel. Now it stood for His Majesty's Courier Vessel. “Play the response.”

“Niner Niner one three to
Moldy Crow
. I see we just the missed excitement in B-95a3 according to your report. I think I can speak for the crew when I say I'm glad.”

“Cheeky,” the captain murmured.

“Transmit your full report to us. We'll carry it to Dead Drop ahead of you. Suggest if you can't make Dead Drop, you abort and return to Nuevo Madrid or head to SNHH.”

“I am
not
going to SNHH,” Captain Media growled. “That place is a pit. And they don't have a proper fuel dump or didn't the last time I visited,” he growled.

“Since we're already behind schedule, we can't spare the time to heave to. Please transmit your report immediately upon receipt of this message. Niner niner one three over and out.”

“Isn't thirteen an unlucky number?” a rating asked.

“Yes it is. Which is why we say one three,” the helmsman said with a slight bite to his voice.

“Sorry.”

“So? What do we do?” the captain asked, turning to the earl. “We can turn around,” the earl shook his head, “or divert or keep going the way we're going.”

“We stay the course,” the earl replied, crossing his arms.

“Okay. I agree,” the captain said, settling himself into his chair. “Helm make it so. Communications get that report out to them. I want a copy of a receipt from them before they jump. Make sure you put that in the header. Anything you want to add?” the captain asked, turning to the earl as the other man stalked to the door.

“No.”

“Fine then. Comm, send it,” he waved a finger to the communication's rating. The young man nodded and went to work on his station. The captain turned to the earl. “Think we'll be seeing some backup soon?”

“The nearest naval station with a proper task force is in Finagle I believe. The forces in Dead Drop and SNHH are too small to do anything.”

“What about Garth?”

The earl shook his head. “The admiral in charge won't uncover the system and the shipyard there.”

“Yard?” the helmsman asked, turning in surprise.

“Classified,” the earl growled, glaring at the man. The helmsman gulped.

The earl looked away. A yard yes, but only a basic ancient civilian repair yard that had been found and partially restored. The project to exploit the native population and the rich asteroid belt in the star system had been cut off when El Dorado had been found and the repair yards in Blizzard, Nuevo Madrid, and Garth had been activated.

Dead Drop's tiny slip and yard had been mothballed once more since the three shipyards in the home system, the massive El Dorado complex, and the three derelict civilian repair yards that had been captured in Ponduck, Horus, and OTBP had all come online. He'd almost accepted a posting there in Dead Drop, but when he had found out it was a dead end, he'd declined it. Now he was regretting his mistake.

Those who had wronged him would
deeply
regret that mistake he vowed. Of that he was certain.

Chapter 20

With Epsilon Triangula a big question mark, Admiral Subert modified his original plan. Once the first
North Hampton
class light cruiser
Tumuloch
, named after a famous Tauren explorer, was free of the yard and
Kittyhawk
had finished her second set of working-up exercises, Admiral Subert sent
Kittyhawk
, two frigates as escorts, one small freighter as a supply ship, and one small freighter with an ansible and ansible station to secure Hidoshi's World. The ansible ship was to set up an ansible there.

The plan was for the escort carrier to secure the B-100 omega star system with her escorts once the supplies and fresh marines made it in to Hidoshi's World. With Kathy's World anchored north of them on the other end of the warp chain, they would be the stopper in the bottle to protect Richalu and Hidoshi's World. They would also cut off the occupational forces in Destria. Eventually the fleet and marines would mount an expedition to retake the star system when assets were available.

The rear admiral was amused by the various ship names when he read the latest build schedule. Many were familiar to him; they were names carried over from tradition:
Defiant
,
Enterprise
,
Voyager
, and
Firefly
, for instance. The name
Firefly
had always been used on small cargo vessels for some reason up until the admiral had rammed through the ship's name as an HC.
Enterprise
was designated as an HC despite the name's original origin in World War II as a carrier. Even the hull number 1701 was carried over, like the HC
Defiant's
74205. Hull 74656, the LC
Voyager
, was lined up as a scout cruiser. Some traditions were apparently resurfacing. Some were worth keeping, but some needed an overhaul. He shook his head.

The battle cruiser
Maine
was named as such because her
Newmann
class ship had replaced a
Derfflinger
hull that had been scrapped. The
Newman
class ships had been slowly replacing the older design.

His check on the status board made him find a sour note in all the green.
Damocles
and
Bounty
had finally departed for Protodon with the marines but it had come at great cost. Not only had he lost two more frigates, four corvettes, and four gunships, but a third of their shipping between Pyrax and Antigua had been cut. Their largest transport had been detailed along with a medium one and a medium collier to carry the marines and their gear to Protodon. That cut personnel shipping between the shipyards by half. They would be in transit for twelve weeks and would be gone an estimated twenty-two weeks before reaching Antigua. That was if they didn't have any engineering casualties or Amadeus held them up in Protodon! He sighed.

He kicked himself for not re-appropriating the
Oasis of Space
and using it instead. He shook his head. What was done was done he thought with a pang. He made another note to do something about shipping again.

What he liked about the new ships was that Commander Sindri and that captain … he frowned and then nodded. Commander Ssir'alth had named a ship after a famous Naga captain from the Xeno war. He made a note to look into that. He liked that idea, the idea of honoring some lost friends and possibly family.

One thing he had to do was reinforce the Gaston picket since
Firefly
was not in the star system. The planet's authorities were screaming three shades of a fit daily about upping the picket force. He frowned. He'd originally intended to have
Destiny
and possibly another collier carry in a quartet of gunships and a supporting station for them to use. Now with something going on in Epsilon Triangula, he felt something more significant was in order.

Sun-Yat
and
Dupleix
were finished with their recent renovation and working up. He tapped their status. He'd intended for the two
Apollo
class corvettes to do some exercises together, but they could do that while watching over Gaston. He tapped out the order and then shot a copy to the ship's captain, logistics, and Saul. He tapped out a note to Saul to alert the governor or president or whatever in Gaston that they would be there in a few weeks.