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  It stunned him. So did the news. He turned away from the reaction of the other officers that had gathered outside Myron's room. He couldn't help himself; he had to look. Damn him but he had to. He looked down at the sheet-shrouded body and then looked away.

  "A passerby heard the shot," Berney said gruffly. "He didn't see a way out."

  "There is always a way out. We'll get out of this," Jeremy stated. He looked for confirmation from Cyrano, Sedric, and the others but didn't find any. Their expressions were wooden and leeched of all but resignation. He felt his own shoulders sag.

  "I didn't mean just Horath. I meant us personally. Do you think we're going to be welcomed as heroes when we get home?" Berney asked scathingly. "Far from it," he said. He looked down at the body. "In the end he might have been the one to get off easy."

  -~~~///^\~~~

  The Federation prowler watched the tattered enemy fleet jump and then released a messenger buoy with her logs. She then cautiously crossed the star system to follow.

  -~~~///^\~~~-

  Horath

  Theodore Cruise Rico, duke of Hinata and minister of war for the Horathian empire, called his Admiralty to order as he took his seat.

  "Where are we? I've got an appointment with some high lords later this afternoon and traffic is a nightmare," he grumbled.

  Admiral Malwin Cartwright, Praetor of the Navy and baron of Dead Drop, hid a grimace. They'd been delayed because Theo had been running late. Theo might blame it on traffic, but word was his air car hadn't left his mistress's apartment until after their original appointment time.

  "Production is at or near capacity," the head of BUSHIPS stated. Malwin turned to him. "The yards are all saturated. We're still processing the last convoy shipment from El Dorado. We're on schedule though, barring any unforeseen changes or hiccups."

  "Operations are running smoothly. We're training our ships using what data the Retribution Fleet has sent us," Vice Admiral Lewis Post, the head of operations stated. "I've got two more all-up training exercises this week and a full sim test coming up. We're scheduling another carrier exercise once one or both of the new CEVs launch next month."

  Theo nodded. Malwin did so as well ever so slightly. So far everything was good.

  "I'm afraid Lewis stole most of my thunder," the head of BuSchools stated with a chuckle. "We've sped up Academy graduations as well as ROTC. We've taken a hit in admissions though."

  "How bad?"

  "Bad enough that we might have to resort to draft and conscription. Possibly even press-ganging some of our staffers," the admiral replied. He shrugged. "BUPERS is putting way too many people in staff positions rather than on ships. We've also lost a lot of people due to illness and early retirement all of a sudden." His last statement was so dry they could feel a virtual desert wind.

  All eyes fell on the head of BUPERS. She shrugged. "It's a trend. I can't blame people for not wanting their son or daughter to be on a ship right now."

  "This isn't a popularity contest. They go where we need them, period," Theo stated.

  "Do you really want to tell a duke or count that?" she asked.

  He scowled. "No, that's what I have you for. Figure it out."

  "Aye, sir."

  Theo turned to Sabina Newberry, Countess of Garth and Minister of Intelligence. A single lifted inquiry made her smirk ever so slightly. "My turn?" she snorted as his expression stilled. "Ah. Well, we're still processing the last intel dump. We're passing on everything we can as quickly as we can. We're also processing the material from El Dorado and making some updates to our ECM," she turned to nod slightly to Admiral Post.

  "Which is why we're having exercises, to test them."

  "Good to know," Theo murmured.

  "I will say that we've got unconfirmed reports of something going on in the south. Unconfirmed ship sightings in Hinata, New Horizon, and Finagle," she stated.

  "Finagle?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm guessing it's not normal ghosts though. You really think the Feds sent ships to scout us there?" Theo asked carefully.

  She spread her hands apart. "It's possible. I wouldn't put anything past them at this point."

  Me neither," one of the other officers muttered.

  "We've got four convoys en route to the front. "We have support in the pipeline and keep it moving—not just with ships and material but politically as well. We need to move as much as we can to Garth to hold the line," Malwin stated.

  Theo nodded. "Right. It's up to De Gaulte to hold out until we can get it to him."

  "Let's hope he can and that we didn't wait too long," Lewis murmured.

  -~~~///^\~~~-

  Emperor Piotr Ramichov was not a happy man. His family had lied, killed, and schemed for centuries to get to this point, where Horath had declared itself an empire with himself placed on the throne. Just when the final piece had fallen into place and they'd launched their offensive to begin to gather the galaxy into the empire, the Federation of all things had come back from the dead.

  And not just anywhere, but here, on his doorstep. Right under his nose. Some said it was a sign, a sign that the Spirits of Space no longer favored them. He scoffed at such stuff and nonsense.

  He hadn't taken the Federation seriously, and the time lag had bit them in the ass severely. He admitted that, at least privately. And the so-called New Federation was good, damn good at fighting back. They'd won a string of battles, beating his people back to Garth.

  It was infuriating; it really was. Just as they were on the road to victory, this had happened. An upstart had come in to casually backhand his people back to where they'd come from. Not only that, but the centuries of gathering resources, ships, and placing spies had been wasted. He didn't like the defeatism creeping into the whispers around the palace and Admiralty. He hated seeing some find any excuse to slip away from the capital.

  No matter how hard they tried they couldn't seem to stop the Federation. It was whispered that they were a juggernaut, unstoppable. No, not they, he, one man, De Gaulte. Cyrano had failed him utterly. He had failed to take the fight to the Federation when he should have.

  His fingers curled and uncurled, knuckles whitening when he made fists.

  "Ah, there you are!" his mother said briskly. He looked up in time for her to lean down and give him a peck on the cheek. "Now, dear, I was just telling Irazebeth here we needed to have a little talk and here you are. Convenient, yes?"

  "Convenient, Mother? Something tells me you had some underhanded purpose in manipulating my schedule to make it appear that way," he said, eyeing her as the two ladies sat down.

  "Things are … unsettled, let's say, with the lords."

  "They are running scared. Some are actually running," the emperor growled. "We need a win. We have to got to get this turned around."

  "To do that we need to take risks. But we also have to listen to our people, Piotr," his mother scolded.

  He blinked in surprise. His mother rarely rebuked him directly. "They are bunkering down; they think it's all over but the crying," he growled, curling his lip.

  "And yet they are trying to counsel you to reinforce De Gaulte to hold the enemy at bay."

  "Reinforce failure?"

  "Reinforce the man who is the one who has faced the enemy. The lords are in agreement that we haven't given him the ships and tools he needs to do the job. That needs to change."

  "The lords?" Piotr demanded, raising an eyebrow. "They dare say that?"

  "That and more. You've been too angry to listen. And they are right."

  Irazabeth winced, expecting a blowup from her husband. She glanced his way when he remained silent.

  "Go on," he finally ground out.

  "You keep seeing it as giving the man who failed more ships to throw away. But think of it this way, he's fighting away from here, not on our doorstep. You've been stingy about sending him the relief he needs. You could even relieve him! Send in someone else with an entire squadron or more of ships! An entire fl
otilla!"

  "They are saying this is turning into a carrier war," Irazabeth murmured.

  Both the Dowager Empress and the emperor turned to her. She shrugged off their inquiring gaze. "You know it's true," she ventured.

  "See?" Jezebel drawled, looking significantly at her son. "If De Gaulte doesn't have the resources he needs, he'll fall. When he does the road will be wide open for the Federation to get to us."

  "They can't get here. I won't allow it."

  "Then you better send De Gaulte the forces he needs to stop them—soon before it is too late."

  He turned a scowl on his mother. "That is easier said than done, Mother. I don't have them to send, not a lot. And if I send him the best, what will I have left here if he throws them away as well?"

  "Better to die fighting for time elsewhere than letting the Federation, with their more advanced ships, into our star system. Even one ship would further tarnish our family's image. And if an enemy fleet did arrive, I'm afraid it could spell the end of our line."

  "No. I won't let that happen. Now, leave me be and let me think," he growled, brusquely dismissing them.

  His wife and mother studied him for a long moment before the Dowager Empress reached out and patted Irazabeth on the knee. "Come, dear, let's go fix some tea and catch-up for a bit before the evening's entertainment," she said.

  Jezebel nodded as the two ladies rose and left Piotr alone with his thoughts.

  -~~~///^\~~~-

  Princess and Commodore Catherine Ramichov shook her head as she read the latest report. Operations covered a lot of things. They had to interface with all of the other departments. She had her hands full overseeing the three planned exercises. The carrier exercise could wait; from what she'd heard, they still needed the second CEV to get out of the yard first. And now the brass wanted her to pull a rabbit out of her hat by coming up with more ideas to fight the Feds.

  Malwin's idea was sound—get Elvira into it and pull the experts in. Tap into them and see what some thought. But avoid the chest thumpers who hadn't had any experience in combat. They were just a waste of time.

  That she heartily agreed with. She was seeing enough bullshit from idiots who had yet to see combat. Some of the so-called elite units were scoffing at the losses but had yet to step up and volunteer or allow themselves to be tapped. Yet, “we would have won if we'd been there” was a common complaint.

  She checked on the exercise progress. The ECM was working out okay. She still thought there was something going hinky though, either in the hardware, the software, or the execution. When they were done and she got her hands on the hard data, she'd know which or some combination.

  In comparison to Fed ECM, she knew they were still lagging. She wondered how much of a role A.I. played in the process? Obviously, they had to adapt quickly, but was that it or was there something more?

  She turned her attention to the other exercise. A group of recently released ships was working-up. They were supposed to shake down into formal units, but there were already cracks and strain appearing. Their sublight engines were substandard. She wasn't even sure how things were going to work out when they got to testing their hyperdrives. At least one was already slated for a refit.

  They actually had only a few functional spare hyperdrives. Most were out and about in the galaxy bringing ships in. Those that they had on hand were either repurposed or built at El Dorado, or they were so old they needed to be rebuilt.

  Which was a subject for an entirely different conversation she thought.

  She hadn't known the problem was so prevalent in the fleet. A few ships that did have a hyperdrive had the wrong one installed. They had a kludged-together drive that had gotten the ship to Horath but wasn't suited for steady use. The drive wasn't set up for the mass and size of the ship.

  Half of the ships in home fleet had no hyperdrive at all. That was a closely guarded secret. She was pretty sure some people had to know. After all, you'd think someone would notice when a ship had a big empty hole where a hyperdrive was. And not having the crew to run and maintain it was a dead giveaway.

  She frowned.

  People like her lover … her thoughts slowed and stopped briefly as she smiled indulgently to herself—Elvira. It came down to her and people like her. People who hadn't given up, who kept trying and usually finding ways to make what tech they did have work for them in the best way they could imagine.

  It was people like Elvira who gave them the greatest chance of turning things around if anyone could.

  That didn't mean she wasn't above taking out a little insurance just in case they failed though.

  -~~~///^\~~~-

  Captain Elvira Varbossa wasn't thrilled about being tapped to sit in on the symposium. The Admiralty said it was because she'd been the one behind pushing the Cutlass and other fighter designs. The symposium was supposed to find a way to use what they had to beat the Federation back. She admitted they needed more than just tech to do the job.

  Someone had likened it to making bricks without straw.

  The raven-haired woman didn't like it because it was a high profile production under the eyes of the emperor as well as II and her fellow officers. It also took her away from her various projects for a full week. She tried to keep up-to-date by reading logs, emails, and texts from her people but they had to keep things vague. She could already tell a few of the officers were getting testy about her requests for input. She had a feeling they were trying to coast. She couldn't allow that.

  "Coming?" an admiral asked as the double doors began to close. She looked up and then nodded. She logged her tablet off and then went into the room.

  It was stupid really. They couldn't access information. It was supposed to prevent anyone from recording things. Also stupid since she was pretty sure II and others were monitoring the proceedings closely.

  Elvira listened as her fellow Horathian officers talked about the Federation Navy's choice of ships and fighters.

  "What I don't get is they have the tech so why not run with the E-class straight up?" a pilot asked. She wasn't sure who it was. The Admiralty had finally allowed several pilots to be brought in to discuss their needs in the next generation of small craft and carriers.

  She just hoped it wasn't too late.

  "Because they are harder to make. The E-class needs antimatter to maximize their performance. They went with a balance of quality and quantity. They went for what they could produce easily and quickly that would still kick our ass," an admiral growled.

  She nodded. A few other people nodded as well.

  "Antimatter is no longer a production problem though according to our reports from the front. They are using antimatter in battle starting with Dead Drop," a pilot pointed out. "So they must have the means to make it in quantity. We're only going to see more of it being used in the future, which means stopping antimatter-armed torpedoes and capital missiles just became a big priority. How is the big question."

  "While we don't have the ability to make our own," another pilot groused. "Which means our E-class that rely on antimatter is at a disadvantage. And we can't answer their torpedoes in kind."

  "Also, the craft they chose to build are easier to learn," another pilot said, cutting them off before they got into further troubling waters. "The Cobra and Mitchell classes both have hardy reputations. They are easy to build, maintain, and fly with. They are very forgiving craft and can handle multirole like a duck in water."

  "Right, you walk before you run," another pilot stated.

  "Oh."

  "It does make me wonder something," the admiral rumbled, tucking his arms against his chest and rubbing his goatee with his right hand.

  "What, sir?"

  "What they are going to be like in another decade or so when they start turning out E-class fighters and better ships. They've got to be moving in that direction."

  There was a long silence in the room.

  "Frack," someone finally ventured.

  "It will just be a ni
ghtmare," a pilot muttered.

  "Well, the good news is, we've got the home court advantage," another admiral said bleakly.

  "That's just another way of saying we can't run."

  "You can put it that way, I won't. So, what do we do to redress this?"

  "Invest in a way to kill fighters and bombers in large quantities. If we can find a way to make them more cautious, they'll think twice about using the carriers so prominently," an admiral stated.

  "But, and I admit you are right, Gerald," the other admiral said. "We have only three ways to do that. One is to kill the carriers. To do that we've got to get our own ships or hardware into range of them. Second to that, the traditional method is to fill the sky with so much weapon fire they literally will run into it if they try to get close. But that sucks up a lot of ammunition and energy. Third is to go toe-to-toe with them with interceptors. But our Raptors and other production craft have proven repeatedly to not be a match for them. Our latest simulations state that our current generation of fighters might fare better but still won't completely measure up to that of the enemy. Concentrating our remaining high-end craft as we have done in the past might see a brief impact, but not for long. They'll get attritioned in time."

  "And, once they’re gone, they are gone for good," a pilot pointed out. "The same for the antimatter fuel."

  "Regrettably yes, that is also true."

  "So, no happy middle ground. Why am I surprised there aren't going to be any easy answers," the other admiral sighed. "Okay, so …"

  Chapter 2

  Garth

  In the two months since the last battle, Vice Admiral Amadeus White had done his best to consolidate his forces and resupply them as well as the forces of Fifth Fleet. The fleet train had yet to arrive; it would be another two months before they got to him.

  They were making the best out of it though. The ship crews were even making headway on some of the easier repairs. Every warship had internal replicators, spare parts, and engineers willing to use both to set their ships right. But they were stymied by large projects. And that didn't even cover the mess of captured ships or the four ships from TF 2.4 that had been crippled. Their surviving crews were still being sorted out. Those that had returned to duty had been transferred to other ships in the fleet.