TGS is publishing in 3...2...1...!

Yeah, that's right!
I checked my email and low and behold, there it was! Wow. I am having trouble getting B&N to upload the manuscript though. That might take a day or so. But it has been uploaded to Amazon.

About:

   Admiral Irons is sheparding the new Federation along the best he can. The pirates are on the run for the moment, the political situation is starting to jell, the Bek nexus is back in the fold, and the military branches are finally hitting their stride.

But, when all seems to be normal, that is when you tend to lower your guard...
 

I'll post the links when they become available.
EDIT: Already up on Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/Gathering-Storm-New-Federation-Book-ebook/dp/B0754YZCNY/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1503757450&sr=1-1&keywords=the+gathering+storm+hechtl

I just got B&N sorted out. It should be up there in 72 hours.

I guess you'll have to meet Elvira on your own!

TGS snippet 6

Woops! I meant to post a snippet yesterday, but this sinus migraine has had me under the weather. It's down to a dull roar now (but by no means completely gone, grr) so I'm at least functional.

Anyway, sitrep, still piddling along with the second story in Semper Fidelis. The last Suqi test was nasty. I give up... for now.
   In other news, I am printing parts for my reindeer project. Common parts I can print, but my printer won't let me print trays as I'd planned. If I try to print more than 2 parts at a time it mucks it up. I'm peeved over that. It means printing 2 parts at a time, then plug the laptop in, and do it again over and over... There are 70+ parts in each of the 8 reindeer as of the latest version, printing 2 at a time... you do the math. And that's just the innards...

On to the snippet!:

  Note: Still in chapter 5. I want to get up to Elvira's introduction, but I dunno if we'll get there. We should be seeing TGS back from Goodlifeguide.com anytime now...

:::{)(}:::

Captain Couglin set a tablet down as he read the latest situation report from his XO. His XO had his hands full dealing with Executioner's damage, but that didn't stop the captain from helping out here and there. After all, they needed everyone since they were shorthanded.

He was bitterly unhappy but more or less resigned to seeing the damage and hasty repairs on his ship. He would never had accepted such repairs before leaving the home star system. No, they had no choice. He had never had a wounded ship to deal with before; it was a new and very unwanted experience to have to endure. Battle Fleet had never been in a proper battle after all, just endless simulations that never quite got it right it seemed. He snorted softly to himself. There was no reset, no slipped plans to read, no scripted battle to perform. Not only had they been in a real battle, but several, and they'd gotten their asses thoroughly chewed in the last one. All the while retreating, which was a humiliation all in itself.

It was a harsh experience to have to deal with. Dealing with the damage was almost as bad as the logistics and morale issues. He couldn't bear to visit the wounded, though he'd seen it his duty to do so at least once. He'd kept his stomach strong as he walked through the rows, but by the end, even his resolution had wavered a bit. It was one thing to see such things on the VID screen or hear about them through second or third hand, quite another to see it in person. He'd seen sadism, sat through a couple of arena games, but it was quite appalling to see your own people hurt—people you served with, people who you needed. To see the shock and horror on their faces, the missing limbs, the lost looks … it was harsh.

The smells alone clogged his sinuses enough to make him want to gag. The heart-tearing looks and soft sounds haunted him for days and nights afterward, making an already difficult task of sleeping almost impossible. Fortunately, the admiral had authorized all of their critically injured personnel to be shipped out in the worst of the crippled ships.

Getting them out of the line of fire also got them out of sight and therefore, temporarily out of mind. There was too much to do, too many things to fix and not a lot of time, personnel, or resources to do it with.

But, it had to be done. Another defeat was not an option in his book he vowed grimly.

:::{)(}:::

Commander Berney Yashanaka shook his head as he took stock. He was tired beyond belief, but there was some progress made. How much good it would do he wasn't certain.

There were twelve warships left: six tin cans, two heavy cruisers, the two battle cruisers Demeantor and Unconquered, the carriers Nimitz, and Executioner. And every one of them had been damaged to varying degrees. They had two couriers, two tankers, two empty munitions ships, and two Marine transports in the fleet train, plus the resupply convoy of two freighter colliers and two escorting tin cans.

Admiral De Gaulte had detached one courier to race ahead with the news of the disastrous battle. Berney had to admit, he wasn't certain he would have slavishly upheld his duty with that sort of news. But, he had to admit the empire needed to know and every moment was now precious. The fleet train had confirmed the little ship had passed through and jumped onward a week prior to their arrival.

So, that was something at least. He knew his career was most likely toast, but for the moment, he didn't care.

With the two fresh tin cans, their warship numbers had increased slightly. Their speed remained the same; they were moving at their best speed for the jump point while also simultaneously trying to make what repairs they could. Needless to say, things were a bit rushed in the heat of the moment.

One of the two colliers had offloaded a single squadron of fighters onto Nimitz. That was it. They barely had enough pilots to man all of the planes. He had just finished polling the fleet for any additional fighters or pilots. None had been found.

They had dealt with the dead in hyperspace, so he had one less chore to handle. He yawned and then stretched. He needed to get some sack time. He was punch drunk with fatigue, and he knew it. The admiral himself had ordered him to get a minimum of four hours rack time. Most of the staff were in the same boat he was in. Stress was taking its toll on everyone, and nerves and tempers were frayed.

They were just about done cleaning out the fleet train, which was none too soon since they were a day away from jumping out. As soon as the ships were empty, he knew the admiral would detach them to race on ahead. There was no point keeping them with the fleet, and the sooner they got to where they could get fresh supplies, the sooner they could haul them back to the fleet. He fought the itch to check the fleet status. Instead he pulled his stinking shirt off and tossed it in the general vicinity of his hamper and then climbed into his rack with a groan. His thumb reached out blindly behind his head until it found the switch and then the lights blissfully went off. He sighed softly and then did his best to close his eyes and rest.

:::{)(}:::

Lieutenant Commander Sedrick Lovato had never been more tired in his life, nor unsure of the future, both for himself and his career as well as for the Empire. That bothered him a lot more than he was usually willing to admit or show.

Berney, Catherine, and the admiral put on a good show for everyone else. But, as staff intelligence officer he knew just how big a crack they were in. If he didn't his last skull session with Lieutenant Myron Chekov, the staff tactical officer had confirmed it. They'd spent hours going over all of the sensor data that had been pulled from every ship in the fleet. They had poured over every byte to squeeze out as much as they could for the admiral. They hit the usual points he wanted to know, but he'd come up with more questions for them to answer.

Hopefully, they'd answered some of them. Some he was fretfully aware he couldn't answer. Like how quickly the enemy could reinforce. Nor how fast they could repair the damaged ships. The Sword of Retribution Fleet, and wasn't that a laughable title now! He shook his head as a fresh wave of bitterness threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't afford the luxury of wallowing in self-pity and anger. No, not when he had a job to do.

The only member of the staff who was dithering as much as he and Myron were was Lieutenant Jeremy Herod, the staff navigator. He was focused on trying to squeeze as much efficiency out of the fleet as they could for their next trip in hyper, but he was well aware of the damage. Privately, Sedrick was certain they'd only pick up an octave at best. Some ships might even lose an octave as some of their engineers scared themselves with their damage assessments. He'd heard the stories of some of the jury rigging going on throughout the tattered fleet. He shuddered every time he wondered if such things were happening on Executioner.

Hopefully not, his personal survival was riding on the safety of the ship in hyperspace.

The battle had been a slaughter. Weeks had passed since it, and he had been over it many times. He had yet to find any fault in the decisions Cyrano had made. Oh, the man had made a few mistakes, as had the staff, but none critical. Nothing he could say they had overlooked or screwed up. They'd been caught in the works. Not that he expected the brass back home to care. They'd hang them all for failing anyway.

That was not a thought conductive to sleep he knew.

Nor had he found anything in monitoring the staff's discussions. He couldn't do it personally, not while he was swamped, but a cursory look at the word pattern search had yielded little to bring to his true lord and master's attention.

He was also aware of political implications of the loss of Archangel with Crown Prince Adam Ramichov, the battle cruiser's XO, as well as the loss of Star Mauler with Prince Mason Ramichov on board. Suddenly, the succession had changed drastically.

Sedrick grimaced internally at the internal calculus that was entered into his own plans for the future. He was supposed to be watching Catherine for any signs of trouble or disloyalty. He had a healthy respect for the woman but hadn't seen much sign of her scheming. Now, he wasn't certain what to do or where his loyalties should ultimately lie. He realized he should put such considerations aside. After all, they had a wounded fleet to deal with and a victorious enemy bearing down on them.

:::{)(}:::

TGS snippet 5

Sitrep: I did a render test yesterday, since I knew I wasn't going to get much writing done. I tried Suqi, both in Daz and in Cinema.
A picture may be worth a thousand words but dang, it's easier to write it!
   I wanted to get a benchline on how long the renders would be and what sort of detail for the final product while also figuring out the pipeline.
  I couldn't get Daz to cooperate at all. The set, the lights, the background, the hair, none of that worked. I even had to switch clothes since her first dress had arrows attached to it.
  The render times were horrible and the hair wouldn't show up! I had to cancel trying to render her with grass. Just low poly grass like in the scene (Don't get cute, we're talking real grass, not the stuff people smoke), but nope, 30 minutes in and it was still trying to calculate it all.
  When I ported her over to Cinema, I set fur up but it was nasty. I really should have went with hair and taken my time but by that time I was pretty sure the render times wouldn't be acceptable. Again, I couldn't get grass to work either. 30 minutes and I gave up.\
The 2 renders I did get in Daz each took 10 minutes. The 2 in Cinema each took 7:30. For 1 character, stock lighting and sky, GI, AO, Best AA, simple ground. That's with my 8 core machine.
I may try again here when I go to lunch in a minute or so.

   What does all this mean and have to do with stuff? Well, I've been wanting to do a comic, and now a graphic novel for some time. Mechmaster (my friend in the UK) has his Dalek comic and has been trying to get me to do one of the comics I pitched to him years ago. (Zoids, etc)
  I even have 5 Federation stories blocked out. One is a full treatment and script. I even mentioned that 1 in TGS! I have most of the content for 2 of the stories too! GRR.
  In Daz I have a better rendering engine. (Iray, newer at least then Cinema 11's.) I realized right off that I'd need a dedicated render machine though, I'd go bonkers trying to render each panel of a 20+ pages per comic.
  Now I get why Mechmaster went that route. (I'm having a deja vu moment, I may have discussed this before in a post. Definitely emails with the betas.) I also see why some graphic novelists take so long to do stuff and sometimes go the low poly route.

  Pipeline: If I tried to port everything over to Cinema I'd have to rig each model, import it, fix errors, hand set anything like fur, groom them, etc (and do that for each pose) pose them, etc. The sets would be basically the same for some panels, just moving the characters and stuff. But that's all a pain in the rump. It'd also create gigabyte copies of the same content, over and over and over.

Anyway, that project is back on a back burner, though I may put around with it as I said above. Darn. On to the snippet!

Chapter 4 

Retribution Fleet

It had taken eleven weeks for the tattered remains of the Horathian offensive to retreat to the empty B-97a star system. Admiral De Gaulte had no intention of remaining in the star system long. No sooner had the Retribution Fleet exited hyper and begun licking their wounds as they lumbered across the empty solar system, two light cruisers exited hyperspace near the jump point behind them.

It was clear from their appearance that they had been sent to scout B-97a. Admiral Cyrano De Gaulte grimaced as he ordered his fleet to fall back on the jump point to B-97c at their best speed. He had no choice; the enemy was faster than him in hyperspace. His fleet had lumbered at their best speed in Beta while he was certain the enemy could hit the high octaves of Gamma band or even better. For all he knew, there was a fleet waiting in hyper for the message those two cruisers were going to deliver.

Which meant he didn't want to be anywhere near the star system when the enemy appeared. But, that presented a problem. Each of the damaged ships had done their best to make what repairs they could in hyperspace, but they needed time in real space to make more, especially repairs on the outer hull. Several of his ships needed a yard to for a full refit.

Making those repairs while underway was rough. Transferring logistic supplies from what was left of the fleet train and convoy that had lingered in the empty star system was even harder. He shook his head as the two cruisers were lost on their long-range scans. Judging from their headings, they were going to follow his force, but they were most likely smart enough to stay out of range.

“How long do you think we've got, sir?” Captain Chase Couglin, Executioner's flag captain asked carefully.

The admiral grunted. “If they are following us I don't think the enemy is ready to jump in behind us just yet. They would have popped back in and whistled them up. I think they were hurt as well. In fact, I know they were. How much remains to be seen. The same for how fast they can get their damage repaired and their ships resupplied.”

“But, they could drop out ahead of us. Or hell, they could already have passed us in hyper and those ships are chasing us into another trap,” Berney, his chief of staff, said with a shake of his head. There wasn't quite a note of panic in his voice so much as dread.

More than one person inhaled sharply at that idea as it sank in.

“He's right, sir,” Catherine murmured, turning to stare at the admiral. “If they figured out how to skip. Or they could have jumped direct to B-97c.”

“It's possible,” the admiral replied with a nod to Berney and then to his staff OPS officer. “Have the screen out as far as we can safely push them. I know Nimitz and the fleet train have been here waiting, but we can't take any chances. We'll know more when we catch up with the convoy in B-97c.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“I was going to send the worst of our damaged ships on ahead and try to hang on to the star system. I don't know if that is possible anymore. We may have reinforcements in hyperspace on the way. Then again, we may not. Or, we may not have enough. Politics and war,” the admiral mused with a shake of his head.

Catherine bit her lip slightly but didn't say anything.

“Lose them or lose the fleet. A tough decision, sir,” Captain Couglin murmured.

“I know. We'll try to delay it as long as we can. But, I want the engineers to know we might have to drop everything and make a run for it at any time. So make sure they don't tear into anything they shouldn't.”

“Aye aye, sir. Several of the ships have major frame damage. If we want to squeeze more speed in hyper or subspace, we're going to need to deal with it and other repairs. And they've made it clear it has to be done when we're not underway,” Catherine warned.

“We've got frame damage as well,” Captain Couglin stated. “Our sublight drive has only lost about ten percent. We've patched the fuel leaks.”

“Understood,” the admiral rumbled. “Tell your people to do their best internally and externally.”

“We've got a lot of shuttles on SAR duty. It's putting a lot of time on their clocks,” Berney stated.

“It can't be helped. I want everything we've got on a courier. Keep a running update and put the courier ahead of us with the screen.”

Berney grimaced but then nodded. They had already sent a courier off ahead of them the moment they'd exited hyperspace. The little ship had departed the star system a bare day before their uninvited guests had appeared in an explosion of energy astern of the fleet.

“I don't know what sort of reinforcements White will get. We have to be ready for anything. I want you to process as much as we have while we can on top of everything else,” the admiral said, turning to his staff. They nodded.

:::{)(}:::

Crown Princess Catherine Ramichov took a moment to take stock of her changed situation once things had begun to wind down in the fleet. She had a few moments before she needed to sleep. She had put off a lot of thought of the future to deal with the crisis of the moment, but it was beginning to nag at her hind brain and had finally bubbled out of her subconsciousness to make her face it at last.

She was there, the new crown princess. There, she had thought it, she thought in amusement at herself. It had come to her when she had realized her brothers were most likely dead or captured. Either way, they were out of the running to succeed their father now, which firmly thrust herself into the spotlight.

She wasn't certain she liked it. The spotlight was a dangerous place to be. It drew all the attention, she couldn't make a mistake, and everyone had their knives sharpened and ready in the shadows for her. A single mistake could mean her life.

She should know; up until their jump, she had been one of those people waiting for her twin Adam to stumble. She'd even been ready to give him a handy push should he need it. But she'd been content to wait, to bide her time until their father fell.

Now though, now it was a whole new game—a dangerous one. She was well aware that her younger siblings and their supporters, most notably her stepmother Irazabeth, would be eyeing her like sharks smelling blood in the water.

And she would be eyeing them too, for she was the slightly larger shark and self-preservation was drilled into her.

Marina might be a source of aide. Might she thought as she cataloged the woman in the maybe column. Marina's place and plans had been abruptly shaken by Adam's death. She would know she was on the way out so might grasp at any offer of token support she could get.

As next in line, Joseph would be eyeing to replace her. But if he was smart, he'd hold his place in line and back her against Irazabeth, Kevin, and Khali.

She shivered. She had shifted an unwanted betrothal to Khali, the youngest of their brood. She was certain her young half-sister despised her for it. There would be no help there, far from it.

Her grandmother Jezebel, the dowager empress, would be of some help … unless she cut a deal with Irazabeth. She wouldn't put it past the bitch she thought with a curled lip.

But, all that would be moot if she herself didn't survive to see the homeworld again. She grimaced as another realization came to her. She not only had to survive, to get there, but also survive the gauntlet of recriminations for the failure of Cyrano and the Retribution Fleet in its mission to crush the Federation. As the admiral's chief of staff, she was in the crosshairs right alongside him. Given her newfound and somewhat ironically unwanted position as crown princess, those who would see her fall would most likely do something to tarnish her while she was vulnerable.

Her lips thinned. That was okay, many would identify themselves in the process. She would find allies as well, but she would need to be careful. The old saying, keep your friends close but your enemies closer, ran through her head. An enemy would cozen up to her, get her to lower her guard … she would have to be careful indeed.

:::{)(}:::

TGS snippet 4

Sitrep: First up, I got TGS back from Rea so I finished assembling it and then sent it off to Goodlifeguide.com. So, the clock is ticking faster! We might see the manuscript by next week, if not sooner!

I'm skipping to another chapter:

Chapter 3

Horathian homeworld

 

Emperor Ramichov stood before the House of Lords and performed his annual state of the empire speech with his usual flare, stage presence, and consummate perfectionism. The ceremony was both a means to give the public a situation report and make them feel as if they were contributing, but it was also a means to express his power and check the loyalty of the lords and others who were under his rule.

He finished with his usual trademark closing remarks.

“My family rose to power despite the persecution of my ancestors by aliens and Neos alike. All of our people have labored under their yoke, brought down under the guise of equality. “But, no more!” He thundered. He held up a clenched fist before him. “Today, we take our rightful place in galactic civilization. Today, we are on the upward path to dominance, to hold our own destiny in our hands, to shape it as our ancestors intended!” He held out his hand to the audience. “Join me! Join us as we forge a new future, together!”

The applause and ovation was overpowering, pressing everyone into joining in. Many were well aware that proctors and intelligence officers were watching them like hawks and studying their reactions. The cream of the lords were consummate politicians, able to keep up appearances while other emotions seethed within.

“He says it with such conviction,” the Praetor Admiral Malwin Cartwright, Baron of Dead Drop, murmured in an aside to those around him. “I almost believe it.” His lip movement was covered by a judicious twist of his head and fist to cover a feigned cough.

Of course, he still had to worry about the woman he shared his viewing box with; Vice Admiral Sabina Newberry was the minister of intelligence and countess of Garth after all. But, he knew she wasn't keen about how the war had started either. She was getting slammed by the intelligence break that had come with the sudden resurgence of the Federation. That it had happened so close to home left a lot of people wondering if it was time she retired.

So, she needed all the allies she could get at the moment. He knew he could trust her only to a certain degree; she'd willingly and gracefully feed him to the next in line if it was to her advantage. But, it was his navy that had taken it on the ear so often, so misery seemed to love company.

And they made particularly strange bedfellows he thought as his fist dropped.

“That's how it works,” Countess Newberry said. He glanced at her. She merely smiled. “It's psychology 101. You make people feel oppressed, picked on, that they are the victim. Then you point to someone they fear, do not understand, or hate and say they are why you are being held down. They convince the people that they only want what is just, and that these people are in the way. Couple it with herd mentality, the instinct for people to follow so they will fit in, and a few other tricks and you can move anyone to do anything you want.” She turned to show him a privacy screen. His eyebrows went up in surprise. It was a modern device. The air shimmered in front of them with a force field. It wouldn't be very effective for defense but it would distort their voices and hamper anyone trying to read their lips.

“The masses are sheep. This allows us, allows him to control the Empire. And it is allowing him to get away with genocide,” the praetor ventured. Caution was ingrained in him despite her offer of an opening to vent in such a public venue.

“Exactly. You'd be surprised how often it has worked over the centuries.”

“Is any of it true?” he asked her.

She eyed him. He continued to stare back. Finally, she grimaced.

“I'm sure somewhere a Ramichov was oppressed somehow in some way—slighted, over looked, or some such. The resentment festered and was passed down from generation to generation. He's Russian, but he has Celtic genes too.”

“I'm not following the last,” the praetor said, wrinkling his nose.

“Celts are well known for holding a grudge well past an expatriation date. Even a minor slight can be blown out of proportions.”

“So his genes helped to make him the way he is?” the praetor demanded.

“If you mean this …,” she was careful not to say a sociopath and other things out loud even with the privacy screen. “No. I don't believe that genetics are the whole reason he or any of us for that matter turned out the way we did. Part of it is environment, our world, our family. They shape and guide our moral compass. They form our worldview. But, in the end, it comes down to a choice.” She nodded her chin to the emperor. “He made his.”

“And we're along for the ride,” the praetor growled in disgust as he turned back to the venue as the emperor made the rounds with the lords.

:::{)(}:::

TGS snippet 3

Sitrep: I'm still trying to putter away at Semper Fi with mixed success. I think I mentioned I finished 1 story, I'm partially finished on 2 others. Hopefully I'll have more time to write tomorrow, today has been a crazy day.
Oh, no X-rays for those of you in the know, doc said the deltoid didn't detach. She said no more pushups or upper body work outs for 2 weeks and to ice it as much as possible to get the swelling down.  (feel free to insert a joke about going to a doctor and saying, "Hey doc, it hurts when I do this! And the doctor says, well, don't do that!")

Anyway,

Chapter 2

Antigua

 

Admiral White's intelligence request reached Commander Lake's office. She looked it over and then bucked it up to Captain Montgomery and Admiral Sienkov. There were several things in the Ansible report, but she skipped over the good news for the bad. She wanted her people to get through that first.

What bothered her was the request to cross-reference their dump with what they had on file. She frowned and then checked the files. When she found what she was looking for she pursed her lips in annoyance. The latest intel dump had been sent to Second Fleet on the last courier. Only a couple gigs had been added since then.

“Did you just send me a request for more information?” A familiar voice growled in her open doorway. She looked up in surprise as Vice Admiral Yorgi Sienkov; Secretary of Intelligence came into her office. “Sit,” he ordered as she shot to her feet.

“Yes sir. I'm going over it now,” she said. She was surprised he'd processed it so fast. The Bekian transplant was apparently improving his skills with his implants. Or, he liked to get things cleared as soon as he got them. “I just found out they have most of the latest dump. I don't know why they are asking us to cross check it.”

"Is their intel specialist not seeing this?" Yorgi demanded.

"I don't know sir. They might be fishing for more detail hoping we've got it. I don't think we have more than a couple kilo bytes. Nothing fresh. Or they might be overwhelmed with processing what they've got on their plate after the battle. You know, hardware, plus the prisoners."

The admiral grunted. "Very well. Keep them posted."

"Aye sir."

He started to turn to leave but then stopped and turned back. "And remind them they have an intelligence officer for such inquiries," the admiral said testily. "Let him or her dredge it up right then and there, not wait for us. They should know that."

"Aye aye sir." The commander grimaced. Apparently, her reasoning wasn't good enough.

“What?” the admiral demanded.

“I think... yes,” she said, reaching and checking the file. “First Lieutenant Kelly Guadino. She put in the request for information once before. At the time we gave her what we had.”

“And I'm guessing now that's changed?” the admiral asked, crossing his arms.

The commander nodded. “Yes sir. We're continuously updating files as we interview the enemy POWs and interrogate their databases that Second Fleet captured. We're building a picture, putting pieces in place,” she said. She frowned as she checked the files and then grimaced.

“And they didn't get a copy?” he asked.

“No sir, it doesn't look like they got the latest version. Not of Admiral De Gaulte, his ships, or anything else we see apparently.”

“CC them a copy. Find out why they didn't get it in the first place. I know oversight, but we don't need this crap.”

“Yes sir.”

“You said picture...”

“We're... interviewing the POWs takes time sir. You have to build a rapport, and tease things out of them in different ways. Get them to exchange stories of their childhood, events, that sort of thing. Keep them from thinking it is an interrogation. We get more information that way.”

The admiral nodded slowly. “I see.”

She smiled. “Imagine what a beer or two, or a bottle of whiskey can do to open someone up. Someone who's been locked up for months or years. Just being able to unwind with a sympathetic ear and a bottle of something they haven't had and ache for,” her smile turned slightly feral. “Our people are getting better and better at acting drunk. Their implants keep them sober of course; they have special dispensation to drink while on duty since it is for interrogation purposes.”

“I see,” the admiral said slowly. “Alcohol loosens tongues. I know this.”

“Yes sir. And people talk among themselves too. Get them remembering the good old times back home and then listen in.”

“So...”

“So, I think we can help Admiral White out a little. He's fishing to see what sort of mindset his enemy has.” She left unsaid that a lot of the material had been going into background briefs for the politics of Horath and also to brief agents being inserted in that direction.

“I wish we'd had this sooner,” the admiral growled.

Commander Lake grimaced. “Me too sir. Some of it is sitting in the files waiting to be verified though.”

“Pass him everything you've got, verified or not. Make sure it's tagged with confidence levels and confirmations, but strip out any sources. Let the lieutenant make the assessment on her end.”

“Aye aye sir.”

“And remind the lieutenant to keep following up more often if she doesn't get the results she expected,” the admiral said.

Commander Lake nodded. She wisely didn't point out that the current request the admiral had just grumbled about was a follow up.

“Have someone build a psychological profile of the enemy commanders. Staff, etc. History, all of it. Amadeus is right; he needs to know the enemy. We need to know him.”

“Yes sir.”

“I know you've got profiles on this Emperor Ramichov and the known power players, but from Amadeus's perspective the profile of De Gaulte is far more important. The same for anyone who might take his place.”

Commander Lake nodded as she made a note. “We'll get it done sir.” She looked down as Fletcher blinked something for her attention. “Um, sir, Lieutenant Fletcher has just flagged something of importance.” Her eyebrows raised in surprise as she jacked in and then opened it on her HUD. “Son of... well, an emperor,” she murmured with a grin.

“I take it that's good?” Admiral Sienkov asked dubiously.

“You could say that. Two of them sir.”

“Two?” He shook his head in annoyance. “Not following Commander.

“Sorry sir. It's just...”

:::{)(}:::

“So, what can you give me? All this coverage of the war-front is getting stale,” April O'Neill murmured as one of her hands stroked up and down his left arm. The vid screens in the room were showing a simulated sunrise. It was a pity it wasn't the real thing, the warmth of the glow would have been nice to feel. Not that they didn't have enough warmth between them.

“So, what am I, your source now?” John Irons asked as he laid next to her in the tangled sheets. April was a reporter through and through he knew. But, they'd talked about using their relationship like that. He was the President of the Federation and a Fleet Admiral.

“More than that,” she said, turning on her husky seductive voice as she rolled on top of him. Her green eyes twinkled at him. “I bet I can get something out of you,” she said wickedly.

“Wait, um...” his voice was cut off as her hand dropped down to play with some rather delicate instruments.

“Yes?” she purred, smirking at him. After a moment, she began to kiss his chin and jaw and then neck.

“Um...”

She eased up a little as she nibbled on his ear.

“You are an evil, wicked creature you know that?” he demanded.

She giggled at the taunt but didn't deny it.

“So?” she asked as her other hand stroked his chest. “Better give me what I want or I'll torture you.”

“Yeah, right,” he murmured as Protector's icon blinked. He wondered why, and then remembered the word torture probably triggered his protection systems. He flicked his hand. “Two can play at that game lady,” he murmured, caressing her backside.

“I'll make you late,” she teased as Protector silently brought up his reminder of his schedule on his HUD.

“Um...” he squirmed a bit. She gripped him hard enough to make him freeze. “Now that's not fair,” he gasped.

“All's fair in love and war,” she teased in his ear. “So? Give,” she growled, as her free hand went from stroking to digging into his ribs.

“Okay, okay...I guess I can tell you about some prisoners but it is strictly off the record for now. Don't go scooping it. We've been sitting on the news for a little bit...”

:::{)(}:::

April grinned at Irma and her staff as she came in to the office swinging her purse.

“You sure look chipper,” the mousy woman accused.

“I am.”

“And why is that?” the other woman asked as she adjusted her sweater and glasses. The glasses were props; they were actually HUD's that fed Irma a constant flow of information. She could and did have civilian implants but preferred to have her data projected onto her glasses.

“I got a scoop. We're going to need to move fast to get confirmation. If I know John, he'll dump it in a day or so. I want the credit for getting it out there though,” April growled as Irma's eyes widened.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It's a good one,” April replied with a grin as she pulled her staff into her office with a swirling motion of her hand over her head.

“You aren't afraid of ticking him off?”

“No, he'll get over it. Besides, I'll chalk it up to unconfirmed sources and only let them know who if pressed,” April said indifferently as she pulled her staff together to lay out the story.

:::{)(}:::

TGS snippet 2

Sitrep: I finished the sleigh print, though it's going to take time to sand, patch, paint, sand, paint again, and finish.

Yesterday I roughed out the first of the Semper Fidelis stories and sent it off to Wayne. If any other Betas want in on this, let me know.

On to the next snippet!

Ensign Leopold didn't mind processing information while the fleet waited and licked its wounds. It beat sitting there doing nothing. For an A.I. especially a smart A.I. there had to be something going on to occupy their minds.
  As ship A.I. of the rebuilt dreadnought Bismark, current flagship of Second Fleet, he had plenty to do managing the ship and personnel on board. But, he didn't mind helping the admiral out. He too was curious about the enemy. The more they learned the more they could use against them in the next engagement he knew.

That and his curiosity about who he was shooting at, and who was shooting at him helped him while away the time it took to break into a captured enemy database. This one had been carefully copied before he'd started his investigation. His last 2 attempts had taught him to be careful about what booby traps he tripped. Someone had gotten cute with self-erasing viruses. The reports from other captured databases hadn't mentioned them, so they must be a new innovation.

And it was just his luck to run into it. He was a ship A.I. not a code cracker. He'd almost given up on the project but a stinging rebuke about giving up on a challenge had stopped him.

What he found when he opened the files was the Sword of Retribution's war book. He copied the contents and then set up a script to compare it to their own copy of the Horathian war book database while he delved in deeper.

Files were cross-referenced in a small corner of his mind as he accessed a list of personnel on some of the ships. There were lists of command staff, something of interest to the resident spook he knew.

One thought hit him right off. He set up a script to compare the names of the ships to those they had confirmed destroyed and those they suspected.

He almost bypassed the names of the destroyed ships but he did his duty and performed a quick scan just to be thorough. One name came to the A.I.'s attention right off. The A.I. passed it on to Lieutenant Guadino the staff Intelligence officer. He knew it would make the lieutenant's evening.

:::{)(}:::

First Lieutenant Kelly Guadino grinned a triumphant tight-lipped smile as she passed on the information to the staff during the following morning's meeting. “So, you are telling me that we gutted the Horathian's First BC squadron, and one of the officers who was killed was none other than...” First Lieutenant Jojo, the admiral's Neochimp female chief of staff stumbled to a stop in shock as the idea penetrated through to her.

“Commander and Prince Adam Ramichov. Yes,” Kelly replied with a broader grin. “Leopold found it; I just independently confirmed it last night.”

“Hot damn,” Lieutenant Commander Garfield, the staff tactical officer murmured with a shit-eating grin. “The boys and girls back home are going to love it.”

“And the enemy is going to be pissed when they find out,” Second Lieutenant Aleck Rowland, the staff navigational officer replied. He had been injured in the aftermath of the battle while volunteering for SAR duty. His right arm was in a sling.

“Oh, it gets better. One of our guards reported a conversation. Recorded it actually,” the Neogorilla stated. All eyes turned to her. “I didn't have the time to process the conversation then. But, when I ran a search on Ramichov it popped up. It turns out we've got a prisoner. Mason Ramichov, Lieutenant in their Marines and junior Prince.” Many of the officers sat up straight with wide eyes as they stared at her in shock. She nodded with a grin. “He's third in line for their throne. Well, he was,” she said.

“Hot diggity damn!” Garfield said with a raised paw. That earned a chuckle from the assembly.

“I've passed orders to have him segregated. He's not one of the injured so he's still here. He's one of the leaders so we'd have to do that anyway.”

“Agreed,” Admiral White rumbled with a nod. “He'll need special handling. I think we'll have to use a stasis pod in his case.”

“I—agree sir,” Kelly replied slowly. She didn't want to blow the opportunity of turning or at least getting more intelligence out of the young man.

“How are we with their implants?” he asked. She turned to the doctor.

“Well, we know a bit more. They are making some. But, the ones they have 'salvaged'. The doctor grimaced. “...Are interesting. They got them out in one piece, surprisingly. Then they purged the data to the basic OS and reinstalled it in another user.”

“I'm curious what the prince has in his,” Jojo said. “We could find all sorts of things buried in there,” she said, turning to Kelly who nodded along with her.

“Which is why I want him in stasis. Don't even let him have the chance to activate some sort of suicide protocol,” Admiral White ordered, turning to Kelly. She sobered and nodded.

She grimaced as the conversation turned back to the doctor's report. She stilled as she realized that they might never wake the prince up. He might be a bargaining chip, sure, but she doubted he'd ever get back to his people. No, they'd keep him, like a trophy.

Or, going down the rabbit hole, they'd take him apart. They'd strip his mind, copy it, and then go through his memories to sift out the nuggets of information they could. It would be ugly, but it could happen.

A part of her wanted to shiver at the thought of doing that to another living being. But, a darker part reminded her about who it would be used on. Pirates didn't deserve any sort of sympathy, especially from someone like her she reminded herself sternly.

:::{)(}:::

Lieutenant and Prince Mason Ramichov sat quietly in the brig with the others. A few of the Marines played a card game. Two of the squids did their best to sleep, despite the lights in the compartment being on. There were only so many racks to go around, they were crowded and annoyed. A prison ship, even a derelict would have been preferable. Apparently, the enemy hadn't thought of it, or had and discarded the idea.

He had managed to quietly convince everyone with him that he was a Marine lieutenant, not someone important. They had garbled his name, but he was sure it was a minor delaying tactic. No doubt, his lie would be uncovered soon enough. His name was in the computer systems somewhere after all.

He frowned, mentally curling his lip when a squid nudged him and nodded to the view out the door. His face went impassive as he saw alien species interacting with a human guard. There had been some trouble with that but the threat of being gased had reined in his people. At least, for the moment it had.

Technically, they should have segregated him as an officer. Not that he was going to complain. He had thought about being locked in a room and had come to realize he'd rather have some company than to be locked up alone. At least he had someone to share his misery with.

They had the one toilet, no privacy, but the guard allowed one or two at a time out to use other facilities from time to time. They were always carefully controlled. He'd seen a burly PO try to test a Neogorilla. A single gape tooth yawn and flex of his massive biceps had stopped the PO cold before he could mix it up. He hadn't tried anything after that.

Mason couldn't really blame him. It was one thing to shoot or torment Neos when you had weapons, quite another to deal with them when the situation was reversed. It was a bitter yet humbling experience.

“This is like a damn nightmare,” he muttered softly to himself.

“If you find a way to wake up, let me know so I can do it too,” a squid muttered.

He was surprised when after lunch he was called out and then escorted to sickbay for another check up. He sat on the gurney and waited. A nurse came over and before he could react she pressed a hypo spray to his exposed arm. Within a second his body slumped. He was barely aware of someone catching him, and then oblivion took him.

:::{)(}:::

TGS snippet 1

Okay, first off, the usual sitrep:
  I sent TGS off to Rea today, so the clock is ticking. How long it will take is anyone's guess. If Tim, Mike, or Tom want to get their input in to me, please do it soon! If I got it, sorry my bad.

  In other news, I'm about to have a nervous breakdown fixing my printers. Both of them refuse to cooperate. I don't know why. They keep falling out of calibration and the nozzle either gets blocked or the printer stops pushing filament out when I try a print. But when I run a "Load Filament" test it comes out like water. GRR.
So, I took a break. :P

  I started the next book, tentatively titled Semper Fidelis on Monday. I am half way through one of the stories. I'm also picking at the other stories, adding ideas as they come to me. (or Wayne suggests them) lol
Dad's back to school today so sanity (what little there is around here) can finally seep back in. To top that off we're having a 'cooler weather' streak. I'm in awe and loving every minute of it. :)

Okay, what you are waiting for, the snippet!:

Act I

Dark clouds

Chapter 1 

B-95a3 Second Fleet

 

Rear Admiral Amadeus White felt like he was drowning in paperwork as he signed off on the last missive. “I swear, some bureaucrat paper pusher needs to go out an airlock. Preferably without a suit. They created all this damn paperwork as punishment for being in a battle,” the Neochimp grumbled.

He couldn't blame them in some ways. Just about every ship in the fleet was damaged to one degree or another. Most of his capital ships were down to fifty percent. All of the paperwork not only for the battle, but also the logistics and repairs after the fact were flowing through his office and staff. Throw on the processing of data, enemy hardware, dealing with their own damaged and destroyed hardware, personnel, requests for new personnel and resources, and the paperwork situation overwhelmed Yeoman Berkowitz.

Eleven weeks had passed since the battle of B-95a3. He had dispatched 2 light cruisers to check the Sword of Retribution Fleet's retreat. The captains had orders to act like they were scouting in prep of an imminent invasion by his force in hopes of driving Admiral De Gaulte further back.

He didn't like having the man turtle, but every star system the man gave up without a fight was one less they had to deal with. It would lengthen his supply lines and shorten the enemy's, and the enemy would have a lot of fixed defenses and industry to rely on, not to mention the repair yard, but so be it.

The fleet train and reinforcements from Protodon had arrived a short time ago. With them was a special transport carrying an Ansible core and platform.

For weeks, they had been dealing with the SAR and POWs. Shipments of POWs had begun to be moved to Protodon on ships returning for one reason or another. That had opened up another can of worms. Second Fleet had only so many Marines and ship police in their crew compliments. Each draft sent back had to have a minimum number of guards per shift. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a ship that had gotten mixed up in a mutiny or hostage situation. Many of the prisoners were dangerous. They were all trained military personnel, and some were near psychotic even before they went through the trauma of capture. He'd heard and read some of the reports. A few of the prisoners had nothing to lose.

If he could he would ship them back in stasis. Unfortunately, they didn't have enough pods to go around. Most were filled with the wounded too injured to be handled by the swamped sickbays.

It was bad enough that he and his staff were still trying to put all the paperwork from the battle to bed. Trying and generally failing on some fronts he thought acidly.

Just about everyone was tired and overworked. Only the engineers could claim to be the worst of the lot. They were working double shifts to try to fix what they could.

He had sent a courier with the news of the battle. It had returned with news of the supply and fleet train en route. That was fine; the damage to Second Fleet meant he was delayed in chasing them down. He needed to let his people make repairs and get their ships back into fighting trim while also allowing more of their reinforcements to catch up with them to make up for their combat losses.

Everyone wanted to be in on the attack, he knew it. Yesterday he had managed to send 3 damaged tin cans, Texas, and a cruiser back to Protodon with the fleet's wounded. Most of the wounded would be traveling back to Protodon in stasis.

The battle cruiser Maine had been towed to the Protodon jump point with Captain Samuels and Lobsterman complaining the entire way. It would take another six weeks or so before the ship was safe enough to jump to Protodon. Traveling in the low hyperbands, she would take months to get to Antigua to heal. At least the healing process had begun, but it was going to be another long road for the ship.

SAR and clean up teams had picked the battle space clean weeks ago. Once the living and dead were dealt with they had then turned their attention on the carcasses and derelict ships. ONI representatives like his staff spook Kelly had insisted they get first crack at everything which had slowed salvage operations to a crawl. He could understand why they wanted to see and process everything, but it put a crimp on the fleet's efforts to get sorted out and repaired in a timely manner.

He tugged on his right ear lobe as he considered his orders. He had to stand down until his fleet was back up to at least eighty percent. He was hanging onto some of the capital ships until replacements arrived. Once they did, he would send back the worst damaged ships to Protodon. If the repair facilities there were saturated then the worst of the damaged ships would have to sail on to Antigua.

He checked the status board and pursed his lips with a puttering sound. He had sent a DD to collect the minelayers in B-94e1. A second DD had been sent to scout to Nuevo Madrid.

Once the scouts in B-97a returned he should be ready to move cautiously forward.

Hopefully, Maybe, he thought. John knew the importance of keeping the enemy running now that they were in that state. They couldn't afford to give the enemy time to react, prepare, and move larger forces in to block him. But, he also knew that John was subject to other pressures as President. Now that the threat was over, plenty of people would want the new Federation to return to business as usual and reprioritize things to match their own needs.

He shook his head and kept his fingers mentally crossed that he'd get the ships he needed to continue the offense... and soon.

The sooner the better.

:::{)(}:::

The Gathering Storm cover

First up, the usual sitrep:
  So, I finished TGS last weekend. It's been in the hands of the first 4 betas. We'll see who gets met their final notes first. :)

  In other news, I've finished painting the Jethro figures. (the ones with him in uniform) I need to print a new base for 1, I forgot I didn't have one. I've been fiddling with my Da Vinci Pro all morning trying to get it to print it. (Grr) No joy. I'll try again later.
  As soon as I get them each mounted on a base I'll take some pictures and post them. :)

  I've been puttering around with other projects and generally decompressing a little all week. Well, that and working on the cover art. Speaking of which:

Here it is.
  That's Irons stepping off the shuttle. If you look closely I got lazy and used a lot of the figures from my various book covers. Can you spot them all? There are figures from 6 different book covers plus that corridor picture there. 1 of the figures has been on 3 covers including this one. The Admiral Irons one was reposed and slightly modified, so he doesn't quite count. :)

  The shuttle is mine, (The Last Round Up) though I replaced the wings with a pair from Renderosity. RJ001's I believe. I also grabbed the background buildings from 2 of his kits I bought.
The various airport vehicles are free from Renderosity. They are by Brane Premk aka BS2001. The crowd control barriers are from Daz. The figures are a mix of characters, outfits, and Powerage's billboards from Renderosity and Daz3d.
  The ships are my Newmann class BC's plus a Tauren BC I built out of stuff from CGTrader for the cover of The First Terran Interstellar War, and a stock DN from Grafbox. The Nelson and Fletcher class destroyers I kitbashed out of Rj001's kits I bought.

Edit: Here is the first pic of the Jethro figures painted:

  Sorry about how dark it is. The pics I took in the kitchen are worse even with all 3 lights on. I'll try again some other time.
  As you can see, painted. I printed his fruit salad and rank and glued them on as decals. The bases are from Thingyverse, just painted and scaled differently.
  Also, in the background is a diorama for my nephew's birthday gift and you can just see Sergei's head on the far right. lol

Th-Th-The, Th-Th-The, Th-Th... That's all, folks... for now! :)