Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3)

by Chris Hechtl

  “Thank you for spoiling us,” Admiral Irons said to her. She nodded and left. When the admiral heard the pantry door click, he nodded and picked up his fork.

  “Mmm, heavenly. Fresh out of the oven. It's still warm,” Yorgi said.

  Admiral Irons snorted softly as he dug in with his fork. “So, Nuevo Madrid. Your thoughts?”

  “I think we're going to go for it of course. And I think Amadeus is going to go after De Gaulte. I think he's making certain the other man doesn't try to come back again, but I'm pretty sure he's going to go after him no matter what your orders say to the contrary,” he said airily.

  “Funny, I never did pass on orders not to chase the Horathians,” the admiral said as his fork rose to his mouth. “I know better.”

  The vice admiral chuckled softly as he got another forkful of pie.

  :::{)(}:::

  “Okay, Blake has scheduled two whole hours for this meeting. No offense but I don't want to turn this into another working lunch if we can help it though,” Secretary Sema said, shaking her head as she took her seat at the head of the conference table. She smiled to Nadine on her right. “So, without further ado, let's get this party started,” she quipped.

  Nadine smiled slightly and then nodded to Petina. The press coordinator nodded back.

  “Well, the good news is, the news from the war front has spread through the ansible network like wildfire and morale has picked up significantly again. And we're making some headway again building bridges,” Petina Grant stated with a grin. “The polls are up all over the place,” she said.

  They had limited news from Pi and Tau sector. Most of it was old; some of it came from ONI. They were using it as a framework to build off of however. Along the process they were identifying people so they could build a map of contacts in the area. Interest in joining the federation had picked up as news of the federation and the recent battle began to spread. It had cooled somewhat when the threat of the Horathian fleet had hit the grapevine though. It would take months for the most recent battle news to get further out, but those nearest in the outer edges of Pi and Tau sector would learn of it first.

  During the night a ship had arrived at Airea 3 orbit. She carried with her formal requests for the federation to send diplomats and care packages. Those requests had been forwarded to the secretary's office. Nadine had made certain they'd all seen them in their morning brief.

  Geoffrey Mahoney sniffed in disdain at that news. “Of course they want the care package. Free stuff!” the speechwriter said with a shake of his head.

  “After the centuries of being in the dark, you can't blame them …,” Petina rounded on him.

  “That's not my point. My point is they want it free. They didn't offer to pay for it, did they?” Geoffrey pointed out nastily.

  “No. No they didn't,” Nadine admitted.

  “See? They've got their hand out,” Geoffrey said, sticking his hand out.

  “It takes a bit of … I was going to say, a bit chutzpa to let go of your pride and ask for a handout. I'm not sure if that's true anymore though. There are those out there who just go around looking for a handout,” Nadine admitted.

  “What a rather dark way of going through life, seeing it that way,” Moira murmured.

  “You have to admit, the admiral has a great hook with the gifts,” Sebastian Whitman stated. “He's using the rule of reciprocation here. The sharing of resources makes others feel indebted to help the user in other ways. Giving something away for free in order to get something of more value is an old trick in marketing and politics,” the policy advisor quoted.

  “Which people, especially cynical people, will see through,” Nadine pointed out, eying Geoffrey.

  “That still won't stop them from asking anyway. They won't have a problem with their pride since they'll think and know it is a hook,” Geoffrey retorted.

  “True. And we've got the hoarders and people who will do ill with the gifts they get. Or they'll use them for their own benefit and exclude their own population,” Sebastian stated.

  “You just pointed out the hoarders,” Petina said.

  “I know. Slightly different case I meant though. Hoarders will snap up the gifts and then save them for later or they'll sell them on the black market for insane prices,” he said.

  “Back to your third point. But I get it,” Petina said. “I don't think we can do much to stop it. Complaining about it will point it out and possibly shame some, but it will generate ill feelings too.”

  “Like cockroaches scurrying out of the spotlight,” Geoffrey murmured. All eyes turned to him. “Sorry,” he said.

  “You always have a gift for phrases,” the secretary stated.

  “So, what do we do, ma'am?”

  “We get more gifts into the hands of the population and not trust local distributors,” Sebastian said before the secretary could say anything.

  She turned to him in surprise. “You know, that's a good idea,” she said, marveling at him.

  “Ah, shucks,” he replied.

  “Thanks, I'll steal it,” Moira said. Sebastian snorted as she turned back to the staff. “What he said, plus a bit from you, Petina, about how we're trying to help as many people as we can,” she said. The press secretary nodded.

  “I'll draft some responses and contingency responses for her,” Geoffrey stated.

  “Good. Now, moving on,” Moira stated.

  “Um, I know it's not on the agenda, ma'am, but has anyone brought up discussions with occupied planets?” Nadine asked.

  The secretary blinked at her. She frowned thoughtfully. “You know, no … I don't think so.”

  “Quite possibly because it's too dangerous and the enemy won't stand down,” Geoffrey said nastily. “So it'll be a waste of time,” he said.

  “Since we're going to send the Marines in anyway, I agree,” Sebastian said, nodding to Geoffrey. “And giving them warning is asking for trouble. They could hold hostages or make threats and then carry them out which would devastate our public image since we'd be helpless to stop them,” he said, nodding to Petina.

  The Neo grimaced and nodded in agreement.

  “But, we can put it in our tool box,” Moira stated. “Part of my job is to talk people out of war. If we can succeed, buy time, or get information, that's fine. The longer we've got them talking, the less interested they are in killing people and the more inclined to think they'll get out of the crack they are in with their skin intact.”

  “A point, ma'am. Unfortunately, we don't have any ties to justice, either local or federation,” Nadine warned. “Any offer of immunity wouldn't be usable. And once they realized it, it would undermine your credibility,” she warned.

  Moira sighed. “There are no easy answers it seems. But, we can at least get them talking,” she said. “Find out who the players are, intelligence, that sort of thing,” she said.

  Her chief of staff nodded. “Yes, ma’am, there is that,” she said.

  “Okay, moving on,” Moira stated.

  :::{)(}:::

  Warrant officer Jethro Mclintock watched the news and shook his head. He looked over to his adopted daughter. Lil Red flicked her ears at him. He sniffed, flicking his own as well. Life was just getting more and more complicated for him he realized. And he needed to do something about Red. He'd taken her on as a daughter. She'd flat out refused to go to Kathy's World. His half-hearted attempt to get some leave to escort her there had failed utterly.

  At least with the ansible he could correspond with Shanti regularly. The kittens were growing well, and Rah had finished her criminal justice training and was a full-time ranger. Shanti was a bit distant; he knew she wasn't happy about taking Red on or his occupation. He couldn't help being who he was.

  Red was a different story though. The shoe was on the other foot; he was dealing with a half-feral, willful child instead of being that same child. She was starting to enter puberty. Her pelt had changed from an orange-red to a blond. She had no interest in a military career, nor
any career other than living on the street or sitting on her butt complaining she was bored all the time. He'd gotten her into school; at least, he'd gotten her that far. She still stayed with him in base housing, though he'd had to … gently dissuade her more amorous intentions. It felt weird having to lock his own bedroom door at night.

  Had he been that way? He hoped not; the embarrassment alone would be too much. Fortunately, not many adults were still around to tell him. He'd never known about his aunt growing up so she was out.

  Trust Hurranna to know though.

  So, an adopted pubescent daughter infatuated with him, a distant long, long distant relationship with his mate and biological children, and his duty with the Cadre. What a mix, he thought; shaking his head as he gently disengaged Red's twining tail and fended off her hands. When she turned her attention to boys … he shook his head.

  “Things are looking up,” Red trilled softly. He nodded. “I'm going to go lounge on the roof and watch the party. Want to …,” he shook his head. Her ears went flat briefly. “Suit yourself,” she said with a sniff as she took off with a bump and grind.

  Celebrations, parties … everything was back to normal it seemed, even though they hadn't gotten the knockout the navy and everyone had wanted. But at least things were on the up and up, he noted, looking again to images on the screen. No more doom and gloom, people were celebrating all over the federation. Good. He knew it wasn't over, far from it, but at least they weren't huddling in fear anymore.

  :::{)(}:::

  In his infinite free time, Admiral Sienkov watched videos of Admiral Irons including his best and worst moments in history. He had to admit, he was impressed with the man's speeches; he was pretty sure they were off the cuff too. Definitely not rehearsed. His speech on Antigua Prime about members of “the armed forces being in the art of war but the profession of peace” was well thought out and articulated. It hit home and resonated within him. It also played well on the internet apparently.

  He hit pause when he got a signal from his implants. Apparently he had a visitor. He went over to the door and opened it. He nodded to the security and then to the DS agents standing behind Moira. “Can I come in?” she asked.

  “What's up?” he asked, stepping to the side as she entered. The agents arranged themselves outside as he shut the door.

  “So, apparently I actually have some time off today. I'm single, not really ready for the dating scene, and it's too weird fraternizing with my staff,” she said as she looked around the apartment. “You're the only familiar face around. Do you mind if I hang out with you?”

  Yorgi chuckled. “You're really that hard up?” he teased.

  She rolled her eyes. “If I'm really bothering you …,” she headed for the door.

  “Power down, lady, I was kidding. What did you have in mind?” he asked.

  “Well, I was thinking coffee and comparing notes maybe,” she said, rubbing her arm. He could tell she was off balance. It took him a few seconds to get a feel for why as he went over to the kitchen. He was no longer the elderly officer she'd grown up with. He'd shed decades when he'd taken the antigeriatric treatments. For that matter, so had she. Neither one of them had taken the treatments as a youth so there was only so far the treatments could take them at this later stage in life. He'd settled on looking in his forties with a bit of salt in his hair. That was fine with him. He knew he wasn't handsome though, despite everything Izimay had said to the contrary.

  The soft ding of the coffee being ready startled him out of his woolgathering. He poured two cups, put them on a tray, took out the creamer and sugar, and then carried it in to the living room.

  “This is nice,” Moira said, admiring the apartment as she looked around. “I think this is the first time I've visited,” she said.

  “We've both been busy,” he said, tactfully refraining from commenting that he hadn't been invited to her condo either. He set the tray down and then handed her a cup as she made herself comfortable on the couch. “So, impressions?” he asked.

  She smiled as she added cream and sugar and then stirred the cup. She glanced over his shoulder to the big screen where an image of Irons was paused. “Doing your homework?” she asked.

  “Know the players, know the game,” he said, turning to look over his shoulder. He looked back. “Sorry,” he said.

  “No, no, what is it you're watching? I'd think you'd be studying the enemy or something,” she said.

  “I do that all week long until my eyes bleed,” he said, “when I'm not dealing with setting up everything from the ground up, running into teething problems constantly, and handling negotiations for stupid things like budgets and schedules,” he said. “Can you believe I have to schedule a meeting to discuss having a higher level meeting sometimes? I can foster it off on my staff, but they generally don't check my schedule, so I or one of my Yeoman have to get involved anyway,” he said.

  Moira took a sip and shook her head. “I know the feeling, believe me,” she said. She reached out with her implants and sent a play signal to the vid screen.

  The sudden sound made the admiral turn in surprise to the screen, then back to her. “I'm interested too,” she said with a small indulgent smile. She pointed to the seat next to her. He snorted, got up, and relocated so he was also facing the wall screen.

  He was aware that she wasn't just his young friend watching but also the secretary of state. Potentially she was a rival to their mutual boss politically, though Irons was actually okay with that. She watched intrigued though, so he did too, turning his attention to the clip. When it ended she expressed her own like for it and the man. He went back and replayed some of the admiral's top speeches.

  “Damn, I missed some of those,” she admitted. “He's good. He's a bit … homey. Folksome. He's got that air of blunt honesty about him. It helps foster trust. I wonder, is it something he took on, a mantle, or something he's always had?” She cocked her head thoughtfully.

  “You've seen the videos from Bek. You tell me.” Yorgi asked. “I am comfortable enough with the man to know he's a straight shooter. His blind spot is expecting others to be the same with him though.”

  “I think he's impressive. I wonder …,” she checked the upload author and then snorted. “Well, that certainly takes a bit out of it,” she said, looking up.

  “What?” the admiral asked curiously.

  “Irons didn't put this out, but Captain Sprite did, his faithful minion. I wonder if he ordered her to do so? A nice bit of propaganda?”

  “I'm not sure. I doubt Irons is into self-promotion. He just wants to get the job done. You could feel him out.”

  “I don't know. I think I'll pass for now.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “At least it wasn't his other publicist, his pet journalist,” Moira said, finishing off her coffee.

  Yorgi raised an eyebrow at her tart tone. “Oh, come on, you, I bet, are also leery of the woman,” she said.

  “I … admit it is a … dangerous relationship,” he said carefully. He wondered briefly how much she knew. He doubted she knew the extremely classified bits, but then again …

  “A reporter? Mixing it up with the president? That's a major recipe for disaster!” she shook her head. “He's already played favorites with her.” She wrinkled her nose. “His pillow talk with her is going to turn around and bite him in the ass, mark my words,” she said, as she set her cup down.

  “Possibly,” Yorgi admitted. She looked at him. He shrugged again. “Okay, probably. But it's not up to us to deal with it or try to break them up. It's his decision.”

  “True,” she mused. “I wonder what he sees in her? I already know she's into him for power,” she said in a scathing tone of voice.

  “He's human. It could be physical; her red hair is an attractant …,” Yorgi paused as Moira instinctively touched and looked at her blue hair, “or something else. A shared common event in their past. I know she was badly burned while …,” he coughed into his fist, “um, shari
ng a bed with him.”

  “That explains why they may be staying together, guilt or something,” she said. “Not why he went to her in the first place,” she said.

  “I don't know.”

  “He's like, centuries older than her,” she mused.

  “Does that really matter?” Yorgi asked. She looked at him. “Honestly? The heart wants what the heart wants,” he said.

  She nodded. “So, what else do you have on video?” she asked coyly, crossing her legs and flipping the hem of her skirt out a bit.

  “Well …”

  :::{)(}:::

  Admiral Irons shook his head as he finished reading another brief. He logged the file and then stretched.

  Another damn brief, they were never ending. There was always something to read. He was glad he could handle it with his implants; otherwise, he'd have eye strain and daily migraines before the day was done. The last had been amused but a pain in the ass to wade through.

  D'red as the attorney general had started to get a handle on security and the investigation agencies. He'd finally taken the advice of Yorgi and started at the ground up.

  He'd also gotten smart, recruiting instructors and staff from Jeff Randall's Planetary Security Academy to get the Federation Security and Investigation Academy going. Jeff had been a bit put out and bemused when Antigua's attorney general had called to complain, but the protest had been pro forma.

  The Veraxin cyber hadn't stopped there though. He'd tried to recreate the Secret Service and had gone so far as to mass email the Marines on the admiral's security staff with borderline orders to be retrained as agents. He snorted.

  He'd just fired off a missive dealing with that. Marines had been guarding presidents of one sort or another for thousands of years. It was funny how so many forgot that over the years. He was fine with them, even if they were combat trained. He actually preferred his guard dogs to be gunslingers. They may not be tactful, but in a fire fight that sort of thing went out the window anyway.

  They were also trained to shoot tangos and to avoid unnecessary casualties wherever possible. But if there was a threat, they took it down hard. He'd had to apologize a few times when Thomas's people had gotten a little too zealous in their duty. That was fine, he thought, rising out of his chair and stretching. When word got around, people were a bit more respectful of the president's “storm troopers.”