Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (36 page)

“Understood,” the A.I. replied. He paused, cocked his head and then shook it once. “Good news, Mrs. Berkheart has accepted the honor. Bad, Doctor Myers had declined.”

“Understood. At least they got back to me fast on it.”

“Yes, sir, there is that. Incoming call from Commander Sprite, sir,” he said.

“Put her through,” the admiral said, twirling his chair slightly back and forth. He smiled as Sprite's image formed in the base plate on his desk. “Nice seeing you, Sprite. What's up?”

“Are you busy kicking over ant hills?”

“I'm tired of playing games. We've got to get this shit done and I'm done pussy footing around,” the admiral growled. “Protector reminded me I needed to shit or get off the pot. I'm doing it.”

Sprite took in his tone and then nodded once. “I guess so,” she said carefully. “You're going to catch some short term flack but you are right,” she said.

“Damn straight I am.”

“And you'll get flack for not doing this earlier,” she reminded him.

“Cute,” he said sourly.

“So, who else did you have in mind?”

“That's a problem since most of the people I know are either here or elsewhere. Some I don't even know if they are alive. And many are already in the military.”

“Yes, there is that,” Sprite replied carefully. The admiral was in a stern mood. He had definitely become fed up with the situation. That could be good or bad depending on how things were spun … and as long as he didn't jump too hastily.

But it was part of her job to rein him in if he did get in over his head, she thought. Her hands went to her hips. “Suppose you tell me who else you had in mind?” she asked.

“Well, we were trying industry, but Myers declined. Berkheart took labor.”

“You won't get further with the rest of the board. Most like where they are. Hishina might do something but only out of a sense of duty. But she's got conflicts since she's also on the Yard Dog Board,” Sprite said.

“So she's busy. I see …,” the admiral frowned.

“Epsilon Triangula is a mess. That leaves candidates we've run into in Pyrax, Agnosta, Triang, and the other planets we've visited,” Sprite said, revising her list.

“Yes.”

“And you want them to start ASAP, so they have to be in easy reach.”

“Again, correct,” he said.

“Stating the obvious, yes I know, Admiral. I'm making sure we are on the same page,” Sprite said as she presented him with a list of candidates for each posting. “I suggest you focus on the small potatoes. State and the higher positions will be fought over and will need expert hands.”

“True.”

“And the higher positions will fight amongst themselves and will be jockeying to take your post as soon as possible,” Sprite reminded him.

“One problem at a time. They haven't been appointed yet,” he reminded her.

“Just don't expect them to be grateful for long,” she warned.

“I don't expect them to at all. In fact, once they see the crap I'm dumping on them, I expect them to hate my guts. But I need people willing to roll up their sleeves and do the job anyway. People who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty and know something about the job.”

“Understood,” Sprite said. She noted a new email. “It seems Mister Custard has accepted the position as secretary of agriculture. I think he'd do better as secretary of state but he's excellent for agriculture too.”

“Good. Get him up to speed ASAP,” the admiral growled.

“Which will be tricky since he's a bit Amish and doesn't like technology,” the A.I. said, sounding amused and disgusted. “Tricky, tricky,” she murmured. “Senator elect Mayfair from Pyrax is inquiring what is going on. If you remember she's lobbying to take secretary of state,” she said maliciously.

The admiral grimaced. He remembered her very well. She'd been a thorn in his side on their trip out on
Destiny
. She had made his exile a bitter hell as much as possible, even trying to
sell
him at one point. “Her I could do without thank you very much,” he said sourly.

“The nice thing about state is you can send her just about anywhere to negotiate,” Sprite reminded him.

“But then I'm stuck with whatever she decides she wants to do instead of what I outline. No. Thank you,
no
,” he said firmly.

“Very well,” Sprite said. “You don't want Miss O'Neill as public affairs, and Miss Chambers is also out. I recommend a reporter or anchor from a friendly network. Perhaps Miss O'Neill could be drawn in to recommend someone?” she asked.

“We'd have a security situation there, remember?” Protector reminded her. “Whoever she recommended could be compromised as she is,” he stated flatly.

“Wow, you almost sounded like Defender there,” Sprite said. “And I do remember. I was thinking we could use that to our advantage actually. Help intelligence ferret out some more of her ‘friends,’” Sprite suggested slyly. She saw the admiral's set expression and shrugged. “Or not.”

“It's something to think about,” the admiral ground out, not entirely dismissing the idea. “Next?”

“Okay,” Sprite said, eyes flaring open as her emotional modulator signaled surprise. “You really are throwing those irons into the fire, aren't you?” He nodded. “Very well. I doubt we'll get your cabinet sorted out in a single evening but you are right, it's overdue. Okay, how about …”

Chapter
22

Admiral Irons did his best to deal with the fallout from Epsilon Triangula while also sorting out the mixed media coverage and backlash of his rash of cabinet postings. It had certainly put the kyboshes on all the crap that had been pulled on him at any rate! And those who wanted someone were defending their own homegrown people while others picked them apart. For the moment just about everyone was sharing the heat, which meant most likely it would die down soon.

He hoped so at any rate. Though he doubted ET would go away. Not anytime soon. That sort of black eye stayed around until they won a victory. And from the sound of that, it wasn't going to happen soon.

One of things his small but growing staff had recommended was to attend the dedication ceremony of the memorial monolith. He hadn't wanted to; he knew his presence would turn it into a circus and detract from the true purpose of the place. But he needed to … to do something. Even if it wasn't quite right. Besides, he
had
intended to visit it.

It was most likely going to send a mix message though, an attempt to grab positive headlines from a desperate president. He was pessimistic about it but had decided to go anyway. He couldn't control what spin they put on the story, just … roll with it. Roll with the punches.

April had softly offered to go with him, but he'd declined. As much as he liked her presence, he couldn't afford the gossip that went with it. It was bad enough. And her pressure to be the first lady! He shook his head mentally. She should know better. He'd tried to explain to her the downsides, that she wouldn't have real power and that she'd be apart as much as they are now. That she'd have to resign her career. He wasn't sure if any of his arguments had sunken in until that last point. She'd backed off after that.

His errant mind turned back to the memorial after a brief moment of self-chastization to stay in the moment. He'd considered it be built virtually, but he'd realized people needed a place to touch. Virtual only got you so far, it … cheapened it. It made it too easy, too easy to forget, to see.

There were several memorials going up, but this was one of his favorite. This one detailed in black glossy marble the names of those who fought and died against the pirates.

Each name glowed blue at night due to back lighting. The creators of the memorial had engineered the marble to be a thin wafer with a back light. He'd thought they had projected the names onto it, or had micro LEDs inside each name, but they'd gone the simpler route. It was a neat bit of engineering, and the seams were virtually nonexistent. If you touched a name, a hologram would appear with the person's image and stats.

Hundreds of names were already there. There was space for many, probably too many he thought with a pang. His fingertips traced a name. Behind him he heard the voices of the audience as well as the thunder of the waterfalls.

He turned keeping a polite mask on his face. People murmured to him and he nodded in passing. His attention was on the memorial park. It was quite nice, the waterfalls disappearing, the still pond, the floating sculpture of a man and woman wrestling to save a person chained while fighting off a slavering Caribbean pirate … nice touch there—also in stone or made out of some material that looked like it.

The final touch was the eternal flame with its brass plaque. The flame of freedom. He liked the words etched onto the plaque, the bit about eternal vigilance was ripped from the past, but he was pretty sure the original author wouldn't mind.

There had been come complaint that civilians were not included in the memorial. They were getting their own one, and individual star systems were more than welcome to set up their own. The problem was there were so many and no one could identify them all. Even the pirates didn't know, and they didn't care about their victims’ identities.

He climbed the stairs with his security team and then turned to the stainless steel complex on one side and the Federation military on the other. On the left hand was the known history of the pirates and piracy in general. It didn't romanticize it and didn't pull punches. Some parents had protested the graphic nature of some of the images and video. He didn't care. He knew the police were watching some of the people who entered a little too frequently too. Apparently there were some sadistic bastards out there who got off on it.

He shook his head. He didn't need to see it; he already had. And he knew what the Federation side had. The history of the Federation military, a rousing piece designed to induce pride and patriotism and leave the people feeling good, safe, and protected.

He really was in a melancholy mood he thought.

“Did you see Lieutenant Defender's name?” Protector asked. “And Admiral Halsey and the others that died on Lemnos? Technically, they don't belong there; they died at the hands of the Xeno Wraith,” the A.I. said.

“Hush,” the admiral said, turning slightly. His roving eyes finally found what he wanted to see, the flag pole near the exit of the Federation military exhibit. Discrete spotlights were at the base, along with another plaque describing the flag and what its various colors and materials stood for. His eyes traveled up the white pole to the top where the flag of the Federation flew. Instinctively he came to attention. He saluted, it seemed the right thing to do.

Off to one side he heard an intake of breath followed by a few people snapping photos. The shutters clicking didn't throw him off. He struck the salute after a moment then nodded.

He turned politely to nod to a few of the parents and families in the group but he really wasn't in the mood to kiss babies and shake hands. He was pretty sure Protector realized it because after a moment the security detail motioned for them to move on to the vehicles.

He was vaguely aware of a poor sod with massive implants who didn't look too happy. But his blue mood didn't last long enough for the man's presence to penetrate too far before it was dismissed. More pressing matters of state was apparently in need of attendance he noted as he checked his inbox as he climbed into the vehicle.

---<>))))

Kronis “Trapjaw” Trajawl snarled as he stomped away from the crowd. They had counted on the crowd to add to the confusion, but there were just too many people. Too many eyes and definitely too many people in uniform. Armed people he noted. His team wasn't equipped for that sort of resistance. The others picked up his retreat and moved to follow.

“We're aborting? We're not going to attempt to abduct or kill him at the spaceport?” Cercie asked.

“Yes. I mean no. We are aborting. The spaceport is too well protected,” the cyborg growled. He glanced at the beautiful woman than away. “Stop pouting. There will be other chances.”

“I bet Stinko's scent scared him off,” the woman said with a pretty scowl. Her eyes roved to Odiphus and then back to Trapjaw. “Pretty please?” she asked, fluttering her eyes at him.

He snorted. “Not a chance. The security is too tight. The bastard has learned,” he growled.

She bit her lip then pouted some more.

“Go. I'll meet you in the alley,” he ordered. She nodded and took off. He knew she had a brain; she would follow protocol and change her outfit before she met them in the alley. The others he wasn't so sure. Technically they had no need to do so. They hadn't made a move against Admiral Irons so his security wouldn't be bothering with reviewing the video of the area.

He grimaced. He certainly stood out in a crowd, what with his red metal skullcap, jaw, and right arm. The blue skin wasn't a big thing though. Going bare chested to show off was apparently.

“We're done. Fall back,” the cyborg said quietly to the Mongol male who came up beside him.

“Why?” Jitsu asked.

“Too much heat.”

“I'm not afraid of no cops,” Jitsu said with his characteristic squint and karate chop of one hand. Spikor their engineer grimaced.

“You should be,” Spikor said. “We're supposed to do the job, not get shot up trying to do it.”

Jitsu scowled. “The boss said to …”

“Let me worry about him,” Trapjaw growled, red eyes flashing to match his red skull cap. He worked his iron and steel jaw a few times as he flexed his prosthetic right arm. It was big and clumsy, really suited for industrial purposes, but he liked it despite the weight. It was made out of mostly iron and steel and had been built right on the planet. Unfortunately, due to it being made out of iron, it was prone to rust. He had given up taking an angle grinder to the prosthetics to keep them clean.

He hated the spacers, more and more every day it seemed. It seeped into his blood. They were the reason he had the prosthetics in the first place! The pirates hadn't cared a damn about the planet until Irons had paid it a visit and found that damn space station, he thought grimly.

His clamp hand flexed and snapped shut, then slowly opened again under hydraulic pressure. The boss had determined the only way to hit the Federation with a telling blow was to do so when Irons was on the ground. Trapjaw had been more interested in hitting Randor or Governor Randall, but the boss was the boss. Not many liked to argue with him.

Not many survived the experience.

“What are we going to do?” Spikor asked. He looked over the cyborg's gear and then grimaced. It wasn't a shining example of his best work. Far from it. They had more people but not a lot of money. Snatching Irons was supposed to change that. Now that was out. He might have to go back to work fixing bikes or other shit work to pay the bills.

“Do? We pull back. Rendezvous at the safe house,” Trapjaw ordered. He wished fervently that he'd lost his sense of smell when Odiphus joined them. He looked over to the blond maven, Cercei. The woman wrinkled her nose, coughed delicately into her hand, and moved upwind of the other man.

Odiphus's heavy brows knit in confusion. “What does ren … um …”

“Just meet me at the safe house,” the bionic human growled, rolling his yellow eyes in exasperation at the other's stupidity.

“Okay I suppose. But you get to explain it to the boss,” Odiphus said dubiously.

“Move your stinky ass or I'll snip your head off like a rosebud,” Trapjaw growled, snapping his prosthetic clamp hand menacingly. The team cringed and then broke up.

“Where does he find these idiots?” the cybernetic man asked as Cercei came over and gave him an injection cocktail of drugs the boss's biochemists had whipped up to fight the various infections and shit he had to put up with. Just the tetanus shot alone hurt like hell. Between the illegal and stolen drugs and his daily doses of alcohol, he could fight off the problems associated with his crude replacement parts. But he didn't know for how long.

He watched the woman pack her bag. She was disappointed that she hadn't had the chance to approach the admiral. She was a temptress; she could sink her hooks into any man. She had packets of pheromones she could use to help her in the process, and Trapjaw had to admit the woman was one hell of a looker.

He flexed his good arm as she finished packing the medical gear. More time, he thought, more waiting. But they'd get their chance. His body wasn't quite adapting to the medicines they had available. It was another bone of contention they had with the admiral and his so-called Federation. He wasn't sure he was going to live for long he thought moodily as he stepped politely out of the woman's way. She flashed him a smile in passing then flipped her cloak's hoodie up to help disguise herself.

Just as long as it was long enough to get a taste of his revenge he thought angrily as they moved out.

---<>))))

Irons considered the cabinet reports and nodded. He hadn't filled every post but he'd gotten a lot done. That was good. He'd finally made some progress. Now they had to deliver.

He'd wanted one of the Randors or someone else with industrial experience in the secretary of industry slot but both had politely declined. They had recommended Duncan, an old friend and cyborg genius, but Duncan had also declined.

The Tauren Riff had been nominated by a group of people on Antigua Prime, but he'd declined. John knew the young bull; he was far more comfortable in a lab or engineering machine shop than behind a desk. He like a lot of his would be appointees were far better and more comfortable where they were then where he needed them to be.

It seemed the only people who wanted the jobs were the politicians he was wary of turning over such power to. Power tended to corrupt he thought darkly. And those who sought power usually did so for their own gains or to be a “friend in high places” sort of thing. Which pretty much amounted to the same thing he reminded himself.

He'd finally settled on Sandra'kall, dame of Lieutenant Commander Veber. The Centaurian female had shipped out from Pyrax as soon as she'd received his email. He'd gotten the news that she'd accepted after her ship had jumped to Agnosta. That had amused him immensely. Apparently she was rather eager for the challenge or to see her wayward son once more.

Despite Sprite's half humorous nomination of the captain of Io 11 as secretary of commerce, he'd gone with another skipper who'd recently retired to Antigua, Captain Broken Antenna. She was an elder T'clock queen who had stepped aside to allow her own daughter to take over the family's ship and business with her own mates. Their ship
Wandering Hive
was a rarity in the sector, a T'clock built freighter transport that plied the bridge between Syntia World, Charon, and the Pi sector.