Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (41 page)

"But first we need to train some people to do it. Do it better than what Captain Montgomery has done. His shop here is a mess. And we need to integrate this shop with the one in Pyrax …"

"Exactly," the admiral replied with a nod. “We … I've been sitting on this too long. It's time we changed that.” Since he had a sliver of free time, he'd turned his attention to ONI as well as the greater intelligence community. He still needed a cabinet minister to mind the store too he thought darkly.

“Aye aye, sir. I'll work out the changes to your schedule. Once you come up with a
plan
,” Sprite said with a hint of amused exasperation in her voice.

“I'm not even certain where to start. We obviously need to tap experienced heads. More experienced heads than mine for the intel shop obviously.”

“Admiral Subert you mean.”

“Phil?”

“He's had experience several times, Admiral. According to his jacket it was earlier in his career,” the A.I. stated, “which might be why he rubbed Monty the wrong way and fired him. He was going from the book while Monty was trying to create his department from the ground up without his knowledge or a blueprint.”

“Bricks without straw,” the admiral replied with a knowing nod. “It still doesn't excuse some of his failings, but it does explain a few. Okay, I'll cut him some slack while he finishes fixing things here I suppose.”

“He's due to finish integration this month. I'm now convinced he had been stopping for prolonged periods at each planet for a multitude of reasons. I thought he was licking his wounds and sulking like Admiral Subert snidely said in his last memo on the commander's scheduled itinerary, but I now believe he had been busy tapping the information network he'd set up along that route. And possibly making some additional contacts along the way.”

The admiral nodded thoughtfully. “Keep me posted on that. Give me everything we've got on his plans again—past, present, and future obviously.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“So …”

---<>))))

A few hours later he nodded politely to the young man and his Veraxin friend as he passed them in the park. "Evening, gentlemen." He'd wanted out, time to get away from it all and out of his own head. He'd been starting to get a frustration headache. He hadn't made much headway in the intel problem. What he had contributed had been a drop in the bucket and for all he knew could have made it worse like Phil's inept handling of Monty.

He was convinced now that Monty had been doing his best and had been mistakenly shafted. How to go about undoing that mess was going to turn out into a boondoggle of potentially political implications. Military politics at any rate. He'd need to find a way to rehabilitate Monty in his own eyes, in Phil's, and in the navy's eyes at large.

His promotion to captain might help. Operative word there though, might. What he really needed was results. But apparently that was the last thing the captain wanted associated with his name.

Monty he now knew had been deliberately cultivating an air of incompetence. He was certain of it. The man was sharp; he could see that in the higher classified reports. But he'd
deliberately
allowed others to underestimate him. That too some gall. That had bit him in the ass with Phil though.

John had considered why for a short while before he'd realized that it had made his opponents underestimate him … and made him less of a target for assassination. At least he thought those were the reasons; he could be wrong. He was finding to his chagrin that Monty's mind was a bog.

All of that was swirling in his head as he made his way to lunch with his usual security detail.

"Sir." Both junior officers came to attention before him. He nodded as he passed.

"Sir, ah …," he turned as David looked at him and then the Veraxin. The Veraxin chittered a hurry up.

"Sir, I was thinking about what you said, about intel, and how we're an open book."

Irons paused and then stepped aside to let other people pass them. Each of the people behind him nodded but hurried on their way, not making eye contact. "Go on," he said when they were alone. He recognized both of the young officers from his class but just didn't have names for their faces. The human was pretty solid. The Veraxin was a thinker and a bit cautious.

"Um, I, I think I understand why we have to be careful about media attention. At least from that perspective, sir."

The admiral nodded slowly. "Correct."

"And any documentation has to be carefully scrutinized as well," the human said. “And media reports.”

"Again, correct."

"Loose mandibles destroy ships and worlds," the Veraxin chittered, quoting an ancient saying.

Admiral Irons glanced at the young alien and nodded. "Correct. Midshipman …"

Protector pinged the bug's IFF and put it up on the admiral's HUD. "Bright-day is the translation, sir," Protector filled in as he paused.

"Bright-day is it?" he asked. The Veraxin's mandibles went slack for a moment, then his gave a human bob nod. His four eyes were locked onto Irons.

"Yes, sir. I … I had not known you knew of me."

The admiral smiled slightly. "It's a small navy, son," he said with a slight white lie.

"But a growing one," Protector quipped, clearly amused.

"Sir, I … we … We'd both like to transfer to intelligence," David gushed out. “I'd like to be in ops but …” he spread his hands in supplication.

"You don't have the mind for hands-on ops, son," Irons said patiently after scanning the young man's thumbnail. The young man's shoulders slumped. "Neither do I for that matter. Some of that you can learn, but intelligence trade craft is an instinct for the best operatives. They are sneaky from birth but without being obvious about it. It comes to them like breathing. You've been screened and passed over for that already.” That made the human frown, now nonplussed. His partner indicated interest but something told John that the Veraxin had already surmised as much. “But you two might do well as intelligence officers on a ship, staff, or as analysts."

"Um …"

"Stuck behind a desk?" the Veraxin chittered softly. The admiral gave him a warning glance.

"Not everyone gets to march to the sound of battle every time. Sometimes you can contribute more by patient and careful analysis of data. Sifting through mountains of information for that one nugget everyone else has overlooked. Looking for clues or looking for what isn't there."

"What isn't there, sir?" David asked, brows knit.

"He means the absence of information either by deliberate action or other means. Looking for what the enemy doesn't want you to know,” the Veraxin said. Irons nodded thoughtfully. Apparently the Veraxin had a bit of a mind to go with his partner's brash manner. He wondered briefly if the Veraxin had set his partner up to get what he truly wanted, an audience with the admiral.

"True," Sprite said, projecting a hologram of herself beside the admiral. The admiral raised an eyebrow. He wasn't aware the commander had been monitoring the conversation again; she'd taken herself off to other tasks in his office some time ago. His eyes turned inward to look at Protector on his HUD. The AI shrugged. He pursed his lips slightly. He made a mental note to ask about it later.

"But sometimes that is a trap. If you become to enamored by your own clever deductions …"

"You can be fat, dumb, and happy as the enemy takes you out. It doesn't take subtle misdirection to do that. Just taking things at face value does it as well," Sprite said amused.

"You have a bit of a knack for this, in general," Irons said, studying the Veraxin. What he didn't say was that even he knew direct confrontation was anathema to the intelligence community. It was a rather blunt and public way of identifying yourself and your interest, something they didn't like or need. Again, a problem with Monty he thought.

"A little, sir. I have studied a bit, and the hive politics have shaped my world view to this point."

"Hmmm. Okay, you're in,” the admiral said, pointing to the bug. “You both are for that matter," finger swiveling to his human companion. He glanced at them both with a nod then glanced at Sprite. "Commander make a note and memo their commanders for the transfer."

"Yes, sir. They will have to take additional classes in intelligence. I believe Midshipman Bright-day is already doing that. He has also put in repeated transfer requests to intelligence." She didn't need to remind him that the intel shop was in utter chaos since Monty had been relieved by Phil, and Lieutenant Commander Lake was too interested in the day-to-day prisoner interviews to handle the administrative duties. Apparently it was getting sorted out by Monty but not as quickly as she'd like to see.

"Good. Good to hear. Intelligence … counter intel or straight intel? Ship posting? Do you have a preference?"

"Not at this time, sir. I know I am not cut out for field work," the newly minted intelligence officer said, eye stalks whirling around. Irons wondered if he was doing that as an emotional reaction or checking out his environment. One of the stalks paused and he looked up to where it was looking. A human female lieutenant was standing on the bridge nearby, looking at them.

Sprite caught the look, and her lips pursed as she glanced at the young woman. She was young, small and very thin but also fit and trim. "Second Lieutenant Yoki Sasuma, fighter pilot. Asian from the Ten Song Island on Majapore. She flew gliders and light craft as a messenger before being recruited, sir."

He grunted and gathered his thoughts. "She's clean," he said to the Veraxin.

David looked confused. "I …"

"Never mind. Thank you, Admiral," the Veraxin said with a polite nod.

"You'll get new orders in your mail shortly. Dismissed gentlemen. Good luck." He returned their salute, then watched them leave. "You'll need it," he said softly.

He turned and made his way down the path to a split then changed direction to come up along the wandering path back to the bridge. The lieutenant was still there.

"Problem, Lieutenant?" he asked as he approached. She glanced his way and then shook her head, still relaxed and facing the wind. He was both amused and annoyed. Amused at her nonchalant, almost indifferent attitude, but annoyed at her lack of discipline and respect.

"No, sir, just off duty. Catching the sights."

He looked around, suddenly realizing the bridge was one of the highest points in the park. "Got a thing for altitude?"

"No, sir I don't have an atit …," she paused and looked at him again. From his thermal profile, he could tell she was flustered. "Um, ah, that is to say …," she stiffened to attention. "Sorry, sir."

"At ease, Lieutenant, after all, you are off duty as you mentioned before and out of uniform." He nodded to her feathered jacket.

She looked down at the jacket and flushed. "What, oh this? Sorry, it's habit. You should see what the wind walkers wear."

The admiral wrinkled his nose. "Wind walkers?" Images of people in primitive gliding suits danced in his mind briefly.

"Um," she pulled her hair back and put it in a ponytail as she looked away. "Pilots of a sort, sir, air balloon pilots. I believe they are dirigible actually. They wore, sorry, wear, bird costumes with ribbons on their arms. I heard that some of the dirigible pilots on Protodon wear their own version as well."

"Interesting," he said picturing the image.

"The ribbons are for judging air speed and direction, sir," she explained, looking down and stroking one gently.

The admiral nodded slowly as he finally understood. It was crude, but effective. Sometimes the simplest method was the most elegant and practical. "Ah, so they aren't ornamentation. I had wondered at that."

"No, sir." She blushed a little and rubbed the side of her cheek. "My parents were … um …"

Protector flashed the bio of the girl on his retina. The fact that her parents were dead in an air crash was highlighted.

The admiral frowned slightly. "I'm sorry about your parents. I believe they would’ve been proud of you for this."

She looked away, torn between embarrassment and clearly upset. "They wanted me to follow in their footsteps. Not be a messenger."

"Some parents and some people can be that way. They want to continue a tradition. It takes time for them to realize you are making your own path and following your own dream. I'm sorry they never got to realize that."

She didn't say anything, just bit her lip. He smiled a little. "I believe had they known how good a pilot you are, and the opportunity and responsibility that you were given, they would’ve approved young lady."

"Thank you, sir." she choked out.

"Carry on, Lieutenant,” he said as he moved off. "Oh." he paused and turned back to her. She turned, shoulders hunched. "I heard you've put in for a transfer to a fighter wing."

Her eyes widened, and she nodded mutely. He smiled as Protector fed him the notes in her jacket. "I think I can approve it on a couple of conditions." Her eyes widened in a sudden burst of surprise. "You need to build your team skills. Learn to work with a wingman. Second, work on your communications and personal interaction as well as protocol skills as well. Third, your implant accessing needs work. The rest I think you can figure out on your own."