Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3) (40 page)

If it worked out, Amadeus could attrition their fleet instead of having to face it in concentrated form. He could gather INTEL and use it and their tech to his advantage. They were adding new ships every day; he knew which side would win the war on production. Defeat in detail came to mind once more.

He did know that eventually they'd find out one way or another, like it or not.

But those thoughts brought him back to the Cadre and Amadeus. If Amadeus succeeded, all good. But if he failed … he grimaced. It was bad enough losing the investment in men and material when a ship was lost. But it was all part of the job.

However, the Cadre … they were a
major
investment. An investment in expensive equipment, limited personnel supply, and training. They weren't pawns; they were major pieces not to be taken lightly. Having a ship blown out from under them would suck. Losing them as a concentrated lot … He'd almost lost Jethro that way once. Twice. He grimaced and rubbed his jaw.

“Thinking deep thoughts, sir?” Protector asked, noting the brain patterns.

“Yes. I'm falling into the trap of making someone so important you are scared of risking them. Of potentially losing them,” the admiral rumbled.

“Not good. Eventually though you have to delegate. You have to trust them and their training to see it through to the end,” the A.I. replied.

“Yes, yes you do,” the admiral said, straightening his shoulders.

:::{)(}:::

Admiral Irons frowned at his inbox. Most of the critical issues were either being handled or being processed by others. There was always something though, he could never get to them all.

But just once in a while he did. Oh, not solved them all, but actually managed to hit everything in his inbox in a single shift. It was a game he played with himself; one he occasionally won which made the victory sweet if fleeting. He knew it wouldn't last … and it would get harder the deeper they got into rebuilding the federation, not to mention the Horathian offensive.

Some things were ticking away or at least getting on their feet. One thing grabbed his attention right off since it was labeled as an engineering issue. He frowned as he scanned the document again.

Finally, he got through the background. It had been a bit winding, but he understood it. A CNC machine maker in Epsilon Triangula had expanded its business and tools to welding and cutting equipment. They worked with a robotics manufacturer to create universal tool heads for factories. He nodded and continued to read.

They had started a sideline in plastics after buying out a couple failing businesses and pumping capital and new/old federation ideas into them. The plastics had worked on cross pollination and had started a rather successful line of 3D printers. The printers were built in part by the CNC machines the parent company produced and could print in a variety of material. He pursed his lips at the thought and then nodded. Good so far he thought.

They had begun to expand the market, exporting their products to their off-world neighbors just before their invasion of Epsilon Triangula. The email went on to mention that they had approached Sandra'kall's office to make civilian or military grade replicators. He frowned. Now things were getting tricky, he thought. He'd noted they'd picked up a couple local food processing plants and minor pharmaceutical companies, most likely to use them to jump-start the process. Replicators though? Even if they just built the parts … it was far more complex than just making the shell. It meant manufacturing nanites, but apparently that didn't faze them.

He couldn't blame them for wanting to try. Someone had to eventually; they wanted to get their foot in a growing market. Good for them in theory. What bothered him was the control aspect. He didn't like losing oversight and control of the final product. Which would be the problem. They had gone direct to his administration over trying to go through the star system industrial board and governor. That he wasn't sure about either.

Either there was some politics going on that he didn't know about, some bad blood, or something else was at work. He needed to know. He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as he considered the situation.

“Problem, sir?” Protector asked, monitoring his vitals.

“You could say that.”

“I've been monitoring the situation. Can I make a recommendation, sir?” The A.I. asked.

“Shoot,” the admiral said, eyes still closed.

“Pass the idea off to a couple people who you trust. Lay out the parameters you want, or better yet, leave it open ended and vague. Give them an intern or two, and have them do research on how the old federation and local governments handled the situation. Have them lay out both sides of the argument. Give them a deadline and then let them get on it.”

“Delegating what is essentially a thesis project,” the admiral said sitting back as he opened his eyes both literally and figuratively to the plan.

“Yes, sir, in a manner of speaking.”

“I want to know why this company is going direct to me and not through their planet's industrial board and why me and not Sandra'kall.”

“Considering it is Epsilon Triangula and given their historic problems with corruption in government, sir, …”

The admiral waved a hand. “Granted, granted. I get that. But there is more going on here than meets the eye. I'm not sure about making precedent.”

“Well, technically that was done ages ago. You are making
new
precedent if you go a different path,” the A.I. retorted.

“True,” the admiral admitted. He frowned thoughtfully and then nodded. “Okay, write up your initial proposal with my thoughts I just outlined. Throw it over to Sprite and Sandra'kall, and see what the ladies say.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Lay an email in to Yorgi as well. See if he knows anything. Maybe toss the question at our local office? We need a reason why they are short circuiting the process.”

“It could be the local government is asking too much. Going over their head won't make them friends I suppose. Or they could be looking at the bigger picture.”

“Either way we need to find out,” the admiral stated.

“Aye aye, sir,” the A.I. replied, documenting the conversation and then assigning a script bot to fill in the blanks. Sprite had taught him that trick recently. It wasn't perfect, but it did help with his workload. “Email away, sir,” he said once the email was ready.

“Good.”

:::{)(}:::

Commander Sprite scanned the forwarded report into her active memory. As usual it came with an appendix with the admiral's thoughts, as well as links Protector's spiders had dredged up in the time he'd given them to do so. She appreciated seeing John's thoughts, even his inflection, it fulfilled something in her core.

But after scanning it she instantly recognized that, yes, keeping her informed was important, but her opinion wasn't the one that mattered. Diplomacy was important, and by not drawing the Centaurian into the process, he'd stepped on her hooves. Consequently, she put an appointment in with Sandra'kall to get her opinion and that of the industrial board.

Surprisingly, the Centaurian responded within a half hour. “Commander?” she asked, opening a live chat window to the A.I. and then authorizing the A.I. to enter her office.

“Sorry to bother you herd mother, but I believe you know about the ET proposal? I was curious about your thoughts. It is probably what the admiral should have done,” she admitted.

“I understand, and I understand his view point. He went to those closest to him first. I have hesitated on acting on the request because I did not know his reaction … and I was unsure of precedence. Some of my staff is researching it now. I know they've drawn in D'red's staff to some degree as well.”

“I don't think that is the major problem here,” Sprite said carefully. “The problem is control—losing control and oversight. We have to maintain it to some degree, but I do agree we need to loosen some restrictions or we might end up in the same boat we as galactic civilization was in not so long ago during the dark age,” Sprite said.

“True.” Sandra'kall agreed. “But the constriction was a big problem as you pointed out.”

Sprite cocked her head. “I am glad you agree. But those reasons for restrictions remain good ones. How do you propose we find ways to meet the modern demands?”

“Some,” Sandra'kall stated. “We can go over them and find the reasoning for each. That is a lot of work, however. A major endeavor that will draw in others to express their opinion.”

Sprite smiled. “That is what interns are for,” she quipped.

The Centaurian chuckled and then clucked her tongue. “I have plenty in my department now to use and abuse.”

“Good. I've got a few in my own, I suppose we can toss them into a blender and see what they come up with,” Sprite said.

“You humans … sorry. Your human personality programming is bleeding through with the metaphors, Commander,” the Centaurian said, turning her massive head to eye the A.I.'s avatar. “But I see your point.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I believe the restrictions on military hardware are sound and should be left alone. Wiping the slate clean for the patents and unlocking them will help a great deal.”

“Turning them into open source …,” Sprite nodded. “That is the general direction I believe we've been moving in the E-key market,” she observed.

“Agreed. It is past time I believe. I admit I am … not conversant on the restrictions on medical technology,” the Centaurian admitted.

“Some of it is law enforcement. Some of it is safety. I bet a lot of the restrictions have to do with preventing bioterrorism of some sort,” Sprite observed. “You don't want someone with a lab creating something that can wipe out an entire population.”

“Truth,” the Centaurian agreed as she accessed her implants. “Ah, I see. The drug trade is also involved. Fascinating. To restrict recreational substances …”

“Some of which are poisonous if used in excess,” Sprite pointed out.

“Agreed. That is where … ah, I do see tangles. Age of consent … the usage of such materials while using vehicles or machinery … it is quite the tangled web.”

“Correct.”

“So I agree, the attorney general and surgeon general's office will need to be involved in the decision making process,” the Centaurian stated.

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Sprite said.

:::{)(}:::

Governor Jeff Randall looked out the bay windows of his office then turned back to his wooden desk. His administration was still dealing with various problems on their radar, including fallout from the assassination attempt on Admiral Irons and himself … and more recently, storm damage along the eastern coastline.

He grimaced. Apparently the investigation was over, and the finger pointing had heated up. He was doing his best to remain above the process despite efforts from a few of his political opponents to draw him into it. It wasn't like he'd known it would have happened! But he did feel a little guilty at setting it up. He'd been pressured by a political donor. The investigation had cleared them of wrong doing, but he regretted the lapse in judgment.

The storm was brewing into a different sort of storm, one he didn't like at all, he thought with a grimace. The slow response for emergency crews told him they still had some work to do, some voids to fill.

And some people who just couldn't hack the job. They either needed to be retrained, eased out—if they were politically appointed—or they needed to be fired. Figuring out which was which was a minefield he would rather deal with on Monday he thought, rubbing his brow tiredly.

He looked up at the flash of cloth and motion in the windows. He couldn't help but grin as his daughter smushed her face against the glass and made funny faces. She waved at him to come out to play. She was wearing her yellow dress; her mother would kill her if she got grass stains on it he thought. Which, he noted, she was in the process of doing as her sister tugged her braided pig tail and then tussled with her.

He rose and tucked his shirt in as he grabbed his jacket off the coat rack near the planetary flag.

Since the storm was over and finding out whom to shitcan wasn't critical, he judged even the governor deserved a day to play catch and picnic with his family.

:::{)(}:::

Apparently it was just a week for manufacturing headaches, the admiral thought as he noted the latest problem. It had been a minor one up until a few weeks ago; now it was coming to a head.

A sub manufacturer on Antigua had been taken over by some sort of self-styled marketing guru. The man had promised a major return if he'd been put in the top slot. The board had gone forward with it.

And he'd delivered. But at a price. The company made major small components for a number of industries. Their most lucrative line was in bolts, nuts, cotter pins, snap rings, castle nuts, and other devices. The new CEO had turned into something of a market manipulator. He'd quadrupled the price of those same items overnight. That had set off a fire storm as it had filtered through the various manufacturers downstream. Just about everything was affected.

John frowned thoughtfully. He had no problems with a capitalist system. Enlightened self-interest was why the galaxy worked after all. But he also believed in another creed, moderation. But he also knew that even moderation needed the occasional example of excess in order to inspire or to make people realize why moderation was important.