Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3) (55 page)

“Yes Senator. Your thoughts on these recent events?” April asked.

“Well, I like a lot of my fellow senators are a bit concerned of course. And I admit, we have a bit of consternation, this was ill handled by the so called president's office.”

“How so ma'am?” George asked.

“Well, we should have been briefed for one! And we need more details than what we've been given!”

“Do you know more than what Admiral Irons has stated, ma'am?” George asked. April felt like kicking the man under the table. Then again, John had left her high and dry.

“No. That's the problem. They are keeping the information tight for the moment. One wonders why,” she said in clear annoyance.

“Are you concerned about the loss, ma'am?” April asked.

“Of course I am! What sort of silly question is that?!?” the woman said. “I am concerned not just for the people of Protodon, but also for those here, and for my constituents in Pyrax! We should never have sent that offensive. We should have held firm and waited. This force is a clear reaction to our ill-timed and ill prepared offensive.”

“I see.”

“And furthermore, we shouldn't have left Pyrax or Antigua in the first place! Protodon clearly doesn't want us there, so why waste more tax payer money and lives, don't forget lives!
Lives
wasted to defend their freedom when they throw it away!”

“And the admiral's statement that it is better to fight there than here, ma'am?” April asked.

“Well, he does have a point there,” the woman said, clearly nettled at April playing devil's advocate rather than backing her up. “Wait, you’re
that
O'Neill woman, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Damn it, I thought my staff put me through to that other media outlet. You're in Irons pocket anyway.” There was a click.

April frowned as the feed cut back to her and her partner. “Senator? Senator Mayfair?” she asked.

“Apparently we've experienced some … technical difficulties with the senator. We will try to get her back. In the meantime we have Blakely in Antigua Prime getting some man-on-the-street reaction to these events. Blakely?” he asked.

:::{)(}:::

Sprite observed the reaction from April and other reporters from Irons statement. Senator Mayfair's reaction was hardly surprising; the woman hated the admiral with a passion. She was going from one news outlet to the other fanning the flames just out of spite.

Consternation about the news was still spreading in the media and among the politicians. As she monitored the various video feeds, she noted some cautiously coming forward to say Admiral Irons should have waited and asked for consent of Congress. Others, however, quickly pointed out that he is the authority on the navy, and that it was a time-sensitive decision.

“That is why we have an executive branch. We can debate it later, but some things need to be done in the here and now, not later,” George Custard growled. “I'm a farmer, born and bred. Ya'll know me. I know the feedin’ needs to be done; it can't be put off, milking too. Some of ya'll know where I'm coming from with this,” he drawled. “Same with a station. Procrastinating and hoping the problem will go away isn't how you handle this. Take the bull by the horns and damn it, get it sorted out quick and proper like.” he nodded firmly.

Sprite felt amusement generated by the statement after it went through her emotional emulator. She changed the channel and left a script bot to monitor the rest of that feed.

A lot of the coverage had extended to that of the ships as they made their way across the star system. Some people and companies had apparently attempted to contact the ships in order to get them to disobey their orders. A few civilian ship captains offered to blockade the jump point, which was laughable.

“They are going to continue to have a fit, but I bet that they'll be cheering when we get news that the barbarians have been beaten back once more. If they are beaten,” she said to Fletcher.

“True,” the intelligence A.I. replied.

“Still downloading the reports?” she asked.

“Unfortunately Commander T'roi is sending them in order. We're getting detailed logs of each ship in turn, and they go back to the point of their last download. Why she did that I don't know.”

“Apparently an erroneous attempt to be thorough,” Sprite replied.

“Yes. We wanted all the facts, just the facts,” Fletcher replied. “Apparently we're getting what we asked for. I've twice asked her to send the logs for only the battle. She hasn't changed the feed however.”

“Keep trying. Each log though?”

“Of each ship. It is a lot of data. No way will we get it all.”

“Right. Okay, I'll see what I can do from my end. Do you have a list of intelligence officers in Protodon?”

“A few.”

“Give it to me. Maybe we can pass the job to one of them and let the picket Commander get back to her job while they handle sending us what we need.”

“Good idea. File sent.”

“Received. Lieutenant Locke?” she asked.

“He's the most senior. Unfortunately, he's on the planet embedded with the Marines and the most powerful militia group there.”

“Lovely. Well, the ensigns don't have the clearance levels. Locke seems to be it. It will mean more of a delay though; he'll have to receive the files, process them, and then upload what we want.”

“He can get on that while they continue this download … or not. They aren't keeping a channel open for us to give feedback,” Fletcher replied, clearly annoyed.

“Wait for a break and then monopolize them right back,” Sprite replied. “They aren't supposed to do that. I'll draw up a template for the lieutenant to follow … and done,” she said as she put the finishing touches on it.

“We could send this to T'roi—if she'll ever finish talking.”

“I think she's scared of us telling her to send more of her precious ships off,” Sprite said snidely.

“Quite possible. And with all this data we can't get a word in … ah,” Fletcher said. “Gotcha!” he said, breaking in. “Okay, channel cleared.”

“Keep
it clear. Don't let them download that again. I'm sending you the template. Put your spin on it and then get it off to Locke. Also, order a SITREP. Find out if those ships have moved and when. Also, a general SITREP of the forces in the star system. Something tells me that's going to come up in a meeting soon, and it is best to be prepared with accurate up-to-date information.”

“Aye aye, Commander,” Fletcher replied as he got to work.

Chapter 22

Commodore Harris' mind was still abuzz as his force got closer to the jump point. He admitted privately he was excited but nervous about the situation. He liked the idea of being promoted. He'd anticipated it, but when Bek had been found, he'd resigned himself to a potential decade in rank as those officers came in over him. Apparently not anymore, he like some of the others was the man on the spot. The pointed end of the spear.

He was not at all sure about taking on a replacement captain for his ship nor the scratch staff that had been shipped to him in the last minute. Commander Nanami Kawakami seemed young for her age, and … small. She was a tiny slip of an Asian woman but he'd seen some steel in her eyes and he knew a little of her reputation. She ran a tight ship or so her record said. The others were unknowns, despite his role as academy instructor from time to time.

He knew he'd sort them out en route; hopefully, there would be some familiar faces he could latch onto. He had also been surprised to take on replacement personnel for Second Fleet. Some of them were senior officers; a few should have been given a command of their own. He wasn't sure what to make of that. Replacements for losses? He frowned thoughtfully as the navigator initiated the countdown.

“Odd being here and not on the bridge,” he said, looking around the flag bridge.

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant JG Aspin said dutifully.

Dwight looked over his shoulder to the young Neopolar bear. He was from Agnosta; he'd gotten that much from the bear's IFF. But he barely knew about him, only that he'd been taking advanced courses at the Antigua Academy while waiting for an assignment. Now he had one, as one commodore's flag lieutenant.

“Nervous?” he asked.

The bear cocked his head and then shrugged. He had yet to reach his full size. He'd done his best to ignore the looks and questions as to why he'd chosen a naval carrier over one in the Marines or army.

It was actually pretty simple if you thought about it. He was a bear. A polar bear. A white bear obviously. That combination didn't seem to sit well on the battle field. Besides, he liked working on a starship, despite the occasional problems with his size. “I'm too surprised and in shock to be nervous, sir. I think I've still got scorch marks from where they booted me out here so fast and hard,” he quipped.

Dwight smiled indulgently. “Well, you'll have other marks undoubtedly, but hopefully none from my size twelve if you know what's good for you,” he warned.

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Good. We both were dumped into the deep end. We're going to be learning our jobs. I've had some idea of what I was getting into. You?”

“Not so much,” the flag lieutenant admitted.

“Wonderful,” Dwight drawled. “Okay well, you're going to be doing a lot of my running around I suppose, plus handling things like correspondence and paperwork. The rest of your duties you can look up. The important thing now is to help me comb through the other officers we've taken on and find a couple that fit the bill for the rest of my staff.”

“Aye aye, sir,” the bear said. He went over to a duty station and brought up the files.

Dwight glanced at the status board and then nodded. The best way for him to get over critiquing someone in command of his ship was to focus on what he needed to do and let her do her job.

Even if he still had mild thoughts that he could do it better.

:::{)(}:::

Moira Sema wasn't certain how to react initially. They had never had a war in Bek, and so losing a battle … it seemed alien to her way of thinking. Alarming, scary even to have lost ships and prestige—to have lost ground so unexpectedly. She was the secretary of state; she had to act. As she marched into the conference room, she heard a television replaying segments of the admiral's speech. She nodded. He'd set the tone; she'd follow it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said as she closed the door behind her. “It seems we've been dealt a setback. We need to dust off as the admiral said, and get back on our feet. The administration has set our marching beat; now we need to find a way to get it through to the people screaming bloody murder and running around like headless chickens. Any ideas?”

:::{)(}:::

Admiral Irons shook his head as the political fallout continued. Calls were still coming in to his office. Some wanted clarification, really stroking and reassurances that they'll win. That the boogey man was going to go away.

Unfortunately, he wasn't confident he could give them just yet, he thought, letting out a puttering sigh.

Protector noted his mood swings. His simulation of the admiral's thought process judged that a minor intervention might be in order to keep the man on track. Otherwise his carefully crafted schedule would be further ruined.

“A lot of wringing hands and strident voices going on lately, Admiral,” Protector stated cautiously. “But the secretary of state and cabinet had stepped in line and are making small headway.”

“And I'm glad we've got a public affairs department to handle the bulk of the rest of the clamor,” the admiral growled. He'd just had to deal with a trifecta of terrified senators from Triang and Senka. The meeting had been scheduled for work on getting them on board his latest trade proposal, but that had been derailed. He should have left it up to Moira or someone else he thought.

He definitely needed more staff he thought. A.I. could handle a lot, but they too had their limits, he reminded himself.

“Well, some of it at any rate. I'm getting a bit of the backlash as is Commander Sprite. We're all getting splattered,” Protector said, bringing him back to the conversation at hand. He shook himself.

“It comes with the job. We didn't choose the uniform to be liked or to make just the easy decisions,” Admiral Irons pointed out. “Sometimes we have to do the stuff they don't like.”

“Don't expect thanks though, sir,” Protector warned.

“I try not to. It'd be nice, but I've … learned not to,” the admiral stated, looking away pensively.

:::{)(}:::

“We got a bloody nose,” Governor Jeff Randall said as his chief of staff shook his head.

“Bloody nose hell! We got our
asses
chewed!” Daffyd Bruneski stated in thorough disgust. He'd never been a fan of the admiral or his navy and now that angst was coming out full bore.

“But we didn't completely lose. Those ships survived,” Jeff stressed.

“Yes.
Most
of them. I noticed he didn't release which ones or the casualty lists.”