Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3) (91 page)

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, sharing 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.”

He snorted. If they only knew he had a squad of powered armor marines on standby within ten minutes or less of his location at all times. There would be a lot of brown and yellow stains if they ever had to be called out.

He shook his head. Hopefully, it would never come to that. He could look after himself with Protector, but he knew that having them handy was a good thing. At the very least they were very good at crowd control.

He glanced at the clock. April was working due to the news cycle, so unfortunately they couldn't hook up. He'd point that out to her, but he knew she'd find a way to turn it around. She always did. He smiled ever so slightly. But he knew that she knew that he knew that if she did, he'd tickle her into backing down.

He looked at the simulated bay window and then sat down again. He pulled up a virtual keyboard and jotted out a note to the NCIS director as well as D'red to swap notes and possibly instructors to get the civilian investigators off and running.