Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3) (79 page)

The colonel nodded slowly. “We're watching for any of her shenanigans. Nothing yet, not even feelers. She prefers the deep mountains and forests of the main continent though. She's … well, thousands of clicks away.”

“Okay. Are you focusing on the main continent's coast line now or are you hitting the islands too?”

“Main continent. I didn't want to do a shotgun approach and have my people too dispersed. I figured we'd throw everything we can at an area, clean up, and then move on in systematic fashion.”

“Agreed. I think we can work with that as long as our people don't trip over each other. Any ideas on where the money to rebuild is going?”

“That I can't tell you. Most likely the big cities … which clearly don't need it,” the colonel said in disgust.

“I'll put a call in to the capital. It might help if you do too, sir,” the major suggested.

The colonel nodded. “Will do. Maybe it'll get IG's interest, and someone will kick some money loose to do the job they were supposed to be doing all along,” he growled.

“It might not be corruption. It might be some other stupidity—hiring people, training, whatever.”

“Excuses all. While they dick around, these people have been suffering. It was going on right under my damn nose and I didn't look,” the colonel growled.

The major sized him up and then nodded slowly. There was an element of shame going on there and guilt. But they all had a job to do, and the colonel had been focused on what he'd been sent there to do. The rebuild was outside his mission parameters.

But, it would help, he thought. “Okay. Let's see if we can get others to help too. Get the local and federation media involved.”

“Vultures,” the colonel growled.

“Ah, but if they are helping us, then it's all for the best,” the major said with a shrug. “I'll make calls there. Not for the glory but to light some fires, get some people moving. Besides,” he grinned. “I bet some goodwill here and there will make sure we've got an open keg wherever our people go on the planet,” he said.

The colonel snorted. “As if they need another excuse to get wasted,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oh come on, pretty girls, bikinis, beach, clam bakes …” the major suggested slyly.

The colonel chuckled. “I see you do have an ulterior motive. But I won't tell anyone if you don't. Let's see what we can do,” he said with a nod.

:::{)(}:::

Other businesses on Protodon stepped up and gave free or steeply discounted food or lodging to Marines or personnel who helped out with the rebuilding of the coastal communities. Word spread in the federation forces. The chain of command reluctantly talked and agreed to allow entire platoons and eventually brigades to be stationed in the area to help. They set up temporary fire bases and used resources like replicators and transport vehicles to help clean up and repair areas. Marines donated some of their pay and time to help spark the rebuild efforts. Just their business in the smattering of restaurants and small businesses became an economic boom to the local economy—bring them out of the dredges of depression.

The actions of the Marines and soldiers touched the Protodon people when it hit the social media and then was picked up by the main stream media. An image of a Marine helping a woman and her children followed by another of a group of Marines using hammers and hand tools to help rebuild a home, and then another of a navy medic treating a line of sick and injured people lit up the planet's internet and media like a fire storm. The response to such images was the final spark needed to get them to sign on to a formal planetary government and to also fully join the federation.

:::{)(}:::

“Well, it's official ladies and gentle beings and what a night!” the tired but wide-eyed GSN reporter said over the din of the celebration going on around her. “The records are in with an overwhelming majority in support to reinstate the planet's constitution. The election results came in a moment ago as well with Governor-elect R'x'll being chosen by a 50 percent majority. Her runner-up Mister Rudders will have to settle for the second slot with a 47 percent showing. We'll hear the speeches from them in a few minutes. For the moment though, we have one more pieces of news. To top all of
that
off was the decision to join the federation,” the woman said breathless.

She turned to survey the group then nodded. “With 70 percent of the planet reportedly voting, an overwhelming majority voted to join the new federation—this in the face of the certainty of a looming space battle and potential invasion.” She turned at the pop of explosions behind her.

The camera panned up to show fireworks bursting in the sky. The crowd oohed and awed, pointing. Someone's hand entered the shot so the cameraman moved the camera over to the left a bit.

“You can't keep a good population down it seems,” the reporter said with a grin in her voice as confetti and balloons began to fly about the area. “Back to you in the studio, Ellen, Ray,” she said.

“Quite the party there,” Ellen the local anchorwoman said as the camera switched to the studio camera briefly before it cut to a series of montages of celebrations all over the planet. “And quite the party!” she said.

“It seems with the
Bismark
here everyone feels secure in the future for once. Let's hope they're not wrong,” Ray said.

:::{)(}:::

Once Protodon formally signed on, the first Rho sector Congress was gaveled into session. Admiral Irons thought it was a good accomplishment but just a start. There were twenty-four friendly star systems out of forty known to exist in the sector. Forty-one if the Ssilli world was found he reminded himself, but twenty-four out of forty known gave them just enough for a quorum. Not enough for a full galactic Congress, but a sector Congress went a long way to train the politicians on what to expect in the future.

Thirteen star systems in the eastern side of the sector were essentially hostile; of that number eight were known to be occupied by the Horathian Empire. Four were possible conquests or daughter colonies; intelligence wasn't certain at the moment. The Marines were working on reducing that number to seven once the invasion of Destria was completed later in the year.

There was one neutral star system, Avalon, though Avalon was continuing to make small strides to join the federation. There was one neutral star system they hadn't reached out to yet, New Dublin. He was leery about attempting to make contact after reading the histories and remembering what the girls on
Io 11
had told him about the patriarchy there but knew he had to do so at some point.

A light cruiser had been dispatched from Pyrax to make contact with Himalya and New Brunswick. Along the way hopefully, they'd pick up on the trail to that Ssilli world that was somewhere in that jump chain. Intelligence had narrowed it down to there obviously, and through some science they had a general idea now where to look. Admiral Sienkov's people had cross referenced the star charts with what had been known in the Encyclopedia Galactica. They'd found one tentative place to look, but it was a long shot. His money was the Ssilli were on New Brunswick.

According to the latest INTEL summary Monty's people had put together, heavy grav people had resettled small parts of Himalaya after the war and earlier evacuation. Funny, he hadn't picked that up from his conversations on
Io 11
, he thought. He'd been under the impression that the planet had been completely evacuated. He wasn't certain as to why anyone would want to go there to such a hostile environment, but ONI was going to run with it and check to see if someone was indeed there. He knew a lot of people were curious and a bit excited to find out one way or another.

He was also aware that the Centaurians in Pyrax had put in a request to resettle on the planet if their application to go to Nuevo B was denied. He doubted they'd like going to Himalaya; the planet was all mountain with the only habitable parts near the tops of the mountains. The Centaurians might be able to go lower but not too deep. They definitely wouldn't be on flat land, which he knew they preferred.

It was becoming something of a past time to guess which planet or star system would be next to join the federation or get an ansible or both. It was exciting and thrilling to some, he was aware that some of the bookies ran games on it. It was already boring to others in the public who ho hummed about the news. He knew it was all baby steps. The real gains would be when entire sectors started to come over to their side.

But with the gains came increasing headaches. He was being pressured more and more to return to the political process of the old federation. Hell, the constitution
demanded
it! He had to make nominations to Congress. The Senate had to have hearings. He had to have the advice and
consent
of Congress before he could appoint someone.

That was a lot of red tape tying his hands. Fortunately, the
sector
Congress didn't qualify, but to keep them from being alienated, he still tried to run as much past them as he could. He just had to remember to do so since it was tempting, oh so tempting, to give in to his impatience and get the job done in the heat of the moment so he could move on to the next problem on his itinerary.

But he had to let the process play out, however slow and riddled with cronyism and backroom deals it was becoming. “The more things change, the more they stay the same,” he muttered.

“Sir?” Protector asked.

“Nothing. A reflection on the times I suppose,” the admiral replied, waving a hand in dismissal. The Senate leaders might play games. Might. None had really formed any sort of opposition to his leadership like Jeff had before he'd become Antigua's governor. Jeff and others had learned a hard lesson in his departure. He didn't want that, nor did they. But he fully intended to stand his ground, and come hell or high water he'd see the job through to the end.

One way or another the federation was going to come out of the dark ages. Even if he had to drag it kicking and screaming the whole way.

All the life-goes-on distractions came to an abrupt end when the Horathian fleet arrived in Protodon however.

Chapter 32

Emperor Ramichov stared out into the image of the void contemplating what could have been. Had his people found Irons first, things would have been very different. They would have … he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw and fists. Damn the man! He thought, forcing himself to ease his grip before he broke a tooth or fingernail. “Damn!” he muttered, turning to look away as he rubbed his chin and lips. The man was a traitor to his race, but he was from a different time. Had they gotten to him first, they could have reasoned with him. They could have molded and shaped him. He could have been a great leader!

But that was not meant to be it seemed. Irons had chosen his side; he'd gone back to the old order instead of embracing the new. Fine. So be it. At least he didn't have to deal with Irons being competition in his own court, he thought.

He inhaled, nostrils dilating then exhaled a cleansing breath slowly. It didn't matter. Perhaps in some ways it was for the best. Imperial Intelligence was having a devil of a time handling the sleepers from
El Dorado
as it was. And the bunglers who'd let that Vinatelli fellow off his leash … he shuddered to think what damage Irons or his A.I. could have done to his empire. It would have been spectacular and far more damaging.

No, he was an embarrassment and a traitor, an impediment to centuries of careful planning and his successful implantation of that plan. An impediment that had to be dealt with quickly and permanently.

What bothered him now was that program of including brainwashed helmsman onto every ship.
Mutant
helmsman he thought with a wrinkled nose. His officers insisted there were enough controls to limit the damage they could do. They also insisted that the risk was worth the reward. For the moment he'd let the matter slide. He hadn't seen any results so he had reserved judgment on the matter.

But if it proved to be riddled with problems, heads would literally roll, he thought.

“I want Irons taken out. I want our assassins to declare open season on him. I don't care how long it takes; I don't care about the cost—not anymore. And don't give me an argument about how long it will take,” he said, holding up a restraining hand to Countess Newberry and Baron Ghadaffi, his minister of security.

“There is a problem there, Sire,” the baron said, glancing at the countess. She shrugged but was clearly unwilling to step in to help him he noted. He frowned slightly then faced the emperor. “We've spoken to the guild. They have refused the order,” he said.

The emperor drummed his fingers on the arm rest. “Did they say why?” he finally asked.

“We're not sure, Sire; they aren't talking,” the baron said. He glanced at the countess. “It could be because Irons is so heavily protected,” he warned.

“That's never stopped them before,” the emperor stated coldly.

“Right now all we have is speculation,” the baron replied.

The emperor glared at the baron then his eyes cut to his intelligence officer. “And?” he asked.