Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3)

by Chris Hechtl

  The praetor did a head bow. “Thank you, Sire.”

  “Besides, I don't need the headache of infighting over your removal, nor the infighting over your replacement. It could stall the process for some time in the Senate and again, I don't want it. Not when we are at a critical point. So, move on.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “What else are you doing to redress the problem?”

  “I have issued a thorough review of every ship in the fleet. I'm also having my staff draft orders to each fleet and picket command to have every ship checked from stem to stern.”

  “Understood. I suppose it explains the occasional loss of a ship to unknown causes,” the emperor mused. The admiral nodded. “Though I bet hyperdrive failure played some role there as well,” the monarch mused.

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Very well.”

  “I am also drafting orders to resupply the Retribution Fleet,” he held up a restraining hand when the emperor seemed ready to object, “with spares, fighters, and with munitions. Our latest intelligence says this federation is expanding west and south at an alarming rate. The fleet as it stands doesn't have the material support to take it all. I'm not certain at this time that they can take Antigua or Pyrax—definitely not both star systems.”

  The emperor frowned. “And ships?”

  Admiral Cartwright exhaled heavily. “Unfortunately, we don't have many to spare at this time. I am sending what I can to Dead Drop with the intent to stage them there when we can do so. If you wish, we can draw Home Fleet down further.” He eyed his liege and saw instant rebellion sparkle in his body language. He knew there would be resistance to reinforcing Dead Drop's picket force if only because he'd been made a baron there. His family had holdings there, and he was the head of the family, but he hadn't been to the planet in decades. When he took time off, it was always on the homeworld, not to travel to his holdings on Dead Drop. He didn't have that kind of time to burn in transit. Too many things could change in both life and politics for him to be out of contact for that length of time. “We have more ships coming online every day, Sire.”

  “But you are about to take many off the active rolls to undergo repairs. Potentially lengthy repairs,” the emperor retorted.

  “That is why I hesitate to order additional reinforcements, my liege,” the praetor said smoothly. “And why I focused on munitions and small craft. I had considered sending them some of our smaller warships but Admiral De Gaulte is not a fan of them.”

  “I see,” the emperor mused.

  “To be honest they are too slow for his purposes. Slow in hyperspace, limited in range, limited on arms, and dangerously weak compared to the federation models.” The emperor scowled. “I base this on my staff's analysis of the data from the battles in Protodon, Sire,” he said hastily.

  The emperor seemed to take that in stride. After a moment he nodded. “I see. Send me that analysis. I think we'll need to send the good admiral something, even if it is a small force, or send them to Dead Drop and Garth.”

  “Yes, Sire. I've already ordered a squadron of each of the smaller classes to go to each star system to thicken their defenses while also swapping them for existing platforms we are in the process of recalling here for refit,” the praetor explained.

  “Very well.”

  :::{)(}:::

  Later that evening Emperor Ramichov surprised his wife by entering her dressing room and kissing her on the cheek. “So, how'd it go?” she asked, looking at his image in her mirror as she got ready for the evening. She was dressed as usual in red, her signature color. It was an exquisite evening gown, one he liked to see her in. It had a daring drooping neckline but severe lines. It also had a little gold sparkle in it, a bit of gold thread woven in at strategic places to catch the eye. It was quite pleasing to him, as was his wife. She had gotten her nickname as the Red Queen from her choice in dress, but he knew there were darker overtones to it too. She definitely had a passionate streak and a temper he thought.

  He was dressed in a black tuxedo with a red matching sash. It was trimmed in gold to match the circlet around his temple. Colorful ribbons and awards were aligned on his left lapel. He already had his white gloves on.

  “Better than I expected. He didn't make any evasions or point fingers elsewhere. No ritual heads to sacrifice. He even offered his resignation if you can believe it,” he said. He caught the sight of motion in the mirror and turned to see his mother sitting in a corner with her legs crossed and her hands on her knee. “Mother, nice to see you. I hadn't expected you so late.”

  “Thought I'd be off playing shuffleboard somewhere, son?” Jezebel Rico Ramichov, dowager empress asked tartly.

  “Perish the thought of ever seeing you do that, Mother,” he said as he walked over and kissed her on the cheek. “Have you been behaving yourself?” he asked.

  “Oh you,” she mocked, waving a hand as he stepped back. “As if you don't know, with Imperial Intelligence watching me like a hawk,” she scolded.

  “That's for your own protection, Mother,” Pyotr stated in mock exasperation as he stepped back and tucked his hands behind his back.

  “Sure it is,” his mother drawled.

  “Mother,” Pyotr sighed.

  “What?” She asked innocently.

  He shook his head. “Never mind. So, what else has been going on?”

  “Well, as you know the courier's news has hit the grapevine. It hasn't filtered down through the ranks quite yet, give it time, but the ruling families are talking up a storm about it,” his mother said.

  “Gossip? You, Mother?” Pyotr teased. She gave him a quelling look. “Sorry.”

  “Quick snickering, this is serious. Apparently a lot of people, powerful people, are now concerned about the fate of the Retribution Fleet. More importantly, their loved ones in it.”

  “Loved ones my ass. They were black sheep that they sent off to be rid of,” Irazabeth stated from her position at her dressing table as she spritzed perfume on her collar and then her wrists. She rubbed her wrists together and then sniffed them delicately. “I do admit I am worried about the children. I had thought they'd … well, not be safe per say, but they'd be … insulated from some of the danger. That they'd get some adventure …”

  “It is a concern,” Pyotr said quietly.

  “More so with Catherine in Executioner. Didn't the report say that the cracks have been found in the dreadnaughts, dear?” Irazabeth asked.

  The emperor nodded. “A few have been found in the battleships and battle cruisers as well,” he admitted.

  “And Adam is in a battle cruiser,” the dowager empress observed mildly. “Any one of them could be lost.”

  “Oh, not Mason, he's on the marine transport,” Irazabeth stated loyally.

  “Marines tend to get shot at more often than serving naval officers, my dear,” her mother-in-law reminded her unkindly. “Though it is good of you to show concern for your stepson,” she said. She had never liked Mason or his brother Joseph. Both had chosen careers in the Marines over the navy, and they'd done their best to put as much space between themselves and the court as they could. It was their parentage that bothered her the most though. Their elder half-siblings had been planned by her and their mother Fiona, and she hadn't planned on Pyotr spreading his genes again once she'd neatly arranged the removal of his wife from the political equation for him. But he had, and the little hussy Meredith had gotten her hooks into her son quite well by getting pregnant not once but twice. It had been something of a scandal in the ruling families that the two boys had been born out of wedlock. She'd engineered a whisper campaign to break them apart, but it had backfired when Pyotr had asked Meredith to marry him on live television. The little witch had instantly agreed, making Jezebel furious with cold rage.

  Fortunately for Jezebel's plans, Meredith had died in an air car accident a month later. She had her suspicions that young Irazabeth had been involved for some time; she'd certainly turned up quickly to “console” Pyotr du
ring his time of grieving.

  The two women had something of a détente existing between them for over a decade after they'd had “the talk.” Irazabeth had made it plain she would tolerate her mother-in-law's machinations up to a point and wouldn't interfere with them unless they clashed with her own goals. Jezebel had reluctantly agreed only after her new daughter-in-law had informed her that if anything untoward happened to her and her two children someone would make it well known to the public and especially the twins and Pyotr who'd really arranged for Fiona's death.

  Which would be something of a death sentence for the dowager empress she knew. Her own return shot that Meredith had been killed by Irazebeth had been without supporting evidence and said in the heat of the moment, but the threat had been enough to stave off her complete collapse and her being turned into a mouth puppet of her new daughter-in-law.

  Which meant they had a … some would say, lively and grudging respect for one another.

  “I care for all of the children,” the empress stated, straightening her shoulders in indignation.

  “Let's leave that one alone, shall we?” Pyotr interjected, moving between their glaring eyes. He didn't want to be referee for one of their infrequent spats. “I am concerned about them, yes. But more about the implications of their loss at this point. And more importantly, the loss of the mission if it should fail or be delayed unduly. It could cause political unrest.”

  “We haven't lost them yet,” Irazabeth said in soft dismay. She turned to put her red, elbow-length gloves on.

  “Yet my dear. And as some have pointed out, they are going into combat in lamed ships. There is already speculation that it was deliberate,” the dowager empress said, directing her comment to her son as her daughter-in-law sucked in a protesting gasp.

  “It wasn't and Malwin will back that up. We didn't know. We should have, but we didn't. We are doing what we can to rectify the problem as we speak,” he stated. “My staff can point out that Admiral De Gaulte took the ship he'd had as his flagship for the past decade or more. We didn't deliberately give him a crippled ship. We need this mission to succeed,” he stated.

  “Be that as it may, it's the perception that matters here, son,” his mother reminded him. “And such things stick, especially if they happen anyway.”

  “Do you think I should recall them?” he asked, looking at her squarely.

  She frowned thoughtfully. “I see the trap you are in. No, I think they are doing their duty, and they know it. Emphasizing that will be important. If they run into too many problems with these cracks, undoubtedly Cyrano will make the hard call and withdraw,” she stated.

  “But not before he gets in and faces the federation. At the least we need him to hammer them. To throw them on the defense to give us time to finish the refits and redeploy,” the empress stated.

  “True,” the emperor stated with a nod. “But that still leaves the threat of combat. And of … loosing people in the process.”

  “We are putting our own blood on the line like the other ruling families. I'd think that would be enough,” the empress stated.

  “For some. Some may see it in other lights,” the emperor stated.

  “Cynics to the end,” the dowager empress stated with a smirk. She uncrossed her legs and rose, brushing her skirt out. “Are we ready my dear?” she asked with a polite smile to her daughter in law.

  “Just about,” the empress stated, picking up a fur wrap and settling it over her shoulders. It was snow white mink fur with a translucent sparkling silk coat under it.

  “Not quite,” the emperor stated. His wife looked at him quizzically as he took a hand-crafted gift box out of a pocket. It was rectangular, long and thin. “It won't quite match mother's pearls, but …”

  Irazabeth smiled indulgently as she opened the box. Her eyes widened in surprise, and her smile gleamed as she saw the necklace within.

  “For you, my dear,” he said, taking it out. He undid the clasp. She smiled coyly as she raised her hair and bowed her head to allow him to put it on her. When he was finished, he kissed the side of her neck. She smiled and brushed her fingertips along his cheek.

  “Now that is settled,” she murmured.

  “You can repay me later,” he said wickedly. She tucked her arm in the crook of his. He offered his other arm to his mother. She took it. She clung to it far more than his wife did he noted.

  “The kids will be fine. And if they aren't …,” the emperor shook his head as he led the ladies out of the dressing room and through their bedroom. Their security fell in around them as they made their way through the halls to the ballroom.

  “Losing them will be painful; it will be a blow,” Irazabeth murmured softly.

  “You are looking at this the wrong way, dear,” the dowager empress stated from the other side of the emperor. “They will serve as martyrs and will give your children a chance to step outside their shadows and breathe a bit. They'll have time to grow into the role we intend for them,” the elderly woman said. She locked eyes with the woman, then looked up to her son in-between them.

  “Mother is correct as usual. It will be a blow politically, but a two-edged sword for anyone who tries to use it politically against us. We will survive.”

  Irazabeth nodded wisely. She had learned long ago that children, like wives, were replaceable. And, well, losing Catherine and Adam wouldn't be too much of a loss for her. Far from it actually. With a little lift to her heart, she smiled again just as the door warden bowed and then opened the French doors for their grand entrance.

  Chapter 21

  Courier UFDV-010S rushed into Protodon in a burst of light followed by a burst of urgent radio broadcasts. The threat bearing down on Second Fleet and eventually Protodon had weighed heavily on Monica's mind for the entire voyage. Once the small ship was secure from hyperspace, she broadcast the invasion warning followed by news of the fleet bearing down on the star system.

  The omni broadcast was picked up by the Knox news satellite in orbit as well as the governor's office on the planet. At first the governor's publicist office refused to explain the broadcast, but a low-level staffer couldn't help but tell a friend who told another friend on a social media site … and then it was out.

  The rumors swirling grew in the telling and speculation. They had a kernel of truth, however; a Horathian juggernaut was bearing down on them. The Protodon government couldn't deny that. Then additional details were leaked to the Protodon media.

  Captain Okonkwo's message had been intended as a warning to the federation to prepare. The intention had been to get people motivated on stopping the juggernaut. Instead it caused initial panic in the population already stressed by war.

  :::{)(}:::

  Air Ranger Caitlin Oshanessay swore as she saw the rioting from her chopper. And from above there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it, except no one got killed. Property could be repaired or replaced. It was lives that mattered.

  “I think someone seriously screwed up here,” she growled into her microphone.

  “Yeah, think?” Jo Santini echoed sarcastically from the copilot's seat. “What do we do? Obviously force is out. I wish we had the stuff to gas them, but we don't.”

  “No, we don't. Something else to add to the request for materials I suppose,” Caitlin growled. After the Horathians had been booted out, her old boss had been lynched. Her record during the invasion had stood her in good stead. She'd been bumped up past sergeant to officer. Not that it seemed to be doing a whole hell of a lot of good now. The extra weight of her rank just made her feel like hell in moments like this she thought.

  “Call Dom. See if he can rig up, I don't know, sound generators or something. Something to get them to knock this shit off,” Caitlin urged.

  “I can try,” Jo replied dubiously.

  :::{)(}:::

  Captain Okonkwo was called on board Xiten'xha to be chastised by Commander T'roi, captain of the Resolution class heavy cruiser and the Protodon picket senior officer.
<
br />   Monica stood at attention before the Veraxin. She could tell from the bug's buzzing that she was livid. She wasn't certain as to why. Not until the Veraxin used her implants to turn the screens on to show the rioting that was happening on the planet. “Ma'am?”

  “You screwed up. I believe the human saying is, put your foot in your mouth,” the Veraxin stated.

  “Ma'am?”

  “By broadcasting your Zulu alert system wide, Lieutenant, you caused undue panic on the planet. So as penance, one of the things you are going to do to make up for it is watch the news videos of the people rioting on Protodon.”

  Monica blinked. Only iron control of her implants and her expression kept her from tearing up. “I know I screwed up, ma'am. I was so eager to get the word out, seeing it as my duty I … screwed up,” she said as she stopped herself from making further excuses.

  “You are right. And I have entered a formal reprimand into your record. Your ship can now resupply before it heads back.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Captain Okonkwo replied in a subdued voice. The Veraxin clacked and then dismissed her.

  “And now that I've chastised her and pretty much destroyed her career for getting too excited, I get to seem to drag my feet and play with fire with my own career … and potentially piss off a couple of flag officers,” the commander stated.

  “Ma'am?” the XO asked from her open doorway. “Were you … oh, sorry, implant call?”

  “Never mind,” the Veraxin stated as she finished filing her report and then opened another file, an urgent communication to Admiral Irons through the ansible. She sent the request for clarification to Admiral Irons with a copy of what was happening on Protodon.

  “In my opinion sending these ships would cause undue additional stress on the population. A population who has already been attacked and decimated several times. The sight of ships abandoning them could cause a great deal of hardship and would hamper our attempts to establish ties with the planet's population for decades, perhaps centuries to come.”