The Gathering Storm (The New Federation Book 4)

by Chris Hechtl

  There were still some problems from market manipulation, most notably the whole nuts and bolt incident, but things were leveling out. More importantly, the companies were finding they could put some of the materials they were producing out on the open civilian market.

  All sorts of tech were being explored. One of the startups built components for life support. Simple stuff really, nothing complex like grav emitters, but that was fine with him. They'd get up there to engines, oms, power plant parts, and better electronics eventually.

  All of the startups had been given their gift of life from Federation and navy no-interest startup loans as well as sales of used equipment. In order to pay back the loans, they had to supply the navy with parts at 10 percent above cost. He didn't know all the financial details, nor did he care to explore them, but it sounded like a good deal to him. They got the jumpstart they needed, and the navy got what it needed. The economy got a kick, people were employed, and it seemed like a win-win all around.

  That was the good news. The bad news was that he'd had to implement some quality control when a shipment of parts from one manufacturer that had come in on two Skywhales yesterday had proven defective. The manufacturer had claimed that the parts had been damaged in transit. That was bullshit. The packaging hadn't been damaged. Trying to prove it had taken the better part of the morning.

  They were required to test at least one piece of equipment in each production run. Captain Sprite had done a record search and had proven that they had not done so. That had forced his people to run down everything that the company had produced to date and check it. Meanwhile JAG was levying heavy penalties on the company for cutting corners. The managers were squealing about going bankrupt but it was their own damn fault. It was all in the contract according to JAG.

  He rubbed his brow. He didn't need the headache; his quality control people were already saturated with the material coming through from the navy's proprietary industrial lines. They shouldn't have to run checks on the incoming equipment too!

  Every piece of equipment had to be run in a burn in to make sure it functioned. Diagnostics were checked, but they were only one part of the quality control program. A physical person had to be on hand to monitor for abnormal smells, noises, vibrations, temperature spikes, pressure issues, and then compare what the diagnostics was coming up with what they were supposed to see. Then run a visual inspection to make sure everything was solid.

  And that was just the end game part check. Each of the individual parts were supposed to be checked over before installing. They weren't even getting that right; a tear down had shown microfractures in a shaft, and another on a turbine blade. Apparently, someone had hit the shaft hard enough to crack it, but the cracks had been too small to see with the naked eye. It hadn't come up until the unit had been spun up and run.

  Well, technically that might not be the manufacturer's fault he admitted. That could be installer error he privately admitted. He shook his head. Not that it mattered. Captain Sprite had dispatched a team to investigate. The team had toured the complex and had reported that the dye practice used to visually identify cracks was being skipped. Another ding on their record.

  He made a wuffling sound. At this rate, they'd lose the contract and default on the loans. After that it would be up to the courts. Most likely they'd fold, but Admiral Irons didn't want to see that happen. It was bad for the navy and bad for everyone around, so he had to find a fix. And he'd sicced a certain height challenged and rather overworked engineer on the problem.

  If they just did the damn job! His fists clenched and then unclenched in annoyance. “That's what we need. Another IG inspection. Random,” he muttered.

  “Sorry?” a yeoman asked, sticking her head into his open office door. “Did you say something to me sir?”

  “No. Wait,” she stopped withdrawing her head and then stuck it back in. “Contact IG. I want random inspections of the contractors we've got. Find a testing company. Two if you have to, one in space and one groundside. Independent obviously. We'll have to set up a system for them to independently check everything. I want a memo drawn up to not accept any shipments until everything is thoroughly tested.”

  She nodded as her hands moved in front of her. He recognized she was using a virtual keyboard to write down what he'd said. “Anything else, sir?”

  “Yeah, get me a sandwich for lunch. Something with mustard and a dill pickle.”

  Her lips pursed and then she shrugged. “Yes, sir.”

  “Go on then,” he said with an expansive wave to her.

  That would solve some problems long term, though he'd have to find a way to run it properly and pay for it all of course. Memos for the civilians to actually do their damn jobs would help. Really, they should let Antigua Stephan's subassemblies fail as a gory example to others to do their damn jobs he mused.

  “Sir, we've got ten new requests for contracts from the planet. Seven of them are from Eternia,” the yeoman said over the intercom a few minutes later.

  “I'll take the seven on trust,” he said immediately. All of the factories in Eternia were self-financed and had no problems with quality control. Some of their stuff rivaled navy quality. He decided he didn't give a damn about the appearance of favoritism anymore. “Run them through the accelerated approval process once they've been vetted. The other three will have to be examined a bit more carefully.”

  “Yes, sir. I'll make a note.”

  “And copy everything we're going through with ASS now. I want them to know what they are getting into. We're not just a fat teat to suck off of. Far from it.” He'd seen a protest sign someone had put up on social media. Get off our ASS had sounded cute until he'd realized that the person was protesting the navy coming down on the company. Facial recognition of the person holding the sign had shown it to be a junior manager in the company. Typical. Can't do the job but bitch about being called out on it.

  “Yes, sir. We've been asked to dump contracts and specs through the ansible too, sir.”

  “To who?”

  “ET. The companies there, plus one company in Pyrax, and another in Senka.”

  “Good to know,” he replied. They were already doing business with dozens of companies outside of Antigua. A little more competition would be healthy. It would also remind the Antiguans to toe the line; there are alternatives the navy can fall back on.

  When he didn't say anything further, she cut the channel.

  He nodded thoughtfully as he returned to his desk. With that problem in the works of being solved, he pulled up his inbox and looked at the list of priorities there. He groaned and rubbed his eyes with the balls of his massive hands. “Damn it. I spend five minutes trying to solve one problem and two more crawl into my inbox and bite me,” he muttered.

  :::{)(}:::

  Epsilon Triangula

  The courier that carried the “frock promotion” to Shelby Logan also carried promotions and keys to other officers along the route. The courier stopped in Epsilon Triangula to resupply on the return trip. They had not stopped on the race to Airea 3 since they needed to catch up to the Tau mission before they jumped.

  The first person to get the news was Captain SG Richards. She was emailed her promotion when the ship entered orbit of the planet. The courier captain himself came down in a shuttle to hand deliver a package of flash chips with all the orders and updates.

  When Helen Richards got the news of her promotion to commodore, she was bemused. It kept her as the ranking officer on the planet as well as in the star system. She had already had some naval decisions deferred to her. They had been just barely in the scope of her understanding. She knew her limitations; after all, she'd never attended the academy. But, apparently as senior officer it didn't matter to someone.

  “Someone want to tell me what's going on?” she asked as she stared at the chip. “I'm now a commodore? Just like that?”

  “I don't know, ma'am, I'm just the messenger,” the T'clock courier captain replied as he bobbed his
antenna.

  “Of course, you are.”

  “You could call the Admiralty if there is some confusion with the orders,” he suggested. “May I be the first to congratulate you, ma'am?” She nodded and dismissed him. It took a few moments of thought before she decided to look the gift horse in the mouth. She called up the Communications Department and put a call in to the Antigua Admiralty.

  She was passed around BUPERS and BuMedical before some whit rerouted her call to the administration. She was surprised when a familiar voice took the line. “Is there a problem, Commodore?” a female asked.

  “Um … no,” she said slowly as a hologram of a woman in uniform appeared on her desk. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the apparition. It took her a moment to note the cyber circuitry in the woman's skin. Either she was a cyborg or she was an A.I. “Do I know you?”

  “Sorry. We did talk but not often before. Usually our correspondence has been through email. I am Captain Sprite. I am the admiral's adjutant. Technically, I'm his chief of staff.”

  “Okay,” Helen drawled as she sat back. “You know me but I hardly know you …”

  “I was with Admiral Irons on your world during the little fracas with the Xeno virus,” the A.I. said helpfully.

  Helen blinked, pursing her lips together as she remembered that time. Slowly she began to nod in understanding as things fell into place. “You … okay, I'm starting to remember him talking to someone. Sorry, it's been a while.”

  “I realize organic minds are fallible. Not a problem.”

  Helen's eyes narrowed slightly. “Cute. Okay, so, can you explain to me what's going on?”

  “In regards to your orders?”

  “And the promotion.”

  “I believe they are long overdue. Sorry about the delay, we had to make sure that courier got to Airea 3 first.”

  “That's okay.”

  “You can have your administration arrange the various ceremonies or one lump ceremony per your taste of course.”

  Helen snorted. “So that's it? Just like that? Promote everyone on a planet?”

  Sprite shrugged. “We might as well get the biggest bang for our buck. It's not quite everyone though.”

  “It just feels that way. Okay,” Helen replied with a nod.

  “I do have to warn you that you will need to transfer to a new command soon.”

  “Oh?” Helen frowned thoughtfully. She loved her world and loved how it was improving by leaps and bounds. But, she had started to feel a bit stale, like she could use a fresh challenge.

  “BuMedical is still rough. We could use you here ma'am, at the Admiralty. Or, you could request another assignment somewhere else.”

  “I don't know. I always envisioned myself as a country doctor,” the woman replied in a droll voice.

  “Hardly,” the A.I. replied. “I was there before, remember? You'd go squirrelly within a week if you were out in the sticks working as a country doctor. I happen to know what you do is mostly administration at this point.”

  “Cute. Accurate I guess.”

  “Your options are quite broad, Commodore. You can explore running a hospital complex, a station, a new planet, a hospital ship, or BuMedical itself. You can get into education or research and development. You are the highest-ranking medic we have in the service right now, ma'am.” She didn't mention that Nara Thornby was also up for flag rank in the next cycle. She had been nixed by Admiral Subert after her abrupt departure from his command. “BuMedical is working with Doctor Kraft the surgeon general to deal with break outs.”

  “Like Syntia's World,” the newly-minted commodore murmured.

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay. Well, you've given me a lot to think about. I don't have to give you an answer now do I?” she asked suspiciously.

  “No. I will email you a list of options.”

  “I'll go over them carefully. Thank you.”

  “Thank you for your continued service, Commodore, and congratulations on the promotion.”

  “Thank you. Take care. Please tell the admiral to do the same.”

  “I will. Antigua out.”

  Once the A.I.'s avatar vanished, Helen sat back and frowned as she stared out through the window nearby. Patients sat on cement planters or moved about slowly. She didn't really see them. Instead her eyes went up to the sky. It was still daylight out, but her imagination filled in the stars that the haze of light pollution usually blocked out.

  :::{)(}:::

  Antigua

  Admiral Irons checked his morning feed. There was a lot to cover, more every day as ships reported in or new star systems joined the Federation. Granted those were still slow in coming, but the process would speed up once they cleaned the pirates out of an area. He was certain once the benefits of freedom, trade, and technology sunk in even the worst planets would have a change of heart.

  There was of course no news on either of the war fronts. Nothing new from Pi or Sigma either. He didn't expect anything. He checked the local feeds next for problems. Nothing jumped out at him so he switched to Pyrax next.

  One name fairly jumped off the screen at him. Phil had finally broken down and authorized the Firefly rebuild. Good.

  BUPERS was still working on a crew, but one slot was already taken. For the first time in living memory, a starship would be commanded by its ship A.I. He was well aware that there were some mutterings about that. The crew were, undoubtedly, nervous about having Firefly constantly looking over their shoulders. It would be an interesting set up, one they'd have to find a balance on during their shake down.

  He had already selected an initial mission for the ship. Barring any unforeseen complications in the refit he had assigned Firefly to the B101a1 picket as senior officer. That would give the ship and A.I. time to settle in and get out from under Phil. He'd considered sending Firefly to ET but he figured there would be a bit of bad blood there so he'd gone in the other direction.

  He checked the other feeds and then turned his attention to another promotions board. Phil didn't like it, but they had to keep promoting. Two names were back on the promotions list, Monty and Thornby. This time Phil wouldn't be able to squelch both of them. Both officers had an excellent track record over the past two years and they were ranking officers in their departments. Well, Helen was in medical, but John knew he'd prefer Nara if push came to shove for the head of BuMedical.

  Nara, however, was more interested in her current work. That was fine with him; getting her the commodore rank she deserved would give her most of the remaining medical keys just like Helen. That gave him a little bit more redundancy there.

  And Monty would get more of the intel keys when he became a flag officer. He rubbed his jaw as he considered the system. It sucked that he'd had to resort to mild politicking to get both officers in the kitty and to isolate their detractors. Did Phil understand his obstinance was bringing about enemies? Did he care? After all, the other man had gotten his extra star … he grimaced. He'd gone along with that to deal with the officers coming out of Bek. Phil had been right about the crap V'r'z'll had pulled, and he'd been correct in wanting the rank to deal with them. But …,

  Well, no matter, he mused. One way or another they'd get their star. If Phil and Monty couldn't get along, well, they were both professional officers. He'd lock them in a room and let them duke it out or, worse come to worse, transfer one to another sector.

  He had a feeling though that the officers coming out of Bek would make more waves than Phil ever could. If they started coming out again, that was.

  :::{)(}:::

  On Friday he met up with April. He was still working on some sort of retreat for the president, a place where he could go when he wasn't in Central Administration. A camp, island, asteroid, habitat, he wasn't certain which. He knew Major Forth was of two minds about the idea for security reasons. It would definitely be good to have a quiet out-of-the-way place to visit with people.

  People like the current red head in front of him he thought with a
smile at April. They had changed it up a bit; she'd come to his residence instead of him going to her as they'd originally planned. He wasn't certain if it was her way of letting him know she was getting comfortable with the idea of living there or not.

  “Comfy?” he asked as he wrapped her arm around her. She looked at him and then settled into his arms against his chest and stared at the screen. He nuzzled her head with his chin.

  “Sorry. Yeah,” she murmured.

  “I'm glad you are okay with staying here. I admit, Major Burrows prefers me somewhere safe. Going to your place too often is dangerous.”

  She snorted. “I doubt anyone would try to harm you. You're beloved by a lot of people these days,” she said.

  “Beloved but I'm the president. I've got enemies, I know it. I know there are ambitious people in my government too. And of course, there are the occasional nut jobs,” he said with a shrug. “I'm glad your apartment complex took on additional security.

  She snorted. “Something tells me you or one of your cronies had something to do with that,” she said dryly.

  “Maybe the major. I'm a bit busy. You don't like it?”

  “I don't mind it. I think a few people might mind living in a police state,” she replied.

  He frowned. “I was going to say it's for their own good, but I admit, surveillance gave me the willies too. But if you don't have anything to hide, you don't have to worry.”

  “Sure. Try telling them that. There have been two petitions to get me out so far.”

  “And?”

  She shrugged as she turned in his arms and laid in his lap to look up at him. “What can I say?” she smiled. “I own the flat.”

  “Good girl,” he said in approval.

  “So, if they come for anyone it will be me,” she said, turning over again.

  He drummed his fingertips on the back of the couch and then decided to take the plunge.